Nothing Is Sacred

Becky's Take on Life, Love, Motherhood and Other Random Stuff

Dreams September 13, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — Becky @ 9:18 pm
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Last night I dreamed he held me. Doesn’t that sound really romantic? Except that I have no idea who “he” was. It was nice to be held. It’s been awhile, you know? Just as I was about to look up into my dreamy studmuffin’s eyes and discover his identity– and this is important because what if he is the produce guy at WalMart or something and I’ve been overlooking him during my grocery shopping excursions? Anyway, just I was about to identify the tall guy with the solid chest invading my dreams, Z11 starts shaking my foot, telling me to wake up. Why? Is the house on fire? No, she just appointed herself the alarm fairy and it is now her personal mission to make sure we are all awake at the hour she deems appropriate.

Isn’t having a tween great? I think I might have really enjoyed the rest of that dream. I was already feeling like I had eaten a large bag of M&M’s though, so maybe it couldn’t have gotten much better.

 

Morning March 11, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — Becky @ 5:31 pm
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I’m thinking of getting up a petition to have all days start at 11 a.m. There would be no more of this dragging ourselves out of bed at 6 a.m. and turning to caffeine and a handful of supplements to get our aging bodies moving. Everyone would start their day refreshed and would get so much accomplished!

“What?”, you are saying. If so, you may be one of those annoying morning people who bounce out of bed with a bright smile, ready to face whatever your day may bring. You can tune out now.

Everyone else, listen up! We all know that as we get older we need more sleep than we did when we were a college student, partying until the wee hours, and crawling to classes the next morning in sweats, t-shirt and a funky looking ponytail. Anyway, your employer probably frowns on you coming to work dressed like that, unless, of course, you work at a gym. Just think of sleeping until 8 or 9 a.m., enjoying a leisurely morning, dropping the kids off at school, and arriving at work looking totally refreshed.

I love this idea because my morning usually involves me rolling out of bed at the last possible second, shaking my children violently to get them awake, (really, these people could sleep through nuclear warfare) then spending the next hour and a half repeating the phrases “eat your breakfast,” “wash your face and brush your teeth,” “get your clothes on,” “yes, you have to wear socks,” and “hurry up,” all while I try to turn my physical self into something resembling a human being. So, I end up putting my makeup on in the car.

I imagine a morning of sunshine, birds singing, and people knowing exactly what they need to do to get ready because we’ve been doing it like, virtually every morning since they could walk upright on their own. There would be no more bad hair days because I would be able to fix my hair while I was fully awake.

I realize the village elders had to get cracking early to make every second of daylight count, but we have electric lights now, so most work can be done any time of the day! I could be so much more efficient in a world where the day starts at 11 a.m. What is so wrong with that? Nothing, if it saves the sanity of people everywhere, and maybe keeps a few people from going postal.

 

A Mom’s Rights March 6, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — Becky @ 4:19 pm
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Wait a second… I remember now. I don’t have any rights as a mom. Perhaps from a legal perspective, but not from my child’s perspective.

The minute the tiny, screaming, red-faced loves emerged from my body I became “Mom.” Mom is a woman who has given up pretty much everything to guide these little ones through all of life’s trials and turmoils, and bring them through to the other side as good people who don’t rob banks or involve their family and friends in Ponzi schemes.

It doesn’t matter to the colicky infant that you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in six months, and there are so many bags under your eyes that you need a luggage cart to get them from place to place during the day. There is floor walking to be done and you had best be on top of it.

The whiny, sick toddler could not care less if you are covered in puke, and surrounded by 23 loads of dirty laundry. They want to be comforted.

As my children reach the ages of 9 and 11, their level of caring hasn’t increased all that much. I am frequently awakened by someone shaking my foot (the first part of me they can reach when they enter my bedroom) to inform me they can’t sleep, or they would like a drink but are too scared to go to the kitchen alone. My stock responses are “think of something pleasant,” and “we have a big, burly German Shepard, take her with you.” Of course, I usually end up rousing myself from my comatose state to follow someone into the kitchen for a drink of water and tuck them back into bed. Really, is it any wonder I am looking forward to the college years? Sleep will be mine again!

It is still incomprehensible to my son that I am rendered sleepless when he crawls into my bed at night because he is cold, or has had a bad dream. Who can sleep with 90 pounds of boy pushing them closer and closer to the edge of the bed until they are hanging on by one butt cheek.

The right to privacy has also blown out the window. You will never spend another moment truly alone until your kids have flown the nest. You don’t believe me? Just try sitting down in the bathroom for a few minutes of uninterrupted peace and see how quickly they start yelling “Mom, where are you?” That and the telephone are like a magnet for your children to start hunting you down like a dog in the night. “What,” they think, as if led by some extrasensory instinct, “mom is on the phone. She must be stopped.”

Each morning I gird my loins and prepare myself for the fact that my life is not my own. At least not for another 9 years, and even then I have a feeling this is the one job that never ends.