Insomniac Desperation

I am sorry I have not blogged much! I have been working part time, so it has been a little hectic around here. 

I do have some current news I did not have before and I will save it for later. 

I think I left some clothes in the washer from two or three days ago. Yikes. I remembered that as I stayed up all night, hit with an attack of extreme insomnia. I think I got three hours of sleep once I wrote a few emails, read the instruction manual to my new dishwasher that was delivered yesterday morning, and played a few games of solitaire. I know. 

I dreamed about scabies and ticks. For some reason because it is spring I have been very itchy lately, so I feel like bugs are crawling all over me. When I could not fall asleep after three hours of trying, I went downstairs and did the aforementioned things for a spell. Finally I took the Professor's advice that he gives me whenever he hears of an attack of insomnia and downed the last glass of wine in my wine bottle. I didn't even bother to put it in a glass. I was a full-fledged wine-o. I confess. I just uncorked the sucker and drank away. 

I immediately got that Ny-Quil feeling. ---The burning in the stomach, the immediate wooziness in my head from eating no food. Straight to the blood, baby. I went up to bed after that. My mind dithered around for another hour, thinking, "I will wake after three hours with a jolt because alcohol always does that to me," but I just dreamed about ticks and the beach and other weirdness. Just before I drifted off though I remembered that I have a load of white laundry in the washer still from days ago. My heart pounded thinking about it but slowly my mind wandered to other things---ticks, most likely---and soon enough I drifted off. I remember thinking, "I need to make a list...."

Now I am off to washing that load again because I am sure it stinks.


The phone was not for me. 

It was for my daughter. 

She is six.

She said, "Anna wanted to know what I wanted to play on when we meet at the park tomorrow."

Oh brother. 

She even put the phone to her wet ear (she was still in the tub).

She gets called per day now about as much as a Muslim prays toward Mecca.

I didn't realize that it had been this long since I had written anything. I don't want to get into how I feel lately (healthwise---just bad), so I will just say that I have been busy with schooling the kids and trying to get some energy despite the fact that I exercise and eat well. 

I took the kids to the park just a bit ago and actually drove there. I had no energy to walk like usual. They played, I slept with the window rolled down. 

Now I am here with a pile of laundry, a girl who got dirty in the lake water who is taking a quick bath, and the phone is ringing. 

The end.



I am always forgetting my stapler when I teach at Co-op. I finally just stole the Professor's because I am too cheap to buy one for myself. The man doesn't use it. But on a separate note, this story is my worst nightmare!

Does Des not write amazing? Check her out.


Walkersville, MD

Hey chick from Walkersville, Md:

Quit using my blog to stalk people I know. That also includes the times you get on my blog from Frederick, Md. as well. I know who you are----you have no business harassing people. The fact that you use my blog name in a google search every single day so you can stalk someone is an insult and a violation. Quit NOW. I'm pretty much hardly a hop, skip and a jump from where you live too.

Thank you very much ahead of time for your willingness to cooperate. Oh, and in case you didn't know---I read my site meter.



The Peasant Revolt

Ok, so I still have pink eye. The weird meds that my doc prescribed me settle in my sinuses. My skull is hollow in some areas? I mean, if I put some meds in my eye socket the meds trickle down and suddenly I have some weird, nasty tasting post-nasal drip. Bet you wanted to hear about that. 

Not only that, but the drops she prescribed have cortisone in them---so I have white gooey stuff coming out of my eye in addition to the yellow gooey stuff already coming out. That'll look nice when I go to work. I do have some pride. 

I took the kids to the grocery store yesterday and they were terrible. It has been a long time since I have had to say over and over again, "get over here!" At one point the produce guy was in between the Oldest and I during one of our staring matches. I could see faintly through my oozing eye that the guy was slightly curious to know what I was going to do. 

You know, all I can think of to make this situation seem understandable is this: it is like shopping with a bag of marbles. The marbles keep spilling out all over the place while you are grabbing lettuce or cheese, and you have to stop and gather them all up again. 

