A Troubled Mind; An Ingrown Toenail

I'm not a good judge, really - but you tell me if you think this just might be a sign of a troubled mind. . .

Since we all know that a certain person is afflicted with G.S.D. (Goldilocks Sleep Disorder) she's been known to spend many-a-night tossing and turning in her bed. . .  worrying about when her daughters will be home. . . deriding herself for not making doctors' appointments. .  .wondering if her bladder will hold 'til morning. .  trying to decide whether her hematoma or her ingrown toenail hurt her more. . .

But whatever the initial thoughts upon waking in the wee-hours of the morning, her wandering brain eventually rolls around to the upcoming day - which is, without fail, immediately followed by one overwhelming emotion:

DREAD.

Because first she'll have to shower.  And then make the coffee.  And who else would ever feed or take the dog out?   And chances are she'll have to empty the dishwasher AND get dressed for the day.  Because there's work.  WORK! Ugh!  Now God-forbid she have a meeting.  Or an appointment.  Or a dreaded funeral. . . How will she do it?   It's WORK. .  . all of it!

And if, by chance, she has a dinner with friends or another social engagement planned for the evening hours, she might-as-well just throw those covers over her head right now (making sure the inflamed toe stays outside) and consider calling in sick. . .from the WORK of it all. . .

Can you tell me. . . why must she have KALE in her refrigerator?  She's never tried kale.  But -being that it's there - she just might be forced to cook it.  And from the looks of it, that leafy stuff is going to require washing.  And chopping.  And sauteing.  Ditto with the eggplant.  What's wrong with frozen peas?

Oh, she had better make sure her wine stash is sufficient.

Do you think she can keep letting the dog hobble around like that?  Or do you think that pooch really needs surgery?  'Cause I'm not sure she could bear it if surgery is in order.  First there's the whole PAYING for it thing (and she's always found it best to avoid thoughts of how things are going to be paid for). . . the appointments to make. . .  the inevitable DOING of it. . .

The DOING of it is exhausting.  The THINKING of it even more so.

So why does sleep continue to ellude her?

Why does that damn toenail hurt so much?
And where's that "curist" when a girl needs her????

Misery Loves Company. . .

