snack attack

 
For the past month I complained about not getting quality sleep.  My ears were tuned to, "Merry!"  And that meant only one thing.  I had to get up and push Truett to the bathroom. 

 
But then the familiar cry, "Merry!" meant more than that.  It meant, "Crap!  He's hungry again!"  Sure enough, at 12:30 a.m., at 2:00 a.m., and again at 4:30 a.m., I would drag myself out of the bed, grumbling the whole time.  "What now?" became my question.

 
"I'm hungry," Truett would say.  Or. . ."I'm thirsty!" he would say.  Well, folks.  It took me about three weeks of this before a lightbulb popped in my head.

 
I dashed to the hall closet and drug out my lunch bag I often took to school with me.  That night I filled the lunch bag with chips, a banana,a baggie of canteloupe, two granola bars and a cold bottle of water.  Then I showed it to Truett.

 
"Now!" I stated.  "There's no reason you need to wake me up during the night!"  It's amazing how long it took my little brain to figure out how to solve my problem, but it did.

But wait!  There is more good news here.  The other night I heard Truett's wheelchair rolling through the hall.  After that I heard the refrigerator door close and I heard Frosted Mini Wheats being crunched.  My husband has finally learned how to get his own snacks when he has a snack attack! 

Praise the Lord!

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[Nancy]

Where there's a will, there's a way! Now, that's progress!