Tag Archives: sleep

Looking forward to the sequel

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On Saturday I wrote about my family being away and how I was counting the minutes until their return. They returned Sunday around 5 p.m. It’s now 4:39 Monday a.m. and I am wondering when their next trip is planned.

I fell asleep at around 11 last night happy to have my husband and girls back and glad that they all enjoyed their adventures. I drowsed off contentedly, foolishly assuming that a full night’s sleep would follow.

At midnight, I was awakened by a horrific cacophony beside me. In a few seconds I ascertained that a leaf blower was not running in my bed, Darling Hubby was snoring. VERY loudly. I scampered to the quiet of the guest room and was back to sleep after some tossing and turning before 1 a.m.

At 3 a.m. Tate came in to discuss the loot the Tooth Fairy had left her (she lost on tooth while on her weekend adventure). I pulled her into bed with me and assured her that I would love to hear all about – any time after 6 a.m. I was back to sleep by 3:30.

A little after 4:15 Tate woke me up again, this time with growing pains in her legs. I staggered down the hall in search of children’s Advil. Two minutes after taking it, she informed me loudly that it wasn’t working yet. I explained that we needed to give it a few minutes but agreed to look for the cream we had for muscle aches if she would stop crying. That search led me to pawing through my bedroom medicine cabinet muttering loudly that I had not truly planned on sleeping tonight anyway. It must have woken Darling Hubby who came into the guestroom.

“What’s up?” he asked in the annoyingly chipper tone of someone who had spent the last five hours asleep.

“Tate is. Has been on and off since 3. The Tooth Fairy came, and then leg cramps did. I am working on the leg cramp issue now,” I said in what I am sure was NOT the chipper tone of someone who spent the last five hours asleep.

“Tater, why didn’t you come in with Daddy?” he asked. “I don’t mind.”

While I resisted the urge to smack him, Tate replied, “Because I heard you talking and I know Mommy is a doctor, so I came to her.”

“No Tate, Mommy is not a doctor. Mommy HAS a doctorate and a love of sleep. It’s okay to wake up Daddy sometimes you know,” I told her.

“I think Sponge Bob would help my leg,” she told me. “Do you mind if we cuddle and watch Sponge Bob?”

“Yes, at this hour I mind very much. Besides, I don’t think Sponge Bob is on at 4:30 in the morning. You need to go back to sleep. More importantly Mommy NEEDS to go back to sleep. Sleep needs to be our major form of entertainment right now.”

“You know what else is entertaining,” she asked. “Farting. Watch, I am going to fart and its really funny.” She proceeded to deliver on her threat and laugh maniacally. At which point, I gave Darling Husband a look designed to convey that someone was about to get hurt and I was not feeling terribly discriminating about who that would be.

“C’mon Tater, come in with Daddy and snuggle,” Darling Husband said to her. “I think Mommy is a little grumpy and needs her sleep.”

Captain Obvious and Tate retreated to my bedroom. I can hear them both snoring now. I am returning to the guest room to mentally plan their next daddy/daughter weekend.


What ever happened to Billy Zabka?

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What is it about some movies that they just make you completely lose track of common sense?

I just spent the last two hours watching, back to back, the last hour of Dirty Dancing and the last hour of The Karate Kid. Now, I have probably seen Dirty Dancing - and this is just a rough estimate – four hundred million times. And we own a DVD copy of The Karate Kid, so I could watch it commercial-free any time I wanted.

But there I sat, mesmerized, as the minutes rolled by and midnight came and went. The laundry didn’t get done, and I didn’t finish the book that’s due back to the library tomorrow, and I vaguely remember Byron telling me at some point he was going to bed. None of it mattered, when compared to “Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” and “Get ‘im a body bag!”

Tomorrow, I’ll be dragging myself out of bed, when I’ve pushed the snooze button twice more than I really should have. I’ll be harried and exhausted and I’ll be mentally kicking myself, wondering what in the hell I was thinking staying up this late to watch old eighties movies that I’ve seen so many times.

But some movies have the power to make you forget everything but that really good scene that’s coming up after the next commercial break.

Now I’m off to bed, although maybe first I’ll flip through the channels and make sure nobody is showing The Princess Bride.


Ready for Social Security

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I am officially 80 years old. Today I fell asleep on the couch while watching “The Price is Right.” I woke up, completely disoriented, to commercials for Metamucil and Hoveround chairs. Tylenol Cold may or may not have been involved.

On the bright side, I’m pretty sure this is what my family thinks I do every day.


Padding her résumé

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Tate brought home a form in her backpack and presented it to me. “You have homework, Mommy” she announced.

Indeed, the form is designed to give Tate’s kindergarten teacher some insight into Tate. It asks things such as her hobbies, special talents, forms of discipline that have worked, our concerns for her and a host of other thoughtful probing questions.

I spent hours on the form. I pondered my child analytically. I referenced her journals from pre-school. I did an informal survey on FaceBook of people who knew Tate. I grilled Darling Husband while he tried to watch television. Then I did what any good mother in my situation would do; I lied my ass off.

I provided true-enough answers for some questions but I believe the essence of Tate cannot be reduced to a few short lines and if I attempted to do so, her new teacher may fear her, not appreciate her.

Honest answers would have looked something like this:

Hobbies: Harassing her older sister, waking one or both parents at 2 a.m. for pop quizzes about world events, telling everyone she meets that she is a secret ninja, asking her mother multiple times a day if her lip is bleeding.

Special Talents: Performing naked “booty dances” after evening bath, singing “Teenage Dirtbag” by Wheatus at extreme volumes, jumping out at people and causing a coronary by yelling, “I am a secret ninja, fear me.” Can act out all parts of any Disney movie ever seen, with high honors in “The Lion King.”

Career Aspirations: Vegas showgirl and secret ninja.

Interesting Fact: Insists that Pink’s song “So What?” will be her wedding song.

Disciplinary Tactics That Have Proven Effective: n/a

Our Concerns For Her: That she will reach age 80 before sleeping through the night in her own bed and that she will have to be raised by her Aunt Karen after we succumb to exhaustion.

What We Expect From This School Year: Very little boredom.

All in all, its not a bad resume for a five year old girl, come to think of it.


He could get Grandpa to buy him anything he wants, right now

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It’s 10:00 and Reid just woke up. He has a cold and he’s also having a hard time adjusting to the new schedule – he naps, and then he can’t go to sleep at night, and then he gets up late, and then he won’t nap and he’s exhausted by 7:00…

Anyway, he just woke up and I asked him (as I always do), “What did you dream about?”

“Darth Vader was chasing me.”

“Oh no! Were you scared?”

“No.”

“Really? I would have been scared.”

“Grandpa was holding my hand.”


I Ain't No Hollaback Girl, clearly

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Cat and I were snuggling at bedtime when she asked me what “Holla” means. “It’s something you say to your friends when you see them, like in the hallway, that means hi and I will catch up with you later. It’s slang.”

“For young people?” she asked.

“Exactly” I said.

“So I won’t be hearing YOU use it then,” she declared.

“Obviously. But thanks for the reminder.”

“No problem Mommy, I just didn’t want you to forget that you are really really old.”

“Duly noted. Good night Cat.”

“Holla Mom.”