Suburban Refugees -

She trots after me one night after a bout of insomnia sends me into self-exile in the basement for fear of waking up the slumbering tribe. I drag a purple sleeping bag out of the camping closet and grudgingly pop a tablet of melatonin into my mouth in attempt to trick my brain to chill. To sleep. Because how hard can it be to sleep?

I beckon Kiwi up onto the couch, an agreed upon taboo, but she dutifully obeys and curls up into a soft black ball, sighs, and punctuates it all with a soft groan. She’s posturing. She pretends to be inconvenienced by the restless disruption to her day, but she secretly wants to be in on the action. She nestles into the small of my back for warmth and I wrestle around to stroke her soft ears.


It’s been a rough day. The Boy contracted an eye infection –conjuctivitis, or, more colloquially, pink eye- both terms far less glamorous than they sound. The infection reached its apex earlier, just as a heavy, panicked knock sounded at the door and Kiwi erupted into a frenzy, as if a dozen, mocking squirrels had invaded her kibble bowl. A man appeared at the front door and asked me to evacuate the house. As in, immediately. Apparently, he’d been digging up the neighbor’s front yard and, in rapid-fire, staccato-like speech, tells me he’d accidentally cut the natural gas line, which I could both hear and smell like a summer storm.

You need to leave now, he repeated.

But I have pink eye, I responded, stubbornly, drunk on sleeplessness, too tired to mince words with the man in denim. (We’ve been down with the flu for nearly two weeks thanks to E's introduction to day care).

Who caused this gas leak? I inquired.

I did, he replied sheepishly. Enough petulance, KB. Get the boy and the pup and get out.

Eventually, the three of us make our triumphant exodus out of the cul-de-sac, suburban refugees. Kiwi straining at the leash, the boy angry that he’s been jostled from his sound sleep, and myself, pink-eyed and white-faced and nowhere to go. My dear friend Jackie eventually provided safe haven for our tribe, a backyard for Kiwi to play and a sun room for Eli to throw back a bottle of milk in jubilation. Kiwi only caused minor damage to J’s backyard (a couple of severed flower pots, and some blood spatter from the injury she caused to herself in the process – oh, and Jackie’s shorts).

But we survived.

And now, it’s late, and I can’t shut down the anxious brain that keeps replaying the events of the day nor those that have yet to come. I know this regarding the past: I am grateful for friends that will welcome me in despite a crusty and contagious bout of conjunctivitis. And this: that a knock-down, protracted case of the flu can create a carpe diem kind of attitude in a feisty, fledging family like ours. We’ve all been sick, but we rise now, like the Phoenix, ready to take on some big, nagging, ridiculous dreams.

We are hatching an amazing, once-in-a-lifetime plan. Details to follow, friends.

Post was written three weeks ago. Apologies for the delay.