"You are ALL OVER THE AGE OF SEVEN!" I shouted in the car. Apparently shouting is not beyond me. I think they can not hear. Well, they can't because when I say "get over here" it doesn't work. As I drove, I went through each child, one by one, and labeled and stated their transgressions. 

I pointed to the Girl----"you poke and annoy the boys so they will get in trouble by how they react to you, and then I turn around and think it is just them but really it is you, isn't it?" I said.
"Yes," she admitted in a small voice. 

I pointed to the Oldest----"Are you three?"
"I felt like I needed to put you in a grocery cart, boy. Only three year olds run around when put on the ground. You are nearly TWELVE years old! Grocery carts are for three year olds. They contain them. Do you need to be contained?"

I pointed at Eraser Eater---"You will quit begging for stuff----TODAY! Do you think I had an enjoyable shopping experience with a NINE YEAR OLD who kept begging for something at my side constantly? Do you think I want to give you any more money for allowance if that very money is dying to be spent and you want to give in every time we go outside? How about I don't give you money anymore when you do your chores and that temptation is eliminated?!!!!" 
"Yes, Mom."

I hope my oozing eye made me look more scary.


Charlton Heston in Youth

Yesterday the kids and I were playing car games on the way to co-op. 

"I'm thinking of something that keeps people out!" the Oldest hollered so all in the back could hear.

"a dog!" the Girl said.
"a closed door!" Eraser Eater said.
"a slammed door!" Eraser Eater said.
"a gun!" (we all laughed) Eraser Eater said.
"a sign!" I said.

"Yep!" the Oldest nodded, "it's a sign. You know, like 'keep out!', 'beware of dog.' I am surprised you didn't get it sooner. Why would it be a closed door?"

"Well, I mean, sometimes a sign doesn't keep people out," I said.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you could have a wide open door with a sign on it that says 'keep out' but people would still come in because it was open."

"Oh great!" yelled the oldest with a laugh.

"I bet if a signed door were opened and a guy were sitting there with a gun they'd keep out!" Shouted Eraser Eater.

I laughed for about two minutes straight. I think he gets it from me

One Eye Bigger Than the Other

Yesterday I was reading a friend's blog and she was saying how she has pink eye. Or had it last week. 

I just woke up this morning and what do you know, I have pink eye. No joke. 

As I was trying to get out of bed my mind was wandering. I was thinking of a past time I had pink eye in high school. Of course, I never went to the doctor because my parents did not have insurance, so if I ever came down with something I had to be dying. 

I remember being in the lunch court with my brother (we did hang out in school, weirdly enough) and some guy was mad at me for something, I don't remember. He came right up to me and threatened me. I remember it was some misunderstanding; he was mad about something I did but it was not intentional. He was so angry he yelled in a dumb and weak sort of way, "Shut the h--- up, you---you----you one eye bigger than the other!!!!"

When I woke up this morning one eye did indeed look bigger than the other. 

I am angry. I hate pink eye. I had it once when I got back from a plane trip to my Grandmother's funeral when the kids were little. I spread it all through the house and it took us a couple of months to stop it. I am not joking. I was so depressed by the second month of pink eye I started to think I was going crazy. Finally I got this crazy idea of infecting everyone at the same time and then cleaning the linens all in one pop on the same day. That is the only thing that worked. I haven't had it since----until now. 

Whenever pink eye or the look of it comes my way I panic. 



Well, we thought the Girl had the chicken pox, but they are not scabbing over. The pox now look like little warts and she has developed a rash on her face that is your typical viral bumpy, red rash. Who knows what is going on. I am going to try to take her to the doctor for it (again!). What a nightmare. Apparently she gave it to me because I have been getting pox in various places. Not bad though. Just sort of weird.

The Professor is sick AGAIN with something else---possibly the flu. Not flu as in throwing up (which is not the flu) but the one where you ache and have a sort of cold. He literally just got over a sickness and now he has this. I feel bad for him. He is stoic though, compared to when we were first married. Now I am the one that whines whenever I am sick. I complain the whole time, look miserable, and don't even try to get the best of it. I think when you are a mother taking care of others all the time you take full advantage of any sort of downtime. I was sort of hoping I would get sick so I could have this, but he does look miserable, so I am hoping I don't get it, even though he has kissed me.

