The Sandman Cometh, The Sandman Runneth Away.
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oh Sleep. Sweet, sweet sleep. Like the smell of fresh violets. A glass of sparkling water when you’re so, so thirsty. A hot shower when you’re cold…Glorious, restorative, sleep.
At 3:45am I hear the annoyed cries of my daughter, requesting her usual gut-bomb and a fresh diaper. Luckily my body knows this routine, so it isn’t as painful as it used to be. I get up, feed her, then its back to A bed. I say “a” bed because I’m a nomad of ZZ’s. I don’t have my own bed anymore. Right now my giant toddler requires the full-sized guest bed. He also requires that I sleep with him in that bed, or I will be awoken even more than I am now. My husband snores. FACT. When you’re getting so little rest, you will take what you can get. I take quiet feet in the ribcage over loud snoring in the ears. So I slip into my son’s bed, on the very edge, as he has claimed the entire middle. I pull my corner of blanket, whatever I can score. He searches for me with his feet, to confirm I’m there. Little toes jab themselves into my ribs and seem to say, “you stay.”
I can hear my daughter cooing in her room. Full belly, perfectly warm, just letting me know she is still awake, letting me know I’m not to fall asleep just yet, she may need a little extra something while she sings herself back to dream-land (sleep training is a miracle. Wish I did it better with my son). The vibrating sounds of my husband coming from the other room, the cooing of my daughter and the gentle breathing of my son are magical sounds. But only for all of a minute. My mind is buzzing with things I need to do, it betrays me. It will not slow down.
As my daughter quiets, I start to feel that wonderful weight on my eyes. The Sandman, recharged from the deserts abroad has come to give me sweet relief. It is now 5:30am. I will have approximately 2 hours of potential sleep. Yes please.
5:35am, my husband gets up to use the bathroom. He is a giant man, our floors are old and creaky. He couldn’t be a ninja if our very lives depended on it. The cooing from the other room restarts. My mind, again, betrays, re-runs through the list of musts.
It is now 6:15am. The Sandman returns, he is MOST welcome. But he is vigorously chased away by the child’s finger that finds its way up my nostril.
“That’s MOMMY’S nose!” says my son, he’s up, practically caffeinated. Followed by the shrill cry from a freshly awoken baby who has undoubtedly taken her morning crap. Goodbye Sandman…
It BEGINS.
Going on a diet of the brain
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When I was 5, a midnight trip to the bathroom might as well have been a battle for life or death. The hallway sprint, the olympic leap a few feet from the bed, all needed to be settled and quiet before the sound of the toilet finished its flushing. But hey, I’m sure most little kids do this. But do grown-up, 30-year-old women with children of their own do it? Two thumbs pointing right at me.
A creative mind is NOT without its severe disadvantages. I can memorize the colors of a sunset, mix and recreate the palate and spread it on canvas like magic. But I can also feel the creepy under-the-bed creature’s clammy hands on my ankles as I change my sheets in broad daylight. Being both a creative writer and visually artistic is a double whammy. I can think it with words, and see it with images so clear, you could jab a USB cable into my ear and print it out. The anxiety isn’t limited to myself alone, pretty much everyone I care for is in CONSTANT danger, both real and imagined. The danger isn’t just from terrible humans ( who are very real in this world) but from mythical creatures and even lions, tigers and bears (OH MY!). So what is an imaginative sister to DO?! I’m a work in progress. I’ve been trying to force myself to confront my very random fears. I’ll list the fears, and you can judge for yourself how incredibly irrational they are. This will give you a glimpse into how crazy, albeit creative, I am.
1) Fear of the basement. Ok, so maybe this isn’t too terribly out there. It is dark, gloomy, underground, isolated. There are children’s drawings on the cement walls ( not my children, the children who previously lived here). The “Scotts hiding place” written in a crawl space is particularly bone-chilling. I actually will not take my children into the basement as I believe “Scott” will try to possess or harm them.
