Archive | February, 2010

Sleep & Freckles

26 Feb

Something happened to me last night.  One moment I was perfectly awake and ready to get my Glee on and the next I was passed out in the recliner with only a blanket and Lemon to keep me warm.  (shoulder shrug)

It may be because I ate a massive amount of smoked beef at my Aunt’s house last night.  (Though, it wasn’t turkey, so it was tryptophan-free…what’s up with that?) Or, it may have been the massive headache I acquired from the too-tight-nose-pieces on my glasses.  Or, it could be because Jaden and Fisher drove my nerves to the brink of insanity by playing on my Aunt’s electronic, lift recliner for a straight hour last night.  Their howls of excitement were not all that exciting for everyone else in the room.  I was all for stopping them, but my Aunt thought that it was too much fun for them to pass up.  (My Aunt is awesome that way.)

Whatever the cause, at 8:45 last night I passed out in the recliner and only awoke long enough to drag myself to bed.

For 9+ glorious hours I enjoyed the deepest sleep of my life.  It’s one of those sleeps where you wake up with a thin sheen of sweat on your brow….yeah, like that.  (Hey, don’t say Ewww! You know you do it too.) It is the stamp of a good night’s sleep.  Mmm, sweaty.

Thus, I have been ultra perky this morning.  Which is why I am now regretting the almost 2 cups of coffee I had this morning.  (I say almost two cups because about 3/4’s way through a cup of coffee, the coffee gets cold, so then I have start over with another cup.  Lame, I know.) Nine-ish hours of sleep + two-ish cups of coffee = one hyper-ish me.

On an un-related note, I discovered a new freckle on my foot this morning as I was sitting in the shower.  (Why stand in the shower when you can sit?  Exactly.) I know that this doesn’t sound exciting to you, but this kind of think happens to me all the time.  Where are these freckles coming from?  What is their purpose?  I have a theory that I am not really getting new freckles, but the ones that I already have are just migrating.  Hold on, hear me out:  I used to have a freckle on the bottom of one  of my toes.  It was there for years.  Then, one day, it disappeared.  For reals!  (Eyebrow wiggle) Huh?  Crazy, right?  And they never move to a convenient place.  Take for instance the freckle that showed up on my bottom, right eye lid a few years ago:  I have to defend my mascara-application abilities all the time now.  No, it’s not mascara on my face, it’s a freckle.  No, really.  Seriously.  *sigh*  Would I lie to you?


It’s 3AM and…

25 Feb

By nine o’clock last night Jordan and I were exhausted.  Thus, we voted to limit ourselves to one episode of Glee(My In-Laws, who are awesome, sent us the first season on DVD.) 

We finally went to bed at eleven o’clock after watching three episodes.  Oopsies.

As I trudged down the hallway, depressed that I couldn’t watch more Glee, I looked over at the washing machine and remember that Jaden did not have any clean uniforms for school the next day.  Fur-reek.  Why couldn’t I have come to this realization earlier?  Say, around eight-ish?  Because that would have been too convenient and out of character for me. 

So, I quickly got a load of clothes going and hoped into bed.  It almost broke my heart to set my alarm for 3AM.  (You see, if you have to wake up in the middle of the night, 3AM is the perfect time to do it.  By that point you’ve already gotten a couple of hours of good sleep.  Also, once you do go back to sleep, it will be with the knowledge that you have at least 3-ish more hours of sleep to come.  It’s a win-win situation…kind of.) 

3AM rolled around about ten minutes after going to sleep.  Because the universe is evil that way.  What?  You have to wake up at the butt-crack of dawn?  Well, you’re going to sleep so well that it will be almost impossible to drag yourself out of bed when it comes time.  Grrr. 

It took three swings to connect with my alarm clock and a full minute to stumble seven feet to the washing machine.  I felt like a newborn foal.  Wobbly legs and only hooves to pick up laundry with.  It was not one of my shining moments in life. 

However, when I woke up for the second time this morning, I found that it was all worth it.  Jaden went to school not only wearing clothes, but also wearing the right ones.  Score!

Me = 1    /   Laundry = 0

Oh…and I woke up this morning with an enormous, tumor-esque pimple right between my eyes.  It is like a beacon of embarrassment shining bright for all the world to see.  Awesome.  You’d think that after having two kids that I would get a free pass for that kind of thing.  Oh no.

A Toe Tale

24 Feb

FYI: Denny is crazy, but in a fun, loveable way.

(However, this isn’t the best way to beg for love.)

I have naked toes.  (Which is a cardinal sin in my family.)

Always brush your teeth twice a day, remember to take your vitamins and never go out in public with naked toes.  (Oh, and if you ever feel ill, take some sinus medicine.  It is a cure-all.)

