My Socks Never Match

I went to bed at 7:00 in the evening and was back up somewhere around 9:30. After fighting it for a bit, I decided to give in to the fact that,

Yes, as a matter of fact, I am wide awake.

On my way tiptoeing out of the bedroom in the darkness, I picked up a sweater off the floor (I am that person), felt around for my glasses while knocking a curling iron off the vanity (again, that person), and pulled out the first two socks from my throw-'em-all-in-there sock drawer (totally that person).

And now, here I sit.

Two completely different socks that do not even share the same zip code of fashion or style and a sweater that I'm pretty sure is wrong-side-out complete the do-I-even-own-a-matching-set-of-pajamas look. I've got a cup of hot cocoa that has already gone lukewarm because this house is cold, but I also have a cat on my lap who is a rather convenient form of warmth. I debated starting a fire, but decided that I didn't want to commit to all that. Midnight is my goal for returning to slumber and a heated blanket.

I have scrolled through Facebook and learned primarily one thing. People are freezing. The weather is always a hot topic (get it?) and whether the temp is single digits or barely below the freezing point, sharing that fact along with exclamation points, snowflake emojis, and winter-themed hashtags is just a way of social media life. I find I am well-informed of the temps across the country. Thankfully, it would appear that we're all in for a warm-up, so prepare to adjust your emojis and hashtags accordingly.

I've caught up on reading my favorite blogs from people I know and people I don't know. I've priced airline tickets for a trip home. I've looked for a few weekend-getaways. I've trolled a few people (don't judge), conducted a few job searches (don't freak), and got lost somewhere in the midst of all that on Amazon (just nod your head). I've even put in a few grades and paid at least one bill. This last hour may have well been my most productive hour of the entire day.

But alas, I am slowing down. My eyes are tired and my feet are cold. My legs are growing numb from the warm ball of fur who is currently sacked out. This post has served no other reason than to pass the time and maybe, possibly, give you something to read while you're up in the middle of the night. It may very well be the one thing that actually puts you to sleep.

I just hope your sock drawer is more organized than mine.

Good Morning! Now Can I Go Back To Bed?

Maybe it was the coffee I had at four in the afternoon.
Or the chocolate milk I had at nine in the evening.

The melatonin I took at ten certainly did no good.

I have been up the entire, blessed night. Not a wink of sleep. None. Zero. Zilch. I absolutely hate it when this happens. I am most definitely a sleep person. I go to bed early. I sleep late when I can. I nap as often as an opportunity will present itself. Back in the days of the classroom, I've been known to close the door, hit the light, and stretch on the floor behind my desk. Sleep is a priority to me. I know the health benefits. I think better. I probably look better.

So when I can't sleep, my entire world threatens to crumble.

I am not my grandma. She would be up cleaning or canning or doing something when sleep would flee. I am not my daughter. She would have already had a quilt block finished or embroidered a pillow or something of creative value. That is so not me. All I can do is bemoan the fact that I cannot sleep to no one other than myself.

I was going to get up at three and work on school work, but my eyes did not appreciate the light. I started a fire and envisioned myself sleeping on the couch like I often do with the cats by my side. The cats loved it, but the flickering of flames in an otherwise dark house did not do well even with my eyes shut. I am evidently just too darn picky.

So here I sit, twelve minutes away from my weekly alarm breaking the silence. I am trying to stay positive because the youngest mentioned to me after my last blog post that I have been getting rather depressing. I don't know what to tell you, girl. Sometimes that is just how this momma gets. Even so, I have been picking up my bible more and thinking about the goodness of the Lord.

For He is good... even on the nights I cannot sleep.

Here's to another Monday. And coffee. I should be on my third cup by nine.

Insomnia

No good thing can come out of a 2:00 a.m. blog post.
For the last three days, the youngest has been sick. Six days ago, the husband came home sick.
So I don't know why I'm surprised to find that I feel lousy right now.

My neck is stiff. My throat scratchy. My nightgown irritating.
I am hot then cold then hot again. I cannot get comfortable.
My eyes burn. My ear hurts. My mind wanders.

Why am I still awake? Too much coffee? Too much tea?
The non-drowsy cold pill I took around seven in the evening?

