As one would expect, life on the farm brings with it a whole host of interesting critters and wildlife.
From the pack of coyotes we hear howling each evening out our windows, to the deer we found inside our fenced yard munching fallen apples from our tree, to the hawk that ate our hen, to the possum that James had to dispatch that was trying to claw its way into the chicken coop, to the glistening eyes that track us out in the meadow when we shine the flashlight their way on our nightly trip to close up said coop, to the fisher cat leisurely ambling through the field midday, there is never a shortage of creatures to keep us on our toes.
Last night, as James and I lay in bed, I heard a screeching, squeaking noise outside and anxiously asked James what he thought that was.
Him: Just a bat.
Me: Great! Now I’m expecting a bat to come zooming through out skylight, wreaking havoc on our home. Do you know how terrifying and creepy looking those things are? I’m going to have nightmares of a bat siege.
Him: No no. That’s not going to happen.
FAMOUS. LAST. WORDS.
While I have been feeling less anxious, I’ve noticed that the past few evenings have found me regressing, and spiraling back into some unproductive, nervous, panicky thinking. I know it’s because my mom is currently alone at her house while my dad packs up and drives his Colorado belongings back to the Cape. He’s been consulting during the week in Boulder for the past two years, but after everything that’s happened with my mom, has decided that that is no longer an option. It’s too scary to think about what could have happened had she not been with us during her emergency, so he headed out to Colorado to pack up and drive his car back east. While I know she is okay, the very thought of her being alone in her house has caused me to relive what happened over and over again each evening. Visualizing what could have been – which is totally unproductive and unhealthy – but it’s the truth.
While I had stopped needing the support of Valium, I opted to take it earlier this week to help ease my mind before bed. Last night, feeling now anxious about the bat, I considered doing so again, but instead opted to do some of the mental exercises my therapist has taught me to help manage anxious thought patterns.
I fell asleep, no pharmaceuticals needed.
At 2am, Addison appeared in our bedroom, requesting that one of us come and sleep with her. She and I have both been managing our anxious feelings about the night, and hers centers around neediness of a parental sleep buddy. James retreated to her bedroom and I drifted back to sleep.
At 3:30 or so, I heard one of the dogs whining and got up thinking that perhaps they needed to be let out to pee. I found Hanna passed out in the upstairs hallway, but Ursa was nervously pacing from room to room. When I encouraged her to head downstairs to go outside, she refused and kept pacing around. I, of course, was concerned that it was the cancer making her not feel well, but I managed to get her to settle back down at the foot of our bed.
A few minutes later I heard thumping and thudding in the hallway, and opened my eyes to Sunny literally crawling down the hall and into our bedroom. Directly behind her was James, also on all fours, crawling.
It took me a moment to register what on Earth I was witnessing, and I could not wrap my head around why they would be crawling into our bedroom at nearly four in the morning.
What an odd time to have Sunny play a game, JAMES.
They crawled into bed and James casually explained that that bat that he swore would not be infiltrating our home, yeah, well, it was zooming around our daughter’s bedroom.
THAT’S why Ursa had been whining. As he’s explaining this, I saw a shadowy creature flutter overhead and began shrieking and throwing the covers over me and Sunny for protection. The bat had decided to join Sunny and James on their army crawl into our bedroom.
Of course, my involuntary display of horror upset Sunny, and she and I clung to each other under the covers while James encouraged the bat to vacate our bedroom. And by “encouraged the bat to vacate our bedroom,” I mean, “he crouched in the corner, with a baseball hat perched on his head to “keep the bat from getting caught up in his flow,” until the bat decided to fly out of our room.”
He closed our bedroom door and went to try to get the bat to fly out a window or open door, thus leaving me with both dogs and Sunny huddled together. To try and help Sunny understand what was happening, I did a Google image search of bats.
TERRIBLE idea.
Do you know how fucking terrifying those things look?
Sunny caught a glimpse of the pictures and screamed, THAT was in my bedroom!
Damn bat is really helping the two of us get over our nighttime phobia.
After 45 minutes of waiting, with doors ajar, the bat exited the house and James returned to our bedroom. Sunny spent the reminder of the night pressed up against my body, and I couldn’t help but be transported back to our home in Los Angeles where she and I used to sleep curled against one another in the early months of her life. The one sweet spot during yet another batshit crazy farm experience.
And before James drifted back to sleep, he whispered across the covers, Guess you should have taken that Valium, huh?
Never a dull moment at Cartwheel Farm.