Phone conversation overheard earlier today between mother and daughter while groggy mother is at work . . . 

~~~~~~~~~~

Trigger:   Mom!

Trigger:  Mom!

Me:  Yes?

Trigger:  Did you get my text?  Why didn't you get back to me?

Me:  You know, Trig, I did get that text.  But I didn't really appreciate the fact that you sent it to me at 3 in the morning, so I didn't respond to it.

Trigger:  Well I didn't want to forget.

Me:  How was it that you needed to tell me to refill your prescription at that particular moment and couldn't wait until morning?  Were you in terrible pain?  Are you out of medicine?

Trigger:  No, but I only have five left.

Me:   I think it could have waited until morning. . .

Trigger:  You always tell me not to sleep with my phone. . . . why do you?

Me:   Because, my dear, I use my phone as my alarm clock.   You know I have GSD (Goldilocks Sleep Disorder) and I need a mobile alarm clock.  As it was, I happened to be in the third and final bed of the night.  And after your little text message I didn't get back to sleep until 5!

Trigger:  Well you could have texted me back.  I was awake you know.  . . .

MISSING!

A Mom on Spin's sanity. . . or perhaps - more accurately - her R.E.M. sleep.

Yes, my friends, the dreaded Goldilock's Sleep Disorder (a.k.a. GSD) has returned once again to haunt our favorite mom with a vengeance!

Is it the fact that she has a new boss who she wants to impress? That she's currently in an email fight with Veggie? Or a real-time fight with Drip Dry? (Perhaps if A Mom on Spin would stop blogging about all-things-personal her family wouldn't be mad at her . . . ) Or how about the fact that Trigger is now calling from college to complain that her that her face is swollen!!! (Yes, swollen. . . imagine reporting that symptom to Trigger's friendly rhuematologist. . . .) or that Ponzi has won one of the coveted stomach letters on the high school football team's unofficial booster squad - flashing nothing more than the second "R" and a sports bra for all to see? (Nice abs on that girl, though, I've gotta say that gym membership really pays off. . .)

Regardless of the reason, a monetary reward for return of A Mom on Spin's sleep will be offered as soon as she can think and see clearly once again and her daughters stop sucking every last living dollar out of her bank account. . .

All interested parties can contact her anywhere between 1:00 and 5:30 a.m. . . No doubt she'll be wide awake in one of her three beds. (None of which, it seems, can be deemed Just right!)

No Sleepy with Matey. My New Room Is Greaty. . .

It has happened.

After almost 23 years of marriage and 22 years of motherhood . . . (don't you go counting now. . . Veggie was five weeks early . . .) I have arrived!

For I have created my own space.

That's right. In this four-bedroom, five-human, two-animal, five-alarm, and always-dysfunctional household of mine, I have reclaimed a place for myself.

For me!

And I ask you. . . why is it that - just because you fall in love and choose to marry another human being - you are expected to give up your privacy. . . your solitude. . . . your escape from the world. . . tossing your alone time and sleeping habits in with his??? Did any one of us hear the officiant ask a question like, Do you promise to sleep in the same cramped bed as this man regardless of either party's crazy insomniatic or snoring conditions????

I didn't.

For little did I know that G.I.D. (Goldilocks Insomiac Disorder) would rear its ugly head approximately one week out of each month and leave me literally itching for a fresh bed at 3:00 a.m. . . Nor did I know that - after years of being on-call for each daughter's homework/boyfriend/proma/wardrobe/best-friend/drama, I would yearn for the night when I could post an Off Duty! sign on my bedroom door. . .
And so tonight, my friends, I am blogging in my newly appointed study (although there's nothing studious about it . . . ) It is my retreat . . . my refuge . . . my sanctuary. . . my haven . . . my oasis . . . and I have taken Ponzi's lavender color scheme and added my own black and white. . . and candles. . . and orchids. . . and books. . . and music. . . and antique desk. . . and yoga blankets. . . and - oh - I can't forget my blogging boots. . . and - yes - I am feeling happy. . . and peaceful. . . and satisfied. . . and serene. . . and awfully zen-like. . .

Zen-like.

I'm not sure I know what it means, but I sure am feeling it. . .

If Baby Bear Only Knew . . .

It doesn't happen often, but every once in a great while I get to beat Ponzi in her own game. And I have to confess that I love it!

Without boring you to death, I need to provide a brief background for today's reenactment of last night's conversation. If you read my blog faithfully, you will know that Ponzi and her friends were in the process of moving Ponzi into Veggie's room. Well, part of said process was to empty Veggie's walk-in closet of the three hundred Prom dresses, two hundred stuffed animals, and one hundred pairs of shoes (that's 200 shoes for those of you who are counting. . .) which Veggie so thoughtfully left behind. And so the movers decided that the most expedient thing to do would be to deposit all of the above in Ponzi's old (and tiny) room (you know. . .the room that has now been designated as my study) and so they quickly became transfer agents - moving all of Veggie's discarded items down to Ponzi's old room and bringing only Ponzi's best and treasured items up to her new room. The result? Ponzi's old room (a.k.a. my study) is now filled to the brim with Veggie and Ponzi's discarded shoes and clothing.

Part Two of the details which I don't want to bore you with has to do with My Sleep Disorder . . . whereby I - like Goldilocks - often go searching at 3:00 a.m. for a fresh bed to cure my insomnia . . . hence, the reason for having a relief bed in my new study. The only problem was (and with me there always has to be one, right????) this bed was stacked high with prom dresses and the like. . . and so - despite my repeated pleas for Ponzi to clean out that room - my Goldilock's butt had landed squarely on the family room couch at 3:00 a.m. the proceding night and - let me tell you - that's just Not right! in my book.

All of this to explain why I made a preemptive strike and went to bed at 9:00 p.m. in Ponzi's new room. . . calling her before I did to give her fair warning. . .

~~~~~~~~~~

Ponzi: You're what? You can't sleep in there!

Me: Oh, I can too! I can - and will - sleep there every night until you get my new room cleaned out.

