Wednesday is weakening my wesolve (wink, wink) leaving me less than perky.
A daughter’s “nightmarer” made the sleeping touch and go and the morning hours rough.
Ninety-nine percent humidity on this October the third? My sweaters and boots are waiting more patiently than I.
Getting out of stretchy pants at some point today might have helped. Instead I look like I could roll right back into bed, which most likely will happen when it’s time for little people to hit the hay; snuggle in and dream until Thursday.
If I hadn’t been searching for a Wednesday image, though, I wouldn’t have come across Christian Petersen’s terrific work. Could this print be any cuter or more apropos?
What about your Wednesday? Wonderful or wacky or weird or whatever…?
I fell asleep at 6:30 last night in between the girls with my body teetering on top of the crack that separates their pushed together full-sized beds. I knew it was going to happen. There would be no time for television or Internet surfing, Skyping my sister or talking with my husband. There was nothing more important or necessary than sleep.
Sleep gets a bad wrap. I’ve heard it said, “You don’t need to sleep, you can sleep when you’re dead!” Once, I had a heated conversation about a friend who did, “Nothing but sleep,” when really she was just an exhausted mom whose time in peaceful slumber was her only opportunity to give back to herself.
Why are folks so hard on something so important? I’m no sleep expert, but I know that it rejuvenates the body and the mind.
It makes sense that people who are struggling with difficulties in their life want to sleep, to escape from realities that might be too hard to manage. What’s wrong with that? If it’s something they need, isn’t it better than acting out, than being cruel out of exhaustion, frustration or anger?
And when we sleep, we dream, giving our subconscious the time and space to work stuff out.
I had a dream last night about an old boyfriend. He was sweetness and light until his friends showed up and then decided to ditch me to go sky diving. Whether or not he had a parachute remained to be seen, though I sort of hoped he didn’t. He didn’t kiss me goodbye as he walked out the door and I promptly went to his room to collect my bits of clothes that had been left there. My wedding dress was hanging in the closet, which I tossed over my arm as I made my escape. I hurried to my car where I met my sister cousin and our third musketeer, Kirtsen. We piled in and drove to a shoe store where we tried on beach flip flops and agreed that it was a good thing for me to leave. It was up in the air whether or not I’d go back.
It may seem to some like I dreamed a whole lot of nonsense, but it actually sums up a lot about me; my never-ending confusion about relationships, about men, my wedding dress representing where I am now, my friends whom I miss, shopping (quite possibly my actual first love), and my need for new flip flops (they stretch out you know).
This morning as I began to wake with four pokey feet pressed underneath me for warmth, I felt better than I have in days. The exhaustion of last night has been replaced with new energy for a new day.
I am going to need it. There are eight miles to run. The girls need to be driven to pre-school. I will shower and try to look half decent before returning to pick them up. We have a birthday party tonight, a cake to decorate and dinner to be bought and prepared. There will be laundry to wash (there is always laundry to wash), though folding will not be happening with everything else on the agenda (that’s what the laundry bed is for). At some point, little bodies will need to be bathed and a playroom that looks like a cyclone hit it hard must be tidied. The poor playroom; always last on the list.
The most important element is that there will be a smile on my face while I do it all today, which was missing yesterday. I tried to mask the exhaustion with sugar and near constant grazing when what I really needed was a good long rest.
Sleep equals rest, which equals energy, that equals a happier mom and ultimately a happy everyone else.
The weather has been perfect for running, but I am tired and need a break. My hips are sore and my left toe joint is flaring. If training for a marathon took up a lot of time before, it’s using even more lately as I have to stop to ice the old bones a few times a day, making it hard to do my job; kids, clean, kids, clean, clean kids, clean.
The first sign that rest is needed, after feeling old injuries coming on, is lackluster running. In truth the only thing that kept me going for yesterday’s eight miler was the extended description of Sookie and Bill’s first time. At least I had a smile on my face.
When I dozed off yesterday afternoon, leaving my kids to their own devices, I realized I needed to switch up the plan.
When I woke, both girls had emptied their piggy banks onto the bedroom floor and made a long circular path of coins for their princesses to walk upon. Surprisingly, they were playing nicely and unlike the last time I fell asleep in the middle of the day, no one had cut their own bangs. I couldn’t help thinking they were like those dogs you hear about whose owners have died and then stay close for comfort. For this I was grateful, though I don’t really like being the dog owner in that scenario. The reality is that (indeed) I was (and am) dead tired.
I am choosing not to run tomorrow’s five miler in an effort to give myself an extra day of rest. By Saturday I am sure I’ll be itching to hit the road.
Tired girls throw tantrums. I threw one this morning.
As soon as Brian came downstairs I started the kvetch about my exhaustion. I ignored Grace’s crying for me to pour her milk and instead growled, “Have your father do it!” I stomped upstairs, slammed my bedroom door, and threw the blanket right over my head. It was a little tantrum, but it worked. The kids left me alone and I slept from 8:15 to 9.
To all my lovely clickers who read this mornings post entitled Dear Santa, Please forgive me for my lack of good editing. I usually hem and haw over hitting the publish button, but this morning I didn’t. I hate it when that happens.
To my husband, himself a part-time clicker (who may or may not not read this), thanks for doing daughter duty this morning and allowing me the (almost an) hour nap I sorely needed. Next time though, when I’m not around and the girls ask for that ziplock bag filled with colorful “candy balls” high in the pantry, don’t believe them when they say, “Mommy says we can have them.” Those balls were gum. When you weren’t looking, Sophie hid the bag behind the sofa and spent the morning chewing and swallowing them.