2) Fear of Grocery stores. Now this fear, many of my mommy friends will relate to. I believe there are very evil people in this world, and I believe they are after me and my children and their preferred location of choice to take us down is at the grocery store. Nuff said.
3) Paralyzing fear that my husband will be in a car wreck or he will fall off a roof. Yes…A roof.Needs no further explanation.
4) Fear of Zombies walking up my street at night. Did I close and lock all the doors and windows? Have I stored enough canned goods and water to get us through what will be a rather “challenging” time?
5) Fear of Mountain Lions. I’m PETRIFIED OF BEING EATEN OR ANYONE I KNOW BEING EATEN BY A MOUNTAIN LION. That is in all caps because I cannot express just how scary this is to me. It seems like a very very real possibility. Yes, I live in the suburbs. Yes, it’s a bit far-fetched. Yes, it is goddamn scary.
So there you have it. When my son, who is now a little scared of the dark, points at nothing in the room and cries, I can’t say the hair on my neck wont stand straight up. Is he just seeing something with his innocent toddler eyes that I am not? Are we in danger? Do I need to draw a ring of salt and make everyone sleep in it?
Do I watch scary movies? NO. I would die from the terror. Just the damn 30 second commercials are enough ammunition to royally freak me out. That all being said, I would like to say I wouldn’t ask for anything different. Though the drawbacks are definitely there, being able to conjure up beautiful things is something to be thankful for. I just need to go on a diet of the mind and stop myself before I get carried away. No need to visualize the zombies walking up my street. I will just make sure all my windows and doors are properly locked, and maybe I’ll be sure we’ve got plenty of canned goods. for you know..eating and such.
The Mommy finally exhales…
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I’m not exactly sure why but my son likes to refer to all the important people in his life with a, “THE”. He even refers to himself as THE Julian. Which is entirely true. He is indeed The Julian.
Yesterday was an amazing day for me. I think it was a major turning point for me as mother and CEO of the house. It ran like a well-oiled machine. Everything that needed to happen happened, did the kids still cry and throw fits and make messes? You bet your ass they did. Was I able to efficiently take care of the problems and make progress in other areas? You better believe it. I even had a dinner party (6 adults) that went on without much aggravation, irritation or inconvenience. I even ENJOYED MYSELF. It was just a miracle day. Do I think every day here on out will be the same? One can only hope, but I am not so delusional as to think it’s humanly possible. That being said I still feel it has been a real turning point. Sleep is still a bit of a dream, but now that Julian has passed 2, it seems like the world has changed for us all.
Something has clicked. That is the best way I am able to describe it. I went from saying at least once a day, “Christ, how in the F&%# am I supposed to get through the rest of today,” to chasing Julian down the hall, Siena on my hip, all of us giggling like fools and “dancing till the world ends,” in the kitchen (thank you very much Britney Spears). I wish I knew exactly what caused this new enthusiasm and energy and, dare I say it, hope for a bright future and semblance of organization. I wish I knew because I would immediately share it with my mommy friends and there would be great sighs of relief all around the world from mothers who can barely comb their hair and scrape the oatmeal off the ceiling. But I don’t know. Perhaps its a combination of my son understanding my direction, and communicating so much better, or Siena finally on a schedule and becoming less and less helpless/needy with each day. The laundry doesn’t seem QUITE as daunting, though I still have a solid 5 loads in the basement. The work hasn’t really decreased, maybe it’s just shifted and for some reason seems more doable to me right now. I was just putting my kids to bed and I managed to get through a scream-fest without so much as a, ” Oh my god I am going to bash my face into that wall,” thought in my mind. It’s amazing!!! I’m going to just keep taking these omega 3 vitamin supplements because even though I have no idea if that has anything to do with anything, I dare not break the cycle that sparked a chain of events leading to this fantastic progress. Taking a deep breath….no longer waiting to exhale.
Pregnancy: a blessing, a miracle…that Sucks.