Ponzi: Fine! Then I'm just gonna jump into bed with you.

Me: Well that's fine with me!

Ponzi: I will, you know. . . I'll do it!

Me: Oh, I don't doubt it. . . but it won't bother me in the least!

Ponzi: It won't bother me either!

Me: Fine?!?!
 
Ponzi: Fine!

Me: But I need to warn you that I snore all night. That's why your father doesn't like to sleep with me, you know. . .

Ponzi (continuing the brave front): Well that won't bother me either! I'll sleep right through it!

Me: Well, obviously, if I'm the one doing the snoring, I'll sleep through it too! So that will make two of us!

Ponzi: Yeah. . . two of us. . .

Me: Two of us. . .sleeping. . . together. . .

Ponzi: That's right!

Me: Fine!

Ponzi: Fine!

~~~~~~~~~~

Needless to say. . . Ponzi climbed into bed with Trigger, while I slept like . . . like. . . well, like everything was Just right!

. . . Hey! Anybody want to be my roommate at BlogHer next summer????

Me (just for fun. . . or added insurance. . . or perhaps, both. . . ): And I have bad breath, you know. . . and I get hot flashes. . . like in the middle of the night . . . and I have to throw my nightgown off at the oddest times to combat them . . and your father also tells me that I fart all night too, but I don't believe him!!! I think it's he who's doing the farting all along and just blaming it on me. . .

One Morning a Week (It's Like Parent Abuse)

Braja and Amy haven't asked me to participate in their One Morning a Week exchange. . . but they should.

'Cause I could show them what each of them has mericfully avoided - Braja, all peaceful and serene in her Indian village . . . and Amy, all busy in the throes of raising her three young sons.

So I'm barging in - just for today - to show them what my morning was like yesterday (If they want contrast, I'll show them contrast. . . ) and someday in the future, they just might thank me for it.

Oh, and if any of you want to take the role of Me in this one, go right ahead. . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I was sound asleep in my Goldilocks bed at 6:45 a.m.- after battling a long, nomadic, and sleepless night - only to be awakened by Trigger's revelrie. . . .

Trigger: Mom or Dad?

Me: (all croaky morning voicey) Yes?

Trigger: Mom or Dad?

Me: (still croaky - cause, remember, I've been sick. . . ) Yes?

Trigger: MOM or DAD!!!!

Me: Trigg! You don't have to be so loud. I was trying to answer you!

Trigger: Well, I have to be that loud 'cause you're both like practically deaf!

Me: What is so important that you need to wake me up at this time in the morning?

Trigger: I need $75 for my Prom bid.

Me: Is your room picked-up yet? The cleaners are coming today and you promised you'd have it ready by 10:00 last night.

Trigger: But I need the money.

Me: You'll get it when your room is clean.

and so I drift peacefully back to sleep only to be awakened again ten minutes later. . .

Trigger: My room's clean, now where's the money?

Me: I'll get up and get it in a minute

Trigger: You said I'd have it when my room is clean. My room is clean now and I don't have it.

Me: I said You'll get it when your room is clean, not, You'll have it the second your room is clean. . . give me a minute! You're not walking out the door right this moment are you?

Trigger: No, but it like practically takes you ten minutes just to write a check. . .

Me: Shut up!

Trigger: Are you saying Shut up! to your own daughter? That's real grown-up, Mom!




Will someone please promise me something?

When I really do get old and I'm like practically deaf and I start moving a wee-bit slower and it might take me like ten minutes to write a check . . . .can you see to it that I'm never left alone in a room with Trigger? 'Cause I just might strangle her, but it will probably take me like a half-hour to do it! and she might get to me first!

Why every mother should have texting on her phone plan

I don't text.

That's right, you heard correctly. I don't text.

Alright, I'll rephrase that. I don't text. . . gracefully.

In fact, in an effort to save a few pennies in the family budget, I don't even have texting on my plan.

Quite in contrast, my daughters text constantly. I just checked in with my youngest two and - while Trigger couldn't remember how to retrieve the data from her phone - Ponzi informed me that so far in this billing cycle she has sent 1068 texts and received 1006. (Daughter Number One - remember - spends a lot of time talking on the phone, for how else would she have racked up that humongous Heaven Nundred and Nifty Blue Scholar phone bill??? Yes I know, that has nothing to do with this post and I need to get over it. I'm trying. I swear.)

