Today was a refresher course on parental sleep deprivation. Therefore I am not bringing my "A" game to this post....
I'm in a bit of a time crunch because of my self-imposed writing deadline of July 10 for Ariana Burns. What the bloody hell was I thinking? Hmmm? Huh? I let my procrastinator's guilt do the typing when I made that pledge. Remember: I'm not a writer, I'm a mommy who plays a writer on TV.
I didn't sleep well on Saturday night because of the child sprawl in the bed. You've seen the memes. If not, look upon the madness!
We have myself, then Luna (3.5), then Solas (8), and then my darling hubby. That's four attempted sleepers in a deluxe hippie monkey bed -- A magnificent California king with an added twin extra long.
Solas has her own room...her own bed...and her own plan on sleepy time domination. This attachment parenting is %^%%&^&$%#*((*&.
I mean it's great.
Plus, we've hit a milestone, folks. Youngest monkette is now AFRAID OF THE DARK.
Even though my house is lit up rather like an airfield because of the millionty-fifty night lights (dream lights x 2, an overhead on low dim in the reading nook, the bathroom light, the AC green light, the clock radio, and of course the MOTHER SHIP) already blazing,
my little Luna will not, I REPEAT WILL NOT, cooperate and close her eyes for sleepy-time-night-night. So last night after 45 minutes of cajoling, begging, threatening, repeated spotlight searches and reassurances that the room was monster free (which is rather hard for me because I am a horror writer! I always want to quiz her: what kind of monster do you think it is? Hmmm?), she finally passed out.
|ummm, could you please go back into the closet until Luna goes to sleep? Your bones are rattling too much underneath the bed. And stop playing nick-nack-paddy-wack/take-five on your ribs. It's disconcerting.|
Okay. I'll come clean. I also watched Drop Dead Diva. Don't judge me. I like that show. I also watched Dexter. And then a documentary on Monty Python. But I did also write!
I decided it was time for bed and made the trek up to the confines of our airfield ablaze bedroom only to find that Luna had crossed the bed and had my darling hubby pinned against the wall.
Dilemma time. Should I wake him? Or skulk into bed and revel in the space and freedom of my side?
But DH woke up and proceeded to sigh and fidget and make all kinds of uncomfortable/why-is-this-happening-to-me?/someone-help-me! noises, through which I couldn't sleep!!!! Sheesh. Argh! COME ON!!!!! At 4:15 he got out of bed and went downstairs. Ha!
Oops. I mean: Sorry, babe.
But I passed out within seconds.
Now because it's summer vacay, the kids have started sleeping in. GLORIOUS! I counted on that to save my bacon and let me get at least five hours of sleep.
Did that happen? DID IT?
|Sad monkey. Look at those tears. This photo was Kevi's idea. Thanks, Kevi.|
OF COURSE NOT.
Luna woke up at 6:15. Six. Fifteen. AND WOULD NOT GO BACK TO SLEEP!!!!!!!!
But that's what happens when I write. The second I get the bug, a little ripple starts in the aether, the universe cackles madly, and then sets out with the crazy making waves!!!!
I used this analogy today:
The universe seems to do this when I take a dip in the writing pool. The universe steals my clothes, throws my shoes in the water, and makes sure everyone comes to watch me stroll down the street with a tree branch shielding my naughty bits in the front and a bin lid over me arse as I make my way home.
Today was not a good day. Nope. Not at all. It's days like this that earn your stripes in the battle. It's also days like this where you sit and question every parenting moment you have. Was I a good parent today? Well, the kids got fed. Yes! Powdered donuts and Gatorade count. And so do popsicles. And chocolate milk. And sun chips.
And I had coffee. So much coffee. That's probably why now, cruising on only two hours sleep, I'm up writing this fecking blog. I tried to sleep. I really did. Luna even pulled the same routine as the last two nights! But she was so tired she passed out! I dozed.
But then Solas started fidgeting. I may have to apologize to her in the morning (today). I was less-than-kind. But then she passed out.
And then Darling Hubby, my soul mate, the LOVE OF MY LIFE, started snoring.
Yes, honey. I'm outing you. But really only monkey pic seekers, Russian bloggers, and friends who already know that you snore read this blog.
So here I am. Back in the car again. Yay me. In this exhaustion twilight I'm doing a little introspection, self-analysis, coffee stain rorschach.
It has been pointed out, on one more than one occasion, that I am quite sarcastic.
I dispense nuggets of witty, gallows observations, general amusing bitchery, and tids and tads of snark without even a second thought.
Personally I find that my particular brand of sunshine and kisses is the pot of gold, balm-for-the-soul at the bottom of the lucky charms rainbow.
Maybe it's just for the chorus of weirdos residing inside my head.
Is it my fault that there are sooooo many golden opportunities presented by life in general to make my observations? I'm tired. I'm a mom. I have no filter.
To the woman in the queue at the supermarket who wasn't amused by my comment about the correlation between soy milk consumption, naturally occurring estrogen, and moustached women -- You shouldn't have put that face waxing kit next to your soy milk and then glared at my pile of meat products and filthy children in my cart.
To the toque wearing, Life-Aquatic-Steve-Zissou-wannabe, recycling logo t-shirt-clad hispter-D-bag who tripped on the curb while flicking your cigarette butt into the gutter -- yeah...I got nothin'. Yes, I did laugh at you. Laughed and even rolled down the window so you could hear. You just had yerself an irony moment there.
If only folks knew how often I BITE MY TONGUE. Perhaps I just suffer from Bitchy resting face.
(That's a link! A link! A LINK! Go there, Now! Click the link!) le sigh.
But at least I'm writing again.