Tag Archives: sleep

Mattress of Epic Dreams

This past Sunday I went to a discount mattress store, asked them where their cheapest twin-sized mattress were and then dropped a painful sum for three brand new twin mattress, two bunkie-boards, one box spring, and one twin metal bed frame.

They were delivered last evening. We hauled out the old ones, which quite possibly had soaked up enough pee through the years of bed-wetting to double their mass. Given that Miss Drama has not leaked upon anything for awhile, I figured it might be time to replace them.

This evening Mr. Smarty-pants announced, “I slept wonderfully on my new bed!”

“Great!” I said. Given that I didn’t exactly buy fancy mattresses, I’m glad they are comfortable.

Miss Diva proclaimed, “Oh, yes, I slept great until someone woke me up.” She looked pointedly in my direction. Then she added, “I dreamt of motorcycles.’

“Cool.”

“Yes. Unicorns riding motorcycles with bacon.”

Unicorns, motorcycles, AND bacon? I’m not sure I can top that. Hmm, clearly my mattress is not of the epic dreams variety.

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The Sleeping Pyramid

On the plus side, take out 90% of the grains and all dairy and I have a much shorter mountain to hike to get to dessert. šŸ˜€

Much like the food pyramid,sleeping locales are available in a variety of groups in my house, with the other beds in the house forming the base of this pyramid. It seems my bed is the pinnacleĀ  of sleeping locations. Much like we scramble over pasta and veggies to reach the diabetes and cholesterol promoting top of the food pyramid, everyone in my house vies to sleep in my bed.

Never mind that it results in worse sleep for all involved, my bed is dessert!

Most days, I get the kids to eat healthy sleep in proper locations. Still, I wake up some days to find them doubled up two to a bed, or someone camped on the floor,the recliner, or even curled up in the office chair. It took a concerted effort over a period of two years to get them out of my bed. Sometimes one sneaks a cookie into my bed. If I’m cognizant enough to notice, I shove them out. It’s MY cookie, err….bed.

The critter horde has gotten in on this sleep feast. The only other bed that the cats like is Miss Diva’s. I suppose it’s like settling for an apple when you really want a bowl of ice cream. I assume, based on the avoidance of all creatures of Miss Drama’s bed, that her’s is Brussels sprouts.

Zeke, our lab-cocker mix, is a snuggler. He’s utterly adorable. He also snores, hogs the bed, and likes to shove his head into my back. I think he’s hoping he can shove me off the bed and have it all to himself. When the kids are home, I shove him off and make him go sleep in a lower spot on the pyramid.

Last night, due to the lovely storm, the vast majority of the critter horde invaded my room. I shoved Zeke out, because in addition to his less than desirable sleeping habits, I think he sends telepathic “Hahahaha” messages to Marble and Millie. They put their snouts on the bed and whine and bark and carry on until he’s evicted. Marble doesn’t evenĀ likeĀ sleeping on beds because she prefers the cool floor to counteract the heat retaining power of her massive fur coat. Still, if she can’t have dessert the bed, Zeke cannot . Millie spent many years cuddled with her prior owner on his bed. However, she’s rather sizable and she’s old. Her back legs wobble in the process of laying down on the floor and my bed is on the high side. She’ll have to content herself with vegetables, errr…..the floor.

I had three feline friends on the bed when I fell asleep. I think I kicked Lovey one too many times and she fled. Junior simply sprawled on top of my legs– better to avoid kicks. Midnight, who normally unleashes her inner serial killer upon the rodents of the neighborhood at night, was inside. She likes cuddling as well, and often chooses a spot above my head. However, there have been times I woke up because she was attempting to sprawl across my face…..or perhaps suffocate me.Ā  I woke in the middle of the night due to her yanking on my hair. Either she was grooming me, or taking this dessert metaphor way too literally.

 

Hell for light sleepers

I’m the oldest of three children. We were all rather close in age, so I learned early to sleep through my siblings crying and howling. My mother thought nothing of vacuuming late at night, especially since that was about the only chance she had to get any real cleaning done without little hands and feet promptly destroying her efforts. I can, when needed, sleep lightly and awake at the tiniest cry from a baby, but it’s a conscious effort. For about five years I did that, which for me, meant I never really sank into a deep restful sleep. I functioned, like most mothers, in a state ofĀ  sleep deprivation. I rejoiced the day my youngest slept through the night. I promptly returned to comatose sleeping habits. I can sleep through just about anything. All of my kids are also fairly heavy sleepers.

Poor Soup King lived his formative years in the quiet of a single child household, in the house of his grandmother. Quiet reigned supreme. A pin falling down the street could probably wake him up.

Here are a handful of the trials he endures when attempting to sleep in my house:

Things like gun shots and sirens are common noises. I’ve heard them for so long that I don’t really “hear” them. The barking dogs, thankfully, are not (in general) my dogs. My neighbor has a herd of dogs, half beagle-half Chihuahua (100% inbred). I don’t think a worse combination of yipping and howling exists.

They can get on even my nerves. Heck, from time to time they get on Marble’s nerves and she lets out a massive “WOOF!”, which I’m pretty sure translates into, “Shut the BLEEP up. I’m trying to sleep!”