But what does have relevance to this post is this . . .

It was snowing in New Jersey last night.

And, because it was snowing, Trigger wanted to take the house phone to bed with her - hoping for that early morning phone call to tell us that school was cancelled.

Only problem???

I heard a strange buzzing in my ear at 5:38 this morning.

Me Think: Oh Jesus! Now I have to find my glasses!

Trigger Text: School's closed!

Me Think: How the hell am I going to spell Hurray! at this time of the morning??? And ask her if she told her sister? And ask her how she feels? (Because my last semi-conscious thought before drifting off the night before was some vague report that her chest hurt from pleurisy. . . )

Me Text: huspaz

Me Think: Shit! No one told me that the little light goes off after 30 seconds! How am I supposed to find all those little letters now???? Nevertheless, I persevered. . .

Me Text: huspaz did you tell your sister do you have to in to the dr (Which translates to Hurray! Did you tell your sister? Do you have to go to the ER?)

Trigger Text: Yeah I told her. And it still hurts, but I'll be okay.

Me Text: find this is costing of money i have to in. (Which translates to, Fine, this is costing me money. I have to go.)

After which. . . I didn't sleep a wink all night!

Conversations with Santa . . .and no, that's not a beer

Christmas Eve

Santa: What are you doing up in the middle of the night? Santa only comes to homes where everyone is sleeping.

Me: Well you see, that's almost a physical impossibility. I suffer from a nomadic sleep disorder - you, know the kind where you get up and wander around in the middle of the night trying every couch and extra bed to find the one that's just right?

Santa: But my dear, why don't you sleep?

Me: I have three teenage girls. . .

Santa: Don't you think I know that already? I'm Santa remember. . . I have them on my list.

Me: Which list are they on? The Naughty or Nice list?

Santa: Well that, my dear, is a tough one.

Me again: You see, I think that's one of the reasons I don't sleep . . . I don't know which list to put them on myself. Sometimes I think they're terribly naughty. . . they fight. . . they lie . . . they're mean to me. . . they accuse me of freaking out! when I'm only asking a question . . . they're self absorbed, self-centered, and self. . . well, they're plain old selfish!

Santa: But they're teenagers. What did you expect?

Me: I honestly don't know what I expected. I held them as tiny newborns in my arms. . . I fed them in the middle of the night. . . I kissed them . . . I loved them . . . I tucked them into bed. . . drove them to their dancing lessons . . . helped them with their homework . . . took them to the mall. . . threw them birthday parties . . . rushed them to the emergency room with their broken bones. . . .stayed by their side when they were sick . . . You name it, I did it!

Santa: And now?

Me: Well now they no longer need me.

Santa: Not at all?

Me: I guess I should correct that. They no longer need me as long as they have my debit card. As a matter of fact, I now know what I feel like . . . a human ATM machine. . . dispensing twenties and fifties . . . and permission slips. . . and tanks of gas. . . and tampons, twizzlers, and tofu . . . but yet I've never once seen them make a deposit. And if by chance they approach the machine and it doesn't behave quite the way they want it to, I get kicked and screamed at and banged on until I give in and spit out what it is they want.

Me again: Some days I just want to post a big OUT OF ORDER sign and just walk away. Or better yet - a sign that reads DEPOSITS ONLY!

Santa: Well, my dear, I wish I could give you some magical words of advice. I've never had teenage girls before. I think the best advice I can give you is just to sit tight and wait for them to come around. You've raised them to be good people, you know. . . just keep loving them and those deposits will roll in sooner or later . . .

Me: Are you sure?

Santa: I'm not a psychic, you know, but it's a pretty good guess. Now speaking of deposits. . . let's get these stockings filled. . .

Me: Okay. . . I guess you're right. . .

Me again: And just one more thing. . .

Santa: Yes?

Me: Thanks for not sleeping through the present thing this year. I'm sorry for calling you a Good for Nothing Elf. . . .I know I don't say it often enough, but I really do love you. Even if you snore a lot!

Santa: I love you too. Now let's get back to bed and try to get some sleep! We've got a big day tomorrow.

Lessons Learned this Christmas Season

1. All fear of shopping is well-founded.