After I successfully solved every problem known to man (in my mind, of course), I decided to get up and write. Seeing as how I went to bed around ten, that's a good four hours of problem solving. My grandma would have used that four hours to wash her hair, do a load of laundry, vacuum the living room, and can a batch of... something. Me? I just lie there and berate my body for not having the decency to go to sleep.

Did I mention I have indigestion?

Sheesh. I'm gonna be top-notch in the morning. Aren't you glad you won't be one of the people in my path? Or maybe you will be. If you greet me with a can of Lysol and a protective mask, I promise you won't offend me. Just offer me an extra cup of coffee as well.

I'm off to try this sleep thing again.




Happy Thursday! =)

I Could Be Something Great (If I Ever Got Out Of Bed)

I do some of my best writing at night.

In bed.
In my mind.

Complete essays. Deep insight. Intriguing theories.

Introduction.
Body.
Conclusion.

I can picture the written word clearly. I visualize the paragraphs, use good transitional sentences, and correct my grammar. I think of different opening lines and optional closing remarks. I convince myself that I'll remember it all in the morning and eventually drift off to sleep.

Then I wake up and remember nothing.

Oh, I remember tidbits here and there. It's like catching a glimpse of something great, like maybe the sun trying to peek through dark curtains on a dreary day, but never quite grasping the full, glorious picture. Such a mental block climbs beyond frustration. I really should get up when inspiration strikes, but that bed is too darn warm.

Such is the price of laziness.

Last night's masterpiece included a response to a recent blog I read via Pinterest. The young author presented her ten (or maybe fourteen?) surefire steps to a happy, healthy marriage. This female optimist has been married for three (or maybe five?) years and has no children. Judging from the pictures that accompanied her post, she and her husband are fresh out of college, attractive as in that athletic way, and in love with the world and everyone around them.

And if you know me, you can only imagine the thoughts that ran through my mind.

Well, okay... my thoughts were not that dire. I'm all for optimistic love. Really. I was there once, too. I'm still in love with the man and with the hope that never ends and with the knowledge that my God says it will all work out in the end. Life has a way of throwing those curve balls at you, though. Things you never saw coming. Things that if you had saw coming you might have cashed it in then for fear that you would never make it out alive.

But you do make it out. A little more beat up. Maybe some bruises. Definitely a scar or two. A war story all your own.

The husband says he thinks things are about to change for us. Maybe the tide is turning. He's been deep in his Bible of a night. Maybe he's reading about the end times. Maybe he's reading about Job. I don't ask. That's between him and the Lord and a direct violation of Optimistic Young Wife's Advice in Tip Number Seven (or maybe Tip Number Nine?). According to her, I'm suppose to ask him his thoughts on a daily basis.

Chuckle. Chuckle.

She'll learn and she'll tweak her own tips as the years progress and babies come and money goes. I should know. I tweak my own internal advice on a daily basis. I expect the unexpected.

And I've not been disappointed.

Now if I'd only get out of bed and transfer those nighttime writings from my mind to paper, I might actually get somewhere... and make a whole lot more sense in the process.

In Case You've Ever Wondered, Ice Water Does NOT Promote Sleep

The husband has been having trouble with his elbow and has lately been seen around the house with a gallon-sized ziplock full of crushed ice attached to his arm. I went to bed before him last night to browse my nook, make a play or two on Words With Friends, and play a round of Scrabble (notice no reading was involved). I was fully relaxed and slightly drowsy and just getting ready to turn off the light when he walked in and put his melted bag of ice on my leg. He thought he was being funny.

He wasn't.

The bag opened unexpectedly as only a ziplock bag can do and what was suppose to be a funny move turned into a torrent of freezing water all over me. The conversation that followed is not important and probably shouldn't be repeated anyway. What is important is that after that event, I was no longer fully relaxed and slightly drowsy even though the light was now off. I was wide awake and full of thoughts that only a dark, quiet house can entertain.

Friends. There are friends and then there are good friends. I am thankful for the good friends.
Groceries. Sub sandwiches and pizza dip. Chili. Lasagna. Our meals for the next three nights.
Bills. Sometimes you just gotta know when to cut your losses and hope for the best.
Jobs. Praying. Believing. Waiting.

Fleas. Is that another stupid flea biting me?!?

Somewhere in the midst of cursing those pesky fleas and wondering if pizza dip at 11:30 at night would be a bad idea and thinking about what tomorrow might bring, I went to sleep.