 

 

Then of course, there’s the fact I let poor little neurotic Mille sleep in the bedroom. She alternately noms a bone, pants, and licks herself until I fall asleep. She rarely falls asleep before I do, but that isn’t really saying anything. Unless I’ve had coffee after 12pm, I’m out in under 5min. The grown cats are exiled to the rest of the house, because as much I like furry foot warmers and snuggling, I also like breathing. Some of them seem to think sleeping on or right by my face is required. My allergies disagree. So, being nocturnal creatures, they proceed to careen through the house, chasing each other and knocking things down. The kitten is often sequestered in the master bath because instead of sleeping, she attempts to pounce on any body part that moves. So, she attempts to renovate the bathroom every night.

 

Poor Soup King.

 

 

I agree with Garfield.

Mondays are evil. I agree with Garfield that Mondays should be outlawed. Sunday gets all used up making preparations for the impending Monday. Monday EATS half the weekend. Only Garfield could top that kind of gluttony.

This Monday began with thunderstorms in the middle of the night.Now as the Soup King would be happy to testify, I could sleep through the Apocalypse, so a little thunderstorm doesn’t bother me. The same cannot be said for everyone else in the house. Millie feels the need to wake me to let me know it’s thundering, because she’s decided it’s her sworn duty to inform me of everything (if the cat walks into the room, if the dogs are getting more attention than she is, if the children are going out or in, or the sun came up…I think she’s missed her true calling as a dog news reporter.).

Just as I pass out again, the thunder booms, waking Soup King (who might cause an Apocalypse, but definitely wouldn’t sleep through one). He jumps out of bed which spurs me to wake enough neurons to figure out what he’s doing. He shuts off the computer, which means my phone is not well charged come morning. (My wall charger ceased functioning. I bought another one and that too ceased to function.)

Marble, who will frolic with delight in snow, must be shoved bodily out the door if even a tiny drizzle wets her fur. Zeke is rather annoyed with the cooler mornings and also loathes rain, so this morning was an exercise in wrestling two dogs out the door while Millie barks for me to hurry up and let her out the front. (I’ve tried sending her out with the others, but Zeke takes that as the go ahead for an all out rough and tumble, rollicking romp and tries to jump all over her. All she wants to do is take care of business and come back in. Thus, the segregated potty arrangements.)

That done, I proceed to wake children, and the usual morning chaos ensues. Miss Drama complains of a stomach ache, but she does that every other day anyway, partly because she eats things with gluten outside of the house that she’s not supposed to eat. So, she got bundled off to school with her brother and sister. The heavy rain made for a stressful drive, as people here feel the need to brake suddenly or decide that they should attempt to change lanes regardless of the fact I’m in the space they want to occupy. My car attempts feats only a certain historical religious figure can claim success with, and my self-censored complaints end up making me sound like a pirate:

“You A-rrrrrgh!”

I praise the heavens that there’s a long line of other parents that are late due to the insane drivers and heavy rains, drop off the kids and head to school, noticing that my phone battery is hovering around a quarter ’til dead. Unfortunately, when my battery gets low, my phone tends not to work properly. Calls get dumped straight into voicemail and I have no idea anyone attempted to call until Sprint decides to share that information, which is not always instantaneous.

I get to school, park, get my things together and head off for my cross-campus trek. I get a tiny handful of things done before I notice I have a voicemail.

Miss Drama puked at school and has a low-grade fever.

Joy.

So, morning is ruined as I hike back to car, email boss, and pick up my germ infested youngest child. I go ahead and do the grocery shopping I didn’t get done over the weekend and then work at home for a couple hours before leaving Miss Drama with Soup King to go back to school and attend an action-packed, edge-of-seat seminar (all sarcastic hyperbole intended), which of course runs over time. I have just enough time to split cells before picking up the non-infested siblings.

During dinner, conversation wanders to my discipline techniques. Miss Diva’s idea of “joke” still eludes me, as she claims that saying I beat them all the time is a joke. She attempted to correlate it with chickens crossing the road, but her logic only served to torture my brain cells.

My dearest son came to my defense,”Nu-uh. The only thing Mom beats us with is being weird.”

Gee, thanks.

 

One giant leap

I must admit that the people who devised daylight savings time were ingenious. Who doesn’t enjoy having time for playing outside in the summer? Well, here in the south, once the temperatures reach a degree past roasting, I suppose indoor activities are preferred. In direct contrast to my enjoyment of summer evenings, my fall mornings when the time has yet to change back become an increasing trial to drag my non-morning self out of bed.

Back in 2005 congress, in their infinite wisdom, passed legislature to extend DST for energy conservation purposes from the end of October to the first weekend in November. This year that means the time doesn’t change until the 6th. Every neuron in my brain protests this act. When my alarm goes off before the sun rises my brain insists that the phone is experiencing a malfunction.

I admit to a love affair with sleep, and not keen on getting up no matter the time of year, but this is probably due to running at a sleep deficit for a great many years. My body wants its eight hours and doesn’t appreciate me not obliging on a regular basis. So, in that regard that whole cheating me out of an hour’s sleep in the spring does not help matters. Does giving it back in the fall really matter after making me wake up for a couple of weeks before the sun has even meandered over the horizon?

Well, zombies are all the rage right now.

SLEEEEEP...

I suppose should a zombie apocalypse arrive I’ll survive for at least a bit. With circles under my eyes, vacant expression, and shambling walk the zombies won’t be able to tell the difference.