It's Eleven O'Clock Somewhere

Yesterday's work day was thirteen and a half hours long, not including drive time.  Is it any wonder when eight o'clock in the evening rolls around that I'm studying the inside of my eyelids?  Surely there's got to be a way to stay awake for the late news without using toothpicks to prop open my eyes.

[Title taken from this.]

Bring Me a Dream

This was supposed to be another installment in the 30 Day Challenge.  But a nice full belly and a set of clean sheets later and this gal is headed off on a date with Mr. Sandman.

Go to Sleep You Little Baby*

I know a couple whose first, and so far only, child is nine months old.  There were crying jags when he wouldn't sleep for the world.  My heart went out to them but my mind quickly remembered my own sleepless nights with crying babies.  Been there, done that, no thank you.

There were countless readings of "Goodnight Moon", "The Velveteen Rabbit", "The Giving Tree", "Where the Wild Things Are".  And the singing!  Oy, vey!  The singing!  My repertoire consisted of "Hush, Little Baby", "Amazing Grace", "Down in the River", and any other gospel that my brain could remember at least a couple of lines.

And how many times would I start out of the door but the baby would realize I was leaving and start crying again?  They all have a knack for knowing when a parent is suffering from sleep deprivation and, in the back of their evil little minds, want to drive us over the sanity cliff.

So it was with much laughter that I stumbled upon a soon-to-be released children's book.  "Go the F**k to Sleep".  Those exact words crossed my mind more than once.  And anybody who claims that they love their baby every minute of every hour of every day and would never, never, never think something like that?  Well, as the author says in an interview I heard on the radio recently, "they're just full of sh*t."

*Title inspired by this.

Ticking Away the Moments That Make Up a Full Day

Sixteen hours!  In one day! 

Yep, that's right.  My day began on Friday morning at 8:30 a.m.  It ended at 12:30 a.m. Saturday.  The airline reservations were confirmed at 12:15 a.m.  This is how work weeks creep above 60 hours.  With early mornings (like Tuesday at 7:30) and late nights (like tonight). 

I'm about to do an impression of a bear during winter.  My cave-bed is calling.  There's nothing on my calendar until church on Sunday morning.  Of course, there's always the Sunday 5:00 p.m. service.  It would allow for several more hours of hibernation.

It Was Early Morning, Yes, Today

When the alarm went off, the radio station reported that it is going to be a gorgeous day today.  But where's the sun?  After showering and dressing to my shoes, the few steps outside for the newspaper revealed only a tinge of pink in the eastern sky.  If I was supposed to be up before the sun, I would be a farmer.  Is anyone else having a hard time adjusting to Daylight Saving Time?

Before my eyes were fully open, while still lying in bed, the radio station followed up the weather with a report on people who have difficulty adjusting to the time change.  The advice was to maintain the usual wake-up time on the weekends and not to sleep late.  Great.  So I should go to sleep at 8:00 instead of 9:00?  Since my job keeps me away from home for close to 60 hours a week, when am I supposed to get anything done around the house?

How does everyone else fit in a life with a demanding job?  Suggestions?

Menu Plan: January 10 - January 16

In actuality it may have been only a week since the last menu plan was posted. It feels like two weeks. In the intervening seven days, my first experience in the paid workforce in many years began; my boss was sworn in as a freshman Member of Congress; another congressman and a senator both called me by name and hugged me in front of my coworkers; and I met another congressman who went to high school with my brother-in-law. Additionally, my New Year’s Resolution of cutting back on fast food for lunch is intact. And finally, a congresswoman from Arizona was shot at an official public event which killed at least one of her staffers.

Welcome to the life of a public servant.

The only rub is actually preparing a nutritious supper for the children, Mr. Gaelic, and me. The plan that I so diligently worked on last weekend in preparation for the first week on the job fell to pieces on Wednesday. Maybe working 52 hours this week had something to do with it. Wednesday and Thursday evenings ended up not with supper but with falling into bed two hours before my usual bedtime.