2. As lovely as you professed that Christmas tree to look in the living room for two straight weeks, it looks better with decorations on it.
3. Giving a goat through World Vision is ten times better than one of your daughters getting yours.
4. At 1:00 a.m. - in the Goldilocks insomnia search for the just-right bed - the couch in the newly-renovated basement room is definitely the most comfortable, but irrational fear of small rodents may still prevent you from resting comfortably.
5. You cannot force a cat to sleep on the couch with you.
6. You cannot convince your teenage daughters that taking your credit card to the Mall in order to purchase their gift to you is not "giving" at all.
7. If you leave the tips for the cleaning service on your Boss's messy desk at work, they will pile them neatly under his calendar - ensuring that he will forget to distribute them, leaving you to figure out how to say "Happy New Year" in Portugeuse.
8. If - by chance - you leave work for a personal Christmas luncheon you will find a sticky note entitled "Plumber's List" on your desk when you return.
9. The first item on that list will read "Urinal in the men's room is still not functioning correctly. Must be fixed by Christmas!"
10. If you dare to even think about writing a post about your Boss's last homily to children (you know,the one where he told the 8th Grade girls to imagine that they were "Pregnant by God!") you just might find yourself asked to write his children's Christmas homily for him - leaving you to toss and turn all night on December 22nd, wondering what on earth he should say!

There . . . It's 3:41 a.m. and I can cross tomorrow's (oh, God, no! It's today's!) post off my list of things to do. Perhaps now I can return to sleep.

The things a teenage daughter sleeps with

Do you remember when your daughter was but a wee-little-lass and you tucked her into bed with her favorite stuffed animals?

Oh, we had Suzie the hurricane-hair doll, Beethoven the giant St. Bernard, and Villanova Bear who was left in a Philadelphia hotel room one sad Thanksgiving weekend.

But have you ever peeked into your teenager's bedroom while she is sleeping? (I know it's hard - but try setting your alarm for 4:00 a.m. and take a gander. . . ) The first thing you will notice is a certain glow from your daughter's cell phone - proving that she has sent, or received, a text within the last five minutes. Are you surprised? I recently spent the night in a hotel room with my two teenage daughters and I now have concrete evidence that my daughters text in their sleep!

But I was surprised last week to find out what else my daughter sleeps with. (Don't get all excited here. . . I said What not Who!!!!)

As many of you know by now, I have been diagnosed with a nomadic sleeping disorder. And last week, when my college-aged daughter was home for the night, I heard the garage door open at 2:00 a.m. I knew that when I went to bed this particular daughter was doing laundry, and so my first thought was: I bet that her thong got caught up in the spinning device again and she had to take a trip to the all-night laundromat. And so I hopped out of bed to check, and found Daughter Number One sound asleep in her bed.

Now, years ago I would have awakened my sleeping husband to tell him that I distinctly heard the garage door open. I then would have stayed in bed, with my hand on the phone ready to dial 9-1-1 , as he investigated the scene.

But that, my friends, was years ago when my children were young and I still thought we had something to defend. Last week, I took one look at that sleeping beauty and thought, What will he do that I can't? and headed straight to the garage where the light still shining (just like those cell phones) revealed what I already knew - that garage door had been opened, or closed, within the last two minutes.

Next, I turned my attentions to the outside of the house. . . turning on every outside light and peering out the windows. . . when I heard a faint, Mom? coming from Daughter Number Two's bedroom.

Quick as a flash, I ran there, just in time to hear her say. . . . In case you're wondering, I rolled over on my car keys and heard the garage door open and so I shut it again.

Yes, my daughter proudly sleeps with her car keys.

And, after that little episode , I Didn't sleep a wink! the entire night!

The reason I didn't sleep a wink all night!