Last night it took us two hours to get home from our church in DC because the road that leads to our on ramp for the freeway was closed off by light flashing cops. They prompted us to drive the opposite direction with mean faces. If I were driving I would have stopped right there and told the cop I needed to get to the freeway----could he direct me a different route, but no, the man was driving and he just did what he was told without question and said, "I think there is another way by the memorial."

Well, we ended up at the flipping zoo---right near the National Cathedral. The roads are so dumb in DC. They make no sense. There is no way to turn. You can only turn from 3-5 pm or park during light hours or some madness. I am just making stuff up. Well, I am not, but I can't remember what the signs do indeed say. All I know is that it is confusing. You read the sign, and by the time you comprehend what time of day it is in order to obey the law and make your turn in the right time allotted on the sign---it turns red on you and you have wasted a light, or the taxis behind you are blaring in anger, or people start to walk right in front of your car because that is what they do in DC. People just walk. They don't care if the traffic is oncoming, they just keep going. And they take their time, believe me. Cars stop in the middle of the road constantly, trucks unload right in front of you, it is common to get your tire trapped in an enormous pot hole. People walk around with the strangest things too. Just use your imagination. Yes, it has happened.

So---we drove the opposite direction from our home for a good spell, trying to get home. Really, trying to TURN in DC, which is not authorized. And heaven help you if you go one mile over the speed limit. Yes, cameras are everywhere taking your car's photo. And YES, you will get a bill in the mail with your car's picture on it. And YES, it has happened to us.

I would think that the most important area of our nation, where the president lives and all that, would have the safest, cleanest, and most pot-hole less roads.

We did eventually get home. Well, obviously. And all because I can't parallel park. I am sure since the Prof is sick he would have stayed home, but I sort of begged him to take me since I can't parallel park. I had to sing last night and it would have been too last minute to bow out.
Can you imagine if I had to find my way home because the road was blocked?

You saved my life, Prof.



I think my adorable husband, the Professor, has a sickness. I caught him on the internet the other day indulging in his number one temptation: fonts.

Yes, FONTS. He was on some site, palms sweaty, sort of stressed, because he could not find the "buy" button.

"Where do I buy these fonts?!"

"There's a million of them!"

"Look at that!!!"

"These are bad...but look at these---these are gorgeous! Oh man..."

"I don't know if I would pay that much for a collection of fonts....." (they were a few grand?)

What is this world coming to? I mean, is my husband the only one? Please tell me yes. I want to know for sure that he is truly the writer freak that he is and that there is truly no one else out there like him because frankly enough, it is sort of strange. It is sort of easy to deal with, but how do I understand this malady?

We can basically go anywhere and he can tell me some crazy name of a font this or that company uses in their sign. "Crate and Barrel uses (such and such) font. Look at it."


I don't even know what font I am using right NOW. I mean, it says "font." I am too lazy to scroll down.

He makes these manuals and brings them home to show me. Truly, they are beautiful, he is amazing at his job. He is a superb writer, a fabulous designer, and boy does he have an eye for the beautiful. But----I don't get it. "Look at this font, it makes this look so sleek!"

Huh? Sure, honey.


Sometimes You Don't Have to Look

I was reminded by EmmaSometimes about a little incident that happened at Target a handful of months ago.

You know, turning thirty sort of makes you bolder. I mean, I don't care so much if I make a fool of myself, correct people that are younger than me, or say something when it needs to be said. Which brings me to what should have been an embarrassing moment for me.

The Girl and I were in the ladies restroom. Typically we share a stall and I have her go first and then I go next. I know, we fit together in a little one, yes it is tight, but I like to know that my daughter is not caressing the filth of the bathrooms, even though she will be directly washing her hands when she is through.

There were two employees at a sink talking. They were both young---maybe eighteen----one an employee in training and another the trainer. I could tell somehow. They were messing with their hair and talking sort of loud. The Girl and I went into our stall and did our routine---except when I was doing my business the Girl accidentally opened the stall door---it having a severe malfunction like they all seem to---and there it flung wide open for the world to see me. I called the Girl's name to prompt her to get the door back to close. In typical Girl fashion, she felt terrible for the situation and sort of froze by my disapproval. I realized in a quick second I had to grab the door myself before it flung to the furthest of its capacity.