Lunches on the other hand ended up being much healthier than my usual fast food drive-thru. Truth be told, the plans for sack lunches fell apart Sunday evening when they weren’t prepared ahead of time. Instead, the cafeteria in my building has a variety of vegetables sides that end up being afterthoughts for most folks.

Here is this week’s plan.

• Monday
• Breakfast: oatmeal
• Lunch: cafeteria meal
• Supper: uhhhh…
• Tuesday
• Breakfast: cereal
• Lunch: cafeteria meal 
• Supper: hmmm… 
• Wednesday
• Breakfast: soft boiled eggs, toast
• Lunch: cafeteria meal 
• Supper: to be determined… 
• Thursday
• Breakfast: cream of wheat
• Lunch: cafeteria meal 
• Supper: no earthly idea… 
• Friday
• Breakfast: cinnamon toast
• Lunch: cafeteria meal 
• Supper: pint of ice cream or popcorn???
• Saturday
• Breakfast: sausage, eggs, grits, toast
• Lunch: tomato soup, grilled cheese sandwiches
• Supper: let’s just stand in front of the freezer until something comes to mind
• Sunday
• Breakfast: waffles, sausage
• Dinner: roast chicken, carrots, green beans
• Supper: can we have tomato soup and grilled cheese again???

For those of you who may have been snowed by my pretense of organization, you can see from the week’s menu that I plan to focus my organizational skills, and finite amount of brain energy, on getting my boss’s schedule under control. After that, I’ll be back to organize my family’s meals.

Work It, Boys and Girls, Work It

We have our own personal catwalk in our bedroom.  Just for two.  His and hers.  Seven feet off the ground.  And it gets used on a daily basis.

It didn't start out as a catwalk.  The designer would probably be insulted to know of its current use. 

The catwalk is actually the canopy of our bed.  Now I know I'll get lots of mail about this, but I was always taught that if a bed had four tall posts but no frame between the tops of the posts that it was a tester bed.  If it had a frame at the top of the posts (with or without linens hanging from the frame) then it was a canopy bed.  Our canopy bed has no linens hanging from the frame.

That frame is the catwalk.  And it's used by cats.  Thing 1 and Thing 2 figured out how to jump onto the frame from the headboard.  Not only do they walk on it, they perch on it to watch while we putter around the bedroom.  They also stalk each other on it. 

Thing 1 has a habit of following Thing 2 closely and swatting at her back legs to trip her and knock her off.  He doesn't share well.  There are countless scratch marks where Thing 2 has tried to hold on for dear life, her ears back in fear, and her eyes wide, as she's tried to push herself back onto the catwalk.

The worst part of having the catwalk right over our heads is when one or both are sitting on the rail when it's time for the humans to go to bed.  First the lights go off, but sleep doesn't follow quickly.  We're waiting to the muffled thud of a cat jumping onto the mattress from the frame. 

It's that fear that one of them will land on our heads.

If the Tennis Shoe Fits . . .

My exercise clothes were laid out the night before.  My before-bed routine was complete.  The blanket was tucked under my neck and sleep was delicious.

Too delicious, apparently.  Morning came much too soon.  Deirdre was way too alive, awake, alert, enthusiastic.  Today begins Spirit Week at the high school culminating with Homecoming this weekend.  She rifled through my closet looking for my house shoes to wear to school.  It's Pajama Day, after all.  She had the look down pat, complete with a pink eye mask stretched across her forehead.

The early morning search through my closet made a mess of my shoes.  Usually they're neatly placed with their mates.  In a rush to make it to the (easy) Pilates class, my hands reached into the dark closet and retrieved a pair of sneakers.  It wasn't until the class was on the floor removing our shoes that I even noticed the sneakers weren't from the same pair.  A blue shoe on one foot and a green shoe on the other. 

I feel like Little Miss Matched.  When is Crazy Dressed Day?