Am I awake?. . . I'm not sleeping so I must be awake. . . Oh, no!!!!. . . . How long have I been awake?. . . I think I've been thinking for a while now. . . I wonder if this is an official "not sleeping" or just a temporary one. . . we'll know pretty soon, now won't we . . . I'll be exhausted in the morning . . . should have taken a Tylenol p.m. . . might be addicting. . . I bet they can be. . . just my luck. . . I'd be the one to become addicted to them. . . Christmas!. . . Oh, my God, change the subject. . . let's see. . .what will I blog about tomorrow . . . teenage daughters?. . . I can't mention the breakup . . . a little too personal. . . how about a thankful theme again. . . no, couldn't muster up enough to be thankful for. . . not sleeping. . . I'm definitely not sleeping. . . it's official . . . let me roll over. . . perhaps a trip to the bathroom?. . . no, too lazy. . . I'll blog about the college application thing. . . how she was texting through it all . . . but she was just texting her friend to see if that guy she knew liked that college. . . she didn't think I needed to freak out! like that. . . too late. . . water under the bridge as they say. . . get the right pillow that's all. . . now where was I?. . . Christmas! . . . no, silly, it is way too late to take a Tylenol p.m. . . . what's wrong with me that I have to resort to drugs????. . . how could one child put 3,000 miles on a car in one month?. . . if my math is correct at this time of the night/morning, that's 100 miles a day. . . distance from beach house to campus is about 5 miles. . . a total of 10 miles per day. . . where did she drive the other 90?????. . . .why is that other one up so late?. . . and how about that $180?. . . I'm definitely going to make her pay for that. . .that $180 is exactly the reason I'm glad she's in the high school and no longer at that all-girl's school . . . . CHRISTMAS!. . . CHRISTMAS!. . . CHRISTMAS!. . . I'm doomed at work tomorrow. . . how will I ever get through the day. . . wish I didn't have to work. . . why do I have to work?. . . why can't that agent come through with a book deal for me. . . then I wouldn't have to worry. . . I could sleep all day if I wanted to. . . I'm not buying any presents for Christmas. . . giving gifts to charity in people's names. . . perfect. . . I need to look for a new agent. . . if another person dies, I think I'll scream . . . can you just imagine my daughters planning mine???. . . if that little black dress she wore to the city is any indication of what she'd wear to my funeral, I better take good care of myself for a good, long time. . . and pictures. . . . I haven't let anyone take a picture of me since 1989 . . . that's alright though. . . . they'll all think I stayed young and skinny. . . "Remarkable!" they'll say. . . .CHRISTMAS!. . . I need to set the date for the office party. . . and presents???. . . please don't make me step foot in The Mall. . . I haven't been there since the summer and I want to keep my record . . . I'll just tell people that I work for a church and it's our busy season so I had no time . . . no wonder that credit card company's calling me. . . 3,000 freaking miles in one month. . . you tell me how. . . $180 freaking dollars in one night. . . you tell me why. . . and we never did punish that middle one. . . she got by me once again. . . remind me tomorrow. . . NOT SLEEPING!. . I think that little plastic toggle thing is still on my underwear. . . it's scratching up my left hip. . . makes sense. . . I probably couldn't find a pair of scissors. . . I wonder how many pairs of scissors I've purchased in the last 22 years of marital bliss?????. . . . but can you find them when you need them?. . . No, not a single pair to be found when you need them for your underwear. . . I could take them off and bite the little toggle thing off, but somehow that just doesn't seem proper. . . serves me right for buying leopard-print underwear. . . like I need leopard print underwear????. . . . ri-dic-li-ous! as my daughter might say. . . Oh, no!. . . . the cat's meowing to go outside . . . may as well go downstairs now. . . I'm the only one that ever does. . . .one of these nights I'm going to fall and break an ankle. . . maybe then I won't have to go to work. . . Oh . . . my. . . . God! . . . she won't go outside. . . I just looked at the freaking clock at it's 4 FREAKING 30 a.m. and the freaking cat wants to eat!. . . I'll go back to bed and she'll just wait until she hears a change in my breathing pattern before she "thwacks" on the door and expects me to let her out. . . crying does absolutely no good in this situation. . . get real, girl . . . grab that pillow and get real!!!!. . . maybe I'll call in sick to work . . . can't do it. . . too much to do. . . funerals! . . . do you believe the nerve of that child saying I had no right to know anything about her life? . . . right/schmight. . . I'll ask her any darn thing I want!!!. . . pillow. . . why is that pillow on that