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I know there are millions of women out there who truly enjoy the process of building a person in their womb, and let me say that I am truly grateful for the opportunity to do so….but let me also say…Pregnancy SUCKS. I mean, what the heck is good about it? I can’t say I enjoy gaining weight by the week, or squeezing myself into maternity pants that, in no way, shape or form, flatter my ever-expanding ass. Know the feeling of having to really pee first thing in the morning? How about experiencing it all DAY! like sleeping on your back? Too bad. Like eating tuna fish sandwiches? Too bad. A cold glass of wine after a long day? Nope. The baby kicking is cute until your organs become a punching bag and the super amazing hyper sensitive sense of smell is perfect in a rose garden, but terrible during a lunch trip to Milpitas, when the local dump has had a good soaking of warm sunshine. A compliment of “you don’t look pregnant in the face,” never feels as good as was intended. Why do I want to eat so much lemon, but absolutely can’t stand the basic taste of water? this is definitely my last time being pregnant, I wish it was April already.
The hair affair
My childhood obsession with “The Little Mermaid” was due to, in no small part, her flowing red hair that went all the way down to there. It wasn’t so much the color, though I have to say it’s vibrancy was epic. Long, glorious hair is, in a word, LOVELY. The vast majority of my childhood and early adolescence was spent managing my locks. It’s a pretty copper-brown color, full of body and bounce. It was also regularly full of knots, tangles, frizz and the occasional branch or leaf (I’m not kidding, not even a little). My husband referred to it in high school as, “foof.” I like to call it, Shakira hair.
One day I just decided to cut it. For anyone with long hair, cutting inches is like cutting large bits of your security blanket. Hair is something that can distract or hide. Its easier to be beautiful with long hair, it’s easier to be feminine and frankly, it’s easier to blend in which for many people, is a serious goal. For me, I had always lacked the interest to do any real upkeep with my mass of hair, so going short was for more practical reasons. I don’t even think I properly learned how to style my hair with a blow-dryer until college. Plus, change is good. I am a super big fan of changing your appearance. It keeps things interesting.
In college I went VERY short. About as short as a woman can cut her hair without buzzing it. Let me tell you….the liberation is so freeing and indescribable. It is truly a way to embrace what your mama gave you. You are out there, face forward, exposed, different and there is no hiding and no turning back. I believe every woman should cut her hair that short at least ONCE in her life to understand that level of freedom, and to fully embrace who she is and accept herself, flaws and all as ‘lovely’ even if it’s in an unconventional way. So now comes the time when I grow out my hair and argue to myself every day…Is long hair even ME? Sure its beautiful, but the upkeep…sure its sexy, but the hassle…sure its feminine but it’s so expected and even ordinary.
Let me say this, if you can feel sexy without long hair, and you can feel gorgeous without makeup, then you are truly free and nothing is as empowering. Now where is the number to my hairdresser….there is a pixie cut with my name on it.
My future: shaped by pink lipstick.
When I was 3, I wore dresses with white stockings. I ran around with two, tightly woven french-braids in my hair, fastened at the tips with colorful ceramic creatures that would fly up and clip my teeth. I considered myself to be a very grown-up, fashionista. I would sneak access to my mom’s beauty products whenever possible.
One afternoon, I was sitting in our quintessential 1980′s, black, Z-28 Camaro. My mom ran inside to make sure she turned off the iron (scatter-brained tendencies MAY run in the family). Of course, I immediately seized the rare opportunity to explore her purse.
Jackpot! Pink lipstick. The color was vibrant, glistening, beckoning. With wide eyes and adrenaline pumping, I opened it to the max and aggressively pulled it across my mouth and face. I didn’t stop there. I traced my forehead and cheeks until the lipstick was decimated.
I never got to see what I looked like, though I imagined it was “stunning”. I also didn’t understand my mom’s reaction when she returned to the car. I was certainly very annoyed when she took me inside to clean-up.
To this day, when I find a certain color (can be anything- paint, clothing, fabric) that really peaks my interest, I will say out-loud, ” I love this color SO much I could just rub it all over my face.”
Well, it’s no surprise where that comes from.
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