A deep, dreamless sleep that lasted until the alarm went off at 5:30 a.m.
And then the thoughts started all over again. It's gonna be one of those days.

That man better not come after me again with a bag of ice. =)

Words From My Grandma And Late Night Tacos

It's four in the morning and I'm wide awake. Well, the wide awake part would be an exaggeration... actually I am very tired. My eyes hurt. My head feels funny. My tummy just might be protesting that Taco Bell run we made sometime after ten o'clock last night. And yet, here I sit.

I was having the most amazing dream. My hair was long and full and brown (of all things) and full of the most beautiful curls. I was sitting in a bar (sorry Mom) with a man not my husband (sorry husband) talking about life. Then, at some point, the man got bored and my husband walked in, somewhat relieved that I had found somebody else to talk to if even for a few minutes. I am so not kidding here. This is the story of my life.

I woke up with a smile thinking about those beautiful curls. Dreams have a way of fading quickly, however, and as the cool air from the fan hit the back of my neck, I was reminded that my hair is not long, has more waves than curls, and is most definitely not brown. I could hear my husband snoring softly beside me and I was reminded of the reality in which we live.

We are both out of work with no real plan in sight. Just when it seems that there might be a sliver of hope, that hope is snatched faster than it can take root. Some might say it's a spiritual battle and others might just call it life. All I know is that with each passing day and each local news show, heaven is looking better and better. Shoot, drugs are looking better.

Did I say that out loud? Ha. Do you ever have thoughts like that? Who am I writing to anyway? I sometimes think a diary would be better, but then I have a fear of somebody reading it after I'm dead. How crazy is that? I sometimes think I should pull the plug on this one (blog) and start again, but I often feel like my life is nothing more than a bunch of re-starts. Not a bad thing, I know, but some things are just what they are. No sense hitting a delete button trying to pretend none of it happened.

Wow. This is turning out to be a tad bit depressing. I sure didn't mean it that way. The mind is a funny thing. One minute I can be full of hope and the next I can be certain things will never go my way. Maybe that's the ticket right there... my way. Good grief, will I ever learn? It's times like these I wish I could call my grandma. Somehow it always made me feel better to hear that she had the same struggles I did. I'll never forget the time she told me about her early days of marriage and her mother-in-law. I can still see her talking about it all. She was just as fired up about some sixty (or more) years later as she must have been when she was actually in the middle of it all.

It does help to hear people share their honest stories, doesn't it? Not those Sunday-suit-sitting-in-the-choir stories, but those down-to-earth-life-can-be-crap stories. I learn more from hearing how someone overcame adversary than from someone telling me what I should be doing, if that makes any sense. My grandma was like that. Sure she would tell me what I should be doing (for instance, I don't know how many times I had Hebrews 10:23-25 quoted to me by that little old lady) but she would also share her own experiences with me to try to teach me something. That meant a lot.

Anyway, I guess there's not much else to say. Today is a new day. Anything can happen. If I were to hang up hope altogether, I would truly have nothing to live for. I don't know... maybe I should get that diary.

And by the way, Hebrews 10:23-25 says this: Let us hold fast the profession of our faith without wavering; (for he is faithful that promised;) And let us consider one another to provoke unto love and to good works: Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together, as the manner of some is; but exhorting one another: and so much the more, as ye see the day approaching.

That was her favorite verse to throw my way when I told her I was tired of going to church. I still repeat that same thing to myself often and have used it on the kids on more than one occasion. Thanks, Grandma. =)

Free Desserts And Wedded Bliss

I'm sitting here at three in the morning, wide awake with a glass of water at my side and the cat dutifully perched upon my lap. The house is quiet with only the occasional moans and groans of a ice-maker kicking out the ice. Not a snore to be heard. I guess all the events of the day have kept me up. We had such a good anniversary that I hate to see the day end.

Our daughter started our day off with breakfast in bed. Yeah, she's good like that. Scrambled eggs, muffins, coffee, and milk. I am soooooo glad I took the time to show her a thing or two in the kitchen (and to my grandma, who was never afraid to stand a three-year old on a stool in her own kitchen or put a quilting needle in her hand... but that's a story for another day). We went to church and as my husband and I sat there holding hands, I thought about many things.

The amazing healing process our girl went through years ago.
My husband's family and the drama they bring to our lives.
The lady in front of me who wouldn't stop flipping her hair.