To my kids, Moms get crabby too. Sorry if I was mean and snappy. When you asked me to go to the play room to attach the ladder to the doll house again, after I had already done it once, I was really frustrated. Sometimes I just wish you could do more things on your own and rely on me a little bit less. I know there will come a day when I’ll wish for you to need me for stuff, but this morning was not it. I know you know that I was tired and I love you even when you are bossy and won’t let me sleep. I don’t like it, but you I love!
After my rest I came down to check out the damage. Brian had fed the girls and the toy explosion that usually happens when I’m off duty was manageable. Brian left for work, the girls played, and I partook in a good dose of “healthy” Internet shopping (fill the bag and don’t hit purchase) until back upstairs we went. I started more laundry, cleaned off the bed that my mother-in-law will sleep in when she arrives tomorrow, and got into the shower.
Afterward, I gave my face a good cream dousing (Eucerin, if you are interested) and patted on some acid laced eye cream from Sephora. I put on my cozy hooded thermal that my sister gave me on her first visit to Raleigh and my wide legged Lucy yoga pants. They have a fold over waistband that makes it look like a skirt is attached. Between the “skirt” and the wide legs, I looked thin enough to trick myself into believing that the chocolate chips and half bag of marshmallows I ate after breakfast didn’t happen.
Isn’t it funny how a little nap, some moisturization, and comfy yoga pants can turn a ho-hum day into an I’m-doing-the-best-that-I-can-and-it’s-all-okay kind of day? I’m feeling pretty good now.
Books were read and the light turned out. Within seconds, they were asleep. For a moment I contemplated getting my tired body up and dragging myself downstairs to see the husband.
Exhaustion won, I gave myself permission to stay in the bed, and quickly floated off to dreamland. Out like the light.
I was awaken later (I actually don’t know how much later) to husband pulling my leg and sighing in frustration.
“Great!” he grumped.
At 4:30 this morning, Sophie woke me to tell me she was hungry.
I told her to drink some water.
She was still hungry.
Grace rolled over and had to pee.
Here we go again.
Santa, Dear Santa,
All I want for Christmas is an entire night’s sleep. I want to watch a new episode of Real Housewives first (Atlanta or Bev Hills, please). I want to fall to sleep in my own bed as the preview for next week begins. I’d like my husband to be so happy that his wife is getting rest that he doesn’t mind another night alone. I don’t want anyone to cough or have to pee or cry from a nightmarer (not a nightmare, a nightmarer) and I’d like to stay that way until at least 10:00 the next morning.
I’ve been a very good girl this year, not to mention good sleep is part of the training plan.
The sun is not close to being up, I have a headache, and woke up to a couple of Chatty Cathy’s. I knew I should have gone to sleep earlier last night, but was sucked in by those Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
Before my eyes have opened, the Cathy’s are embroiled in a deep conversation about the children in their future.
Chatty Cathy A says she is going to have a baby boy and a girl baby. Their names will be Bob and Natalie.
Chatty Cathy B is also going to have a boy and girl. Their names will be Fred and Carah.
Sophie has to pee, but doesn’t want to go alone. She says she’s scared, even though the nightlight is about as bright as the sun. I throw off the covers and escort her one door down.
Grace runs in and turns on the even brighter bathroom light. I stand there and wait. I need coffee and they know it. They whine when I try to sneak down the stairs.
Sophie sees that Grace is wearing a nightgown and decides she needs one too. She didn’t need one last night and chose her Frosty fleecies. I don’t know where the other, “Christmas Balls,” nightgown is located, but I check the guest room bed that’s covered in clean laundry. It’s not there, nor is it in the pajama drawer. A small fit is averted when she finds her monkey footsies. She needs me to help her put them on, so I sit down and turn the feet right side out.
Grace’s hands are cold and she wants to find her mittens. I lie and say that we gave them to the babies who didn’t have mittens. I use this excuse a lot. There are a lot of babies wearing lots of our things (and playing with lots of our toys and sucking all of our pacifiers). More whining ensues.
We trudge down the stairs. Daddy lowered the heater last night, so it’s cold. I turn it back up and throw on the poncho Peachie knit for me.
I get the coffee going while I’m still on auto pilot, and crack open the Advil.
I turn on Nickelodeon and go back to my coffee. I wait. The coffee brews, but the Advil still hasn’t kicked in.
When I finally sit, Grace brings me paper and markers. She wants me to, “write,” our family, which really means she wants me to draw them. I explain the difference and sketch my best stick people. She wants the girls to be wearing princess dresses. Every family member needs to be in a different color. Peach and Aerobella are always included.
Sophie decides she wants a picture too, but when I get to her stick person, the marker dies, and she runs off. Thank goodness for dying markers.
The girls go into their kitchen and Grace colors her paper. It’s quiet for a moment.
I need more coffee.
Sophie is hungry and finds the Trader Joe’s Kettle Corn. She brings it to me and asks for a pink bowl. I get up to get one for her and sit back down to type. Grace sees the bowl and I’m up again.
I tell them I am still not awake and this time it’s my turn to whine. “I’m still sleeping. Leave me alone!”
I’ve got to go to sleep earlier tonight.
I look over my shoulder and the sun is starting to come up. The Advil and coffee are finally working, and I am finally awake.
An ode to the first one hour and fourteen minutes of my day.