Street Dreams (Are Made of This)

Do you have a recurring dream?  My dreams aren't usually the exact same dream so much as a theme.  They typically are about houses and graveyards.  But in a good way. 

All types of houses - palatial, modern, gothic, cramped, secluded, etc.  Exploring the layout of the houses.  Upon awakening from a house dream, I'd be able to draw a blue print of the house in my dream and vividly describe every detail, piece of furniture and speck of dust. 

The graveyards in my dreams aren't the spooky, cobweb-covered nightmarish kind.  They're the kind with old markers, that I'm usually eagerly discovering on crisp fall days with lots of golden leaves in the trees and on the ground.  The kind of cemetery where I feel peaceful and am wanting to uncover bits of my family history.

But the past few months my dreams have been about a large city.  It's a city that seems familiar but isn't a city I've been to in waking life.  It's bustling with lots of cars and buses and taxis and pedestrians.  In my dreams, I've visited different areas of the same city. 

Last night it was a beautiful museum next to a small river.  I was so overtaken by the beauty of the scenery of the shops and parks just across the river that I didn't make it inside the museum, instead framing pictures in my camera's viewfinder looking through weeping willow branches.

Yes, yes.  I know what each dream "means".  Houses usually relate to oneself and personality.  Graveyards typically relate to unresolved grief.  Cities generally relate to community and one's social environments.

But do you think that this could be a case of a cigar being a cigar?  As a child, I wanted to be an architect and to this day still love drawing floor plans for my dream home (no pun intended).  I'm a genealogist who adores working in graveyards.  And I love to travel, often to large cities to experience new cultures.

Either that, or I'm a person with an ever-changing personality, who is grieving over someone or something, but who has a large circle of friends and opportunities.  I'll stick with the cigar theory.

Men and Stimpy

Every school day morning, throngs of teenagers appear on every third corner waiting for their bus to school. It’s the only time these creatures emerge from their lairs. Not until my kids were teens did I understand the strange habits of their species. One peculiarity is sleeping until noon on non-school days.

Dragging their sleepy butts out of bed yesterday for a nine o’clock Pilates class was torture to them. I found it quite enjoyable. They willingly dressed for the gym and participated, although not enthusiastically, in class.

As we headed back to the locker room afterwards, we passed some local firefighters who were there to work out. They have to stay in shape for their jobs. I wonder if “Fat Albert” Haynesworth could pass their physical test.

One of the firefighters spoke to me as we passed on the stairs. Once he was out of earshot, Deirdre whispered, “That’s one reason I like coming to the gym. To see the good looking firefighters.”

She won’t be so difficult to get out of bed for Pilates next week.

Triple Usually-Decaf Grande Latte

The good thing about not drinking caffeine is not having to depend on the stuff to wake up in the morning. Another good thing is that when you really need a good dose of high octane (like for a long-distance drive) it keeps you wide awake when you need it. But that's a double-edged sword.

When you're not used to drinking caffeine and you get yourself a triple shot latte on the road, not only does it keep you alert for the drive but it keeps you awake for hours and hours on end after you've arrived.

Maybe I should have gone for a single shot latte.

I'm Gonna Shoot that Rooster

Insomnia is a b*tch. Actually, it’s the caffeine that they snuck into my afternoon supposedly decaf latte. Whatever the cause, the effect is the same. The inability to sleep until it’s time to get up.

Anybody willing to deal some of their Ambien?

To Sleep; Perchance to ... Zzzz

Did you see "Lost in Translation"? That Sophia Coppola movie with Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson. Remember in the movie how they both were suffering from insomnia?

My sleep cycle is such that my doctor ordered a sleep study. Sleeping in a strange bed is quite difficult. Try sleeping in a strange bed, with a noisy air conditioner, and wires attached all over your head, face, and body. There was what felt like almost an hour of trying to get to sleep. Then the what-felt-like an hour of: waking up, deciding a trip to the restroom would help, trying to get the technicians attention to unhook me, and then trying to get back to sleep.