side of the bed. . . thank God I didn't even attempt sleeping in my own bed tonight. . . I have twisted these sheets around so they look like a candy cane. . . bet my husband's snoring away right now. . . and he says I snore. . . I just make a little clicking noise with the intake of breath. . . . not my fault, really. . . could be a deviated sceptum or something like that. . . . I think I'll go to the doctors one day and then he'll feel bad . . . maybe I'll just make some noise right now and wake him up for the hell of it. . . . misery loves company, you know. . . . WAKE UP! YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHING-SLEEPING-SNORING-HUSBAND!!!!. . . . You said for better or for worse. . . this is the worst!!!!. . . . make me a cup of tea . . . rub my back. . . hit me over the head for all I care. . . just put me to sleep!!!. . . . wouldn't I love to do it. . . . My goodness, I might have a headache. . . now I'm definitely in trouble tomorrow. . . the cat will definitely want to go out soon. . . daughter will definitely be up within minutes. . . should I make coffee? . . . I'm not timing her in the shower this morning like I did last time. . . too much anxiety. . . I don't give a rat's bananna how long she stands in there running the hot water . . . water off a duck's back as they say. . . at least we did one college application . . . . even if she does nothing else, she could still go to college. . . . that's if we have any money left in her 539 account. . . or is it a 529?. . . did I pay the electric bill?. . . not sure I did. . . don't remember paying it. . . you know, if those FREAKING daughters didn't take up all my freaking time, I might still have a head on my shoulders. . . but, no, instead I have to worry. . . worry. . . worry. . . I don't want coffee now. . . I haven't sent Christmas cards in five years. . . why would I start now? . . . maybe I'll blog about how I don't sleep. . . that's it. . . but I won't do it now. . . I'll just wait. . . get this pillow. . . untwist my covers. . . try. . . try. . .pillow. . . I paid it. . . I remember now. . . . . no coffee. . . . pillow. . . .try. . . remind me. . . . . . . .

Rant and rave - teenage daughters - take one

As you can see, I have labeled this post Rant and Rave - take one.

That's because I already know that there will be a take two - and perhaps even a three, four, and five.

Last night (well actually in the wee hours of the morning) as I lay awake suffering from my Nomadic Sleep Disorder, I got a little worked up about something that had recently happened with my teenage daughters. As so, in the clarity that only comes at 3:00 a.m., I plotted today's post in which I was going to rant and rave about the money those young ladies had spent.

But yet, as I groggily stepped foot in my bathroom this morning - preparing to shower - I vaguely remembered that I needed to grab a clean bath towel because someone had smeared makeup (or so I hope) on my previous towel - causing me to throw it prematurely into the laundry hamper.

And so I paddled to my daughters' bathroom. . .

Knock. Knock.

The daughter with the long brown, perfectly-straightened hair answered. ( I know, all three of my daughters have long brown hair, but we're talking about the one whose hair is always perfectly-straightened.) I tell this particular daughter that I, Just need to grab a towel out of the linen closet.

She informs me that there are no clean towels in the linen closet.

Now ladies and gentlemen, I had occasion - just this past summer - to do a census of bath towels at our disposal in this house. The result of my investigation revealed that we had 32 bath towels residing in the house with us.

That's right, 32!

And not one of those 32 towels was clean, dry and ready for use this morning. (I need to admit that perhaps two of those towels were in my laundry hamper - one, of course, being smeared with brown makeup - leaving the other 30 towels to be somewhere in my daughters' bedrooms!)
And this little lack of towels, my friends, was just the start of my inauspicious morning . . .
Let me continue. . .


It seems only to make sense that a full-time working mother like myself would need a little help around the house from time to time. And so, every other Wednesday, a cleaning service comes to help out. (You can't envision my daughters with a vacuum in their hands - now can you?)