(And I know I get distracted easily, but seriously... how many times can a girl flip her hair over the back of her chair? Apparently, a lot).

Afterward, we went to the mall to appease the masses (that would be the kids), shared a gyro (which the husband first fell in love with in Germany), and aimlessly wandered in and out of stores. We were shocked at the adult themes we found in one novelty store-

and a side note here, take the time to know exactly what is in your local mall. I hate the mall. I'm not a fan of mall shopping. Therefore I always take a seat at Barnes & Noble and read while my kids roam freely. Not a good idea. At least not at first. This particular "novelty"  store had adult toys, games, the whole XXX theme without the magazines and movies, all on full display. No i.d. required to walk in (nothing posted about purchasing stuff).  The place was full of kids and by kids, I mean teens that looked as young as our fourteen-year old. When we talked to the kids about later, they were all too aware of the place (except our girl, thank the Lord, but then again, she is always with me reading) and immediately looked at me shocked, "Mom, you should NOT have went in there."

What's my point? The kids knew; I didn't. Know your mall. And know how to write a respectful and yet objectionable letter to the mall owners, elected county officials, and all the local moms in your area.

-but back to my day. After the mall and the husband's discussion with the kids regarding the above-mentioned store, we went home and basically did nothing until the time came for us to go out to dinner. Alone. The best meal ever. We had the best server, the best food, the best free dessert (I'm thinking we spent so much on dinner the guy must of thought there might be something to these two random people having such a meal on a Sunday night... he wished us a Happy Anniversary with a huge piece of some chocolate brownie-mousse concoction that is currently waiting in my fridge). We sat there and ate and talked while holding hands and I thought about many things.

The heart attack my husband had our sixth year.
The Great Move of the fourteenth year.
The person sitting at the end of the table next to us wearing a graduation cap.

(Yes, again with the distractions, but watching her struggle to keep her tassel out of her pasta was a tad bit entertaining).

Then we came home to a mess. Dirty dishes piled up. Dishwasher not unloaded. I got frustrated and voiced that frustration loudly and sarcastically. The husband pulled me aside and whispered, "Eighteen years." Yep. He has a way of diffusing a situation.

So now I sit here with the clock pushing the four o'clock hour. The kitchen was cleaned long ago. The cat abandoned me to chase his tail around the living room floor.  One kid has got up and looked at me strangely, "Mom, do you KNOW what time it is?"

Why yes, oh child of mine, I know exactly what time it is. I just hate for the day to end.

Is It Morning Yet?

Good grief. I think I had too much coffee. I definitely cannot turn my mind off and the Lord knows I wish it would go into sleep mode. Today was such a whirlwind of driving kids around, writing papers, running interference, playing counselor... all that stuff that goes along with being MOM. Usually I drop into bed exhausted, physically and mentally. I guess I shouldn't have had that venti-sized Starbucks this evening.

Or the cup of coffee before that.
With the piece of chocolate cake.

Do you ever have people ask you what's on your mind, and you think to yourself Do you really want to know? Do you ever want to share what's on your mind, but you wonder to yourself What's the point?

My husband, bless his heart, asked me that question tonight. He's a wise man. He knows something is going on. He asks and I think he sincerely wants to know. But I lie and tell him Nothing. Nothing is on my mind (with emphasis on the nothing part).

So now he thinks I'm moody.
And I'm mad because he thinks I'm moody.

Well, mad is probably too strong of a word. If I'm mad at anybody, it would just be at myself. Maybe if I would have shared what was on my mind, I wouldn't be wide awake at 2:04 in the morning with the cat curled up beside me. I would be in my warm bed with my husband, not the cat. Yep. Makes me feel pretty dumb just writing this.

So what's on my mind?

Money. A book I'm reading. A snowstorm out west. Virtual worlds and reality. People that have 500 facebook friends. My student loan statement. A kid not feeling good. Hunger. Angry adults. God. Roman emperors that won't go away. Unemployment. Friends who aren't really friends. Make that two kids that aren't feeling good. Poland. Stale raisin bran. Cold feet. High gas prices.

Okay. Maybe I'm getting a bit carried away, but the first four are a definite. That and the hunger and the cold feet.

No wonder he thinks I'm moody.
I probably really did have too much coffee.
But I can never have too much chocolate.