The technician woke me first to remove the wires because, of all the people spending the night, I was in the shallowest sleep. Arrgh!!! That was at 5:00 a. frickin' m. That makes less than five hours of sleep.

While the technician was removing the wires, he said that I didn't snore. What a relief! But he said that he knew why I didn't sleep. Why? He couldn't tell me because he's not an M.D. Great. Another wait for the doctor to tell me what's going on. While I'm waiting, a little nap would feel so good. Where's Bill Murray when you need him?

Arbitron Rated Lads and Lassies

The problem with having two teenagers in the house is that life can get excruciatingly loud as each one tries to be heard over the other. Over time my deaf ear has tuned out their "conversations" and other small annoyances.

But one thing that is still difficult to handle is waking up to a cacophony of musical tastes competing over the hallway airwaves. It's as if broadcasting their lives via their choice in music to the neighborhood is the only way to achieve standing among their peers.

Thank goodness the weekend is upon us. That blissful time when those sweet, adorable little teenagers sleep until noon and when looking in on your progeny makes you smile rather than grit your teeth and remark that "some animals eat their young".

Catch-22 mg tid

If you’ve been reading my blogs for a while, you know that there's a tear in my disc which chemically irritates the nerve causing back pain that radiates down my leg. Of all the treatments that the back doctor has tried, I’ve tolerated them fairly well – the epidural steroid shots, the schedule C pain meds, the nerve medicine. Until recently.

The fatigue has been getting worse during the last month. Calling in sick hasn’t been helping as much as it did. The most concerning symptom was on Tuesday on the way to the DAR meeting.

The car started drifting into other lanes. Even a stop for a Krispy Kreme full-caff latte didn’t clear the webs in the head. It was like driving in a mental fog. Even after the meeting and lunch with the ladies, the drive home was no different. I’m forgetting things – like my cell phone, or the grocery list, or words.

While visiting with a friend who’s a nurse, she pulled out her trusty pill book and checked my meds to see what the side effects are. Here are the side effects of my nerve medicine:

drowsiness – yep, got it
tiredness or weakness – got that
dizziness – got that one
headache – ditto
shaking of a part of your body that you cannot control – nope
double or blurred vision – I thought I was just tired
unsteadiness – oh yeah
anxiety – in not knowing what’s wrong with me
memory problems – especially short term
strange or unusual thoughts – um, apparently
unwanted eye movements – does that twitch count?
nausea – not really
vomiting – no
heartburn – yep
diarrhea – nope
dry mouth – very, I drink water like it’s going out of style
constipation – nope
weight gain – that’s what the scale says, I thought I was developing muscle
swelling of the hands, feet, ankles, or lower legs – no
back or joint pain – isn’t it supposed to help with the pain?
fever – no
runny nose, sneezing, cough, sore throat, or flu-like symptoms – for the past four days
ear pain – I thought it was associated with the sore throat
red, itchy eyes (sometimes with swelling or discharge) – I thought it was the pollen

Her diagnosis is that since I’m at the highest dosage for the medicine I’m close to overdosing. Since I’m a single mother again while my husband is on a business trip, I asked a friend to drive me to the internist. My concern lies in what will alleviate the back pain without knocking me off my feet. I can’t spend my life in bed. Unless there’s room service. And cabana boys.

Agenda for Today

Hurry, hurry, hurry…

Before the next job…
Then there’s supper…

Why pancakes for supper? Because it’s…

Then home to…

St. Vincent Midaze

My eldest child seems to think that she can stay up until midnight doing homework, get up the next day at 6:30 to get ready for school and still be able to function during the day without her work suffering or herself crashing. At breakfast this morning, we were having oatmeal since the forecast called for snow and the children needed something that would stick to their ribs. Our family doctors up the oatmeal with a pat of butter, a short handful of raisins, and a sprinkling of brown sugar.