My toes have been polish free for about six months now.  A) It’s winter.  Why paint your toes if no one will see them?  B) My toes are weird.  No, they’re not misshapen and hairy.  They just refuse to hold polish.  Renegades.  Hippies, even.

No matter what I do, my toes will find a way to shed their coats of polish within 48 hours.  I’m not hard on my toes.  I don’t go about knocking them into things.  It’s not that the polish gets chipped away, it’s just that the polish comes off in one, complete sheet.  It’s like peeling the plastic seal off the top of a cup of applesauce.

On Sunday I decided to give polishing my toes another try.  It had been a while and maybe my toes had decided to clean up their act.  Plus, I had an awesome shade of amethyst polish I’d been wanting to try.  (Yes, Amethyst.  I’m still a child in some aspects.) By yesterday morning the polish was holding strong.  My toe-confidence was returning.  Yessss.

However, this morning I awoke to find the fourth toe on each of my feet devoid of polish.  Nooo!  Why?  Why? What ever did I do to deserve such an awful fate?  Will I have naked toes for eternity?  Will my mother write me out of her will out of shame?  As I sat in the shower this morning, I took a tentative poke at my other toes.  The polish slid off down the drain before I could stop it.  Well, freakersons.

The only positive spin that I can put on this is that the polish lasted for 60 hours instead of the normal 48.  Maybe by the time that I’m in my 50’s I’ll have stylish toes once again.

Asteroids and Funerals

23 Feb

Last night, after my Uncle’s funeral, I collapsed into the recliner with Lemon.  Armageddon, featuring Bruce Willis, among other, was the only thing on TV worthy of my attention.  (I have sophisticated tastes, you know.) I absolutely adore this movie.  I cannot say how many times that I have watched it.  I have lost count and would probably be ashamed to know the number.  Yet, I have never been able to sit through an entire viewing of this movie without crying.  I blame estrogen for that.  Darn you.  *shaking fist*

However, last night I cried over the death of Bruce for an entirely different reason.  It wasn’t just that he was sacrificing himself for his daughter and the world, it was the sole fact that he was dying.  Having never dealt with death until recently, this made quite the impact on me.

For starters, Bruce Willis has always reminded me of my dad.  He shares similar physical aspects with Bruce as well as similar mannerisms.  Seeing him destroy that asteroid, along with himself, pushed my tender feminine emotions over the edge.

Jordan, thinking I was mourning the loss of yet another fictional movie character, laughed over my reaction.  (I can’t blame him, I do that a lot.  Fictional characters need love too.  Ahem.) However, after climbing into his lap to cry some more, he got the point.

Poor Bruce.  Poor Uncle Dave.  Poor everyone.

It was then, after my 10th+ viewing of  Armageddon, that I realized just how much of my life will be spent coping with death.

Finger Foray

23 Feb

I’d like to kick off this post with a “Thank You” for all the thoughts and prayers sent my way after the recent death of my Uncle & Grandfather.  I certainly appreciate it.

I have always been a tad clumsy.  I blame it on a narrow peripheral field of vision and not a lack of forethought.  Ahem.  Thus it came as no surprise when, over the past week, my fingers fell victim to this “problem” that I have. 

My right index finger was burned after a quick trip into a 425 degree oven…who knew, right?  I’m one of those people who reach into ovens without wearing an oven mit.  For some reason, my brain doesn’t make the leap for “hot” to “protect yourself!”

Then, a few days later, my left index finger was mowed down in a shaving accident.  Have you ever done that, ladies?  You’ll be shaving along, thinking about the errands of the day, and, before you know it, you shave off part of your finger nail.  No?  Well, I do it all the time.  There’s a special little dance I do when it happens.  It involves holding the offended finger, dancing around like I’m on hot coals and a liberal amount of barely intelligible curse words.  It is awesome…except for the shaved finger part.

Did I mention that I’ve shut my ear in a door before?


I think I can…

22 Feb

Lessons I learned in the kitchen on Saturday:

1) Make sure that you grab the Worchestershire when making beef stew…not Balsamic Vinegar.

2) When baking bread, don’t forget the eggs.



19 Feb

I love how life is sprinkled with little nuggets of goodness.  It’s as if the universe can sense that you’re having a rough day and treats you with a moment of hilarity:

As I was driving back to work, in a funk, I passed up an older gentleman who was out for a walk.  He appeared to be an aging flamboyant, due to the look of  his outrageous jogging suit.  The moment of hilarity came when I noticed the enormous, metal baseball bat he was carrying for protection.  Yessss. 

I enjoyed the mental picture of him bruising a would-be-assailant all the way back to work.  At his feeble age, the most he could do with that bat was wrinkle his attacker’s clothes.  The look on his face, however, said that he could do so much more. 

Sa-weet.  ;)