I could not believe what happened next. As I went to get the door, the employees watched me. They full on looked at me, even when they had vocal warning and knew what was going on. They looked at me while I was half clothed. Their heads turned to look at me with absolutely no shame whatsoever. I glanced at them and shut the door.

"You don't HAVE to LOOK!" I said.

Of course, the temptation to be embarrassed throughout the rest of my stay at Target while those young ladies were on the loose tried to get hold of me. Instead, I held my head high and acted like normal. They both had the nerve to keep looking at me, making it obvious they saw me in my glory in the bathroom stall. I saw more about them than they saw of me, that is for sure!



We are going to a retreat this weekend but I will leave you with my number three. :) I hope you guys all have a great next few days!!

My number three is that I never know when to quit. 

If I did not have the Professor there to tell me to stop things, like raking leaves until my hands bleed or until dark, I would never stop. The same thing goes to just about everything else. I refuse to give up and trust me, it sounds like a good trait, but really it can quickly turn into a bad one. 

I am presently working in a shoe dept. of a well-known dept. store. Sometimes shoes are misplaced and it takes going through the whole stock room to find them. The other night I had a customer wait a whole half hour (with my going out from time to time to assure her I am still looking---and she was really nice about it and said she would have no problems waiting) for a shoe search. By the end of the half hour my fellow associate came to me and said, "Hey, you've got to stop. The store is closing in one minute. Really, we can take her number and take care of this tomorrow."

I think if he hadn't said that I would have kept going all night. Heaven forbid I work by myself!!

I have a dear friend who told me that she would rather have my trait of never quitting because she can go out and mow the lawn and want to quit half way through. She has to remind herself of her ancestors, strong and hearty, who plowed for hours to produce a harvest. She said even the guilt of that is not powerful enough to make her continue. 

I don't know quite what makes me keep going. I think it is because I have this goal and if I don't meet it I feel like a failure. I refuse to fail. I will bleed before I fail. If I didn't set a goal I wouldn't give a rip, actually. 

Goals are the devil.




I can't run on a full bladder. In fact, I can't run with anything in my bladder. If I drink coffee or any other drink an hour before I run, I am constantly stopping and starting my treadmill, taking potty breaks. To me, there's nothing worse than that, so I get in this rush to run almost immediately after I finish a drink of some sort in the morning. 

This has nothing to do with ability, just everything to do with discomfort and annoyance. I think this is why I would never do well in a race. O crud, there's the finish line. Well, those guys are going to beat me cause I gotta go to the bathroom! I would be making full use of those port-a-potties, believe me. 

Everywhere I go I have to plot my mental map to the bathroom. This makes the poor Professor's life only slightly miserable. 


#1 Thing

Because I am out of wits and things to write about, I decided to take on Avery's six things. I have probably already done it, but I can do it again, no one reads the archives.

1. I hate coinage. Many of you know this. I just recently got a job at night when the Prof. is home. I have to deal with coinage. I have to (I almost can't bear to say it) pull all the pennies out of the register at night and count them one by one.
The guy training me: "So you just take out the various change, one by one, and count it, plug it into the register when your are done."

I nodded. Pick it up? Is he crazy?
I forget that other people don't have problems with this. I asked the Prof later that night if bringing gloves solely for the purpose of counting the coinage would look weird.
"Yes," he said.
"Well, there is hand sanitizer in the back room, I'll use that."
"Whatever, just don't bring gloves. People will think you are a freak and you will never live it down."

At Co-op on Monday the kids in Spanish class were prompted to count various items in baggies (all in Spanish). One of the baggies was filled with dirty, rusty pennies. I was assisting so I had to instruct and watch this madness. I told the kid to open the bag, pour out the pennies, count them. He did, but mid way he licked his finger for some reason, wiped his arm with the same finger that was licked, and left a dirty mark. I almost threw up all over the table. My stomach is churning just thinking about it.

And I will leave #2 for tomorrow since I have written quite enough already.