Being the last one to table this morning, she tried to open the plastic liner bag of brown sugar. She was complaining that the bag hadn’t been opened and was about to rip the end seam out of the bag when my husband took the bag from her, flipped it around, and showed her the opened end that everyone had used.

“I think you’re sleep deprived,” he said as my brunette child had a quizzical blonde-headed look on her face.

Her current creed is:

My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends -
It gives a lovely light.
-Edna St. Vincent Millay

Mea Culpa of Joe

I gave up caffeine almost 14 years ago. But in the rush of the holiday season, I ended up buying two pounds of regular coffee because it was such a good sale and we were out of coffee. Over the holidays I completely forgot that it was caffeinated. Until I tried to figure out why my sleep pattern is so out of whack.

I thought it might still be from the family emergency back in November. But that doesn’t make sense since other things are moving back to some semblance of normalcy.

After much thought and discussion, I reasoned it had to be the coffee which I began drinking at some point over the holidays, not remembering that it wasn’t my preferred decaf.

Now I’m suffering withdrawal. The last time I quit caffeine cold-turkey, I gained all kinds of weight from water retention. Caffeine is a diuretic, after all.

This time, I wake up with headaches and get all antsy by mid-morning. I’m still wide-awake at 11:00 p.m. instead of dozing off like I used to. I’m not quite sure if the siesta that I want to take in the early afternoon is due to my food-induced coma or to my caffeine withdrawal.

Either way, I should step away from the computer after lunch. Or else, make a habit of checking the deleted file for anything that inadvertently ends up in there thanks to my water-plumped, dead-weight fingers resting on the keyboard while I rest my eyes.

My Day in Pictures

Yes, knitting was one of today's activities. And as you can see from the picture at left, alas, no fire in the fireplace. Not much work was completed on the project, but it's coming along nicely. Don't I look very relaxed in my chair with my needles? That's because I enjoyed what's in the picture to the right earlier in the day.

Unlike the picture, though, sleep was one of today's pleasures. After two very late nights of a Girl Scout sleepover and movie night on the 30th and dinner and a play on New Year's Eve, I really needed a good nap. Don't we all love catching a cat nap every once in a while? Especially when the sun is warming your back as you read a new book.

Ah, heaven in a couple of hours. I can't tell you how refreshing it was to stretch out on the couch, toss a warm fuzzy blanket over me and snuggle up with one of the kittens.

But soon, our obligations flooded in again in the form of an open house at our neighbors' house across the street. Even though we weren't the oldest couple at the party (the kids stayed at home), we appeared that way since our youngest is older than most of the other children in our neighborhood. My husband likes to call me his child bride.

Yep, that's right. A true Southern New Year's dinner, complete with baked ham, black-eyed peas, and collard greens. It's the last celebration of the Christmas holiday but the first celebration of 2009.

My New Year's resolution is to entertain more. If I could, I'd have a party of some sort every month. Maybe I should include tomorrow's gathering. I've invited over a dozen women (and one guy) for a knitting session. Hen Party! Look out!

Walk the Wine

My children's piano teacher is also a friend of the family. She lives two blocks away and we are her only students. She has a "real" job during the day.

So when she arrived for the lesson last night, we learned she had a really long day and offered her some wine. But alas, like a sloshed Mrs. Hubbard, our wine cupboard was bare, except for half a bottle of some really nice port. (Note to self: buy wine.)

"No thanks. That'll put me to sleep."

I have another friend who has a similar response to red wine. Darn it, but nightcaps don't work like that for me.

When I was little, my mother would give me a cup of warm milk at night to help me sleep. Now the thought of warm milk is accompanied by an involuntary gag reflex. Until I realized that the latte that I like so much is more hot milk than hot espresso. So rather than take a bottle of red wine with me to bed, I'll slowly decrease the amount of espresso until I can drink the warmed milk like I could when I was a child. Nothing like warm milk (or good sex, but that's a blog for another day) to help you sleep.