So the day before the cleaning service is to arrive, I begin to warn my daughters that their rooms need to be free of errant clothing so that the vacuum can touch the carpeting. And yet, for the last three-or-so-every-other-Wednesday mornings, a least one of my daughters had snookered me on their way out the door - assuring me that her room was "clean" when really it had been left a mess. And so, yesterday - determined not to be fooled yet again - I asked the daughter with the perfectly straightened hair (a.k.a. Trigger Finger Girl) not once, but three times, when she was going to ready her room for the cleaners. In return, I got the following answers: (1) Later! (2) Chill! and (3) I'll do it Mom! I promise!

Well, after the little bath towel incident, where do you think my feet paddled to next? You guessed it - her bedroom - which could have legally been declared a disaster area. (I know what you're thinking. . . . but even if I broke one of my cardinal rules about no photos on this blog, you would still be missing the sense of smell, and hence, would still not get the full effect.)

And so I pulled a trick from my older sister's playbook, went to the garage, and grabbed the box of big black trash bags. After extracting 18 (yes, 18!!!!!!) bath towels from the dispirit piles of clothing behind her bed, on the floor of her closet , and just plain-old strewn all over the carpeting, my husband and I filled two of those huge bags with her clothes!

I'm sorry faithful followers, but I feel like I've hit the final BEEP on the answering machine tape. . . the rest of the story is just too long for me to convey in one single night (especially because it ended with me crying in my wine with a good friend) so I'll have to ask you to tune in again.

Until tomorrow. . .

A midnight nomad

I have become a midnight nomad.

Every night I fall fast asleep before 9:00. However, the minute my husband comes to bed at midnight, something strange happens. I turn into a midnight nomad. I toss. I turn. I turn and toss. I think about every thought that has bothered me throughout the day and some that didn't. I rise from my bed and wander downstairs. Like Goldilocks, I move from one couch to the next, until I find an empty just right bed and fall asleep somewhere around 5:00 a.m - in time to get up for work at 6:00.

But during those first three blissful hours of sleep, I am oblivious to all else around me.

Case in point? Last Saturday night.

Now remember, my daughters have left the all girls' Catholic school and transferred to the high school for one reason and one reason only. . . BOYS! And so their social life has picked up quite a bit, and I now know I was woefully unprepared for what a typical Saturday night might bring.

My sixteen-year-old daughter was Freaking out! because "everyone" else was invited to another teenager's Sweet Sixteen party (keep in mind that - until she started attending this school two weeks ago - she didn't even know this sweet girl) and so I dropped her at the only other "everyone's" house who didn't get invited to the party so that the other excluded parent could drive them into town for dinner.

The eighteen-year-old was being picked up by a certain young man in order to go to another young man's house who happened to have a hot tub. So after the prerequisite lie about, Going to Kimmie's house (translation - going tanning) she called in her makeup, hair, and bathing suit consultants and each girl trudged through the house until they declared her perfectly coiffed and ready to go. Then the young man arrived and they all piled into his car (which proves they doubled as date barriers) promising me that she'd be home by midnight.

By this time it was 9:00 p.m. - a safe time to hit the sack, don't you think???

Now, if you had run into me on Sunday morning, an unknowing me would have told you that I, Didn't sleep a wink! the entire night, but, oh, what I missed in four short hours! When my husband came to bed at 1:15, he informed me that I had slept through a number of comings and goings. I'm too tired to talk about it now, he said to me. I'll tell you about it tomorrow.

Well, truth be told, not quite "everyone" was invited to that Sweet 16 party, because . . . at 10:00 he picked up the sixteen-year-old and two of her friends . . . at 10:30 four boys from down the street arrived at our house . . .at 11:00 the other daughter and her beauty consultants arrived back home . . . at 11:30 they promptly went to Blockbuster and rented a movie as the boys left and the sixteen-year-old's certain young man arrived . . . at 12:00 and 12:30 the various friends left to go home . . . . and at 1:00 the older daughter drove the younger daughter's certain young man home, when at last - with the exception of one lone beauty consultant who was spending the night - things settled down and my husband felt it was safe to go to bed.

After which, I Didn't sleep a wink! the rest of the night.