It’s been a hard day’s night, I should be sleeping like a log

The kids had a snow day on Friday and another one yesterday, making today a false Monday and putting an end to their four day weekend. Winter has officially hit Long Island.

The day began like any other weekday, some breakfast, packed lunches and snacks, strange outfits and running down the block while the bus patiently sits at the corner with its doors open, ready to swallow up reluctant children. The day is in full swing with lots to get done.

By the time the evening comes, I sit on the couch with a cup of coffee ready to relax, a reward to myself. Sometimes I make a mental list of all the little tasks that I was able to do and I feel accomplished. I sit there all “Carpe Diem” and “Zen-like” feeling proud of myself. You did a good job. There will always be more to do, but you chipped away at the ol’ block today! You owned it today.   It’s usually around this time it starts . . .

“Go to bed,” I say slightly above my typical speaking voice. I can hear pattering feet above me. I decide to make my trip to the bathroom a surprise inspection, popping my head into their rooms while they scramble like cockroaches to their beds and fumble under the covers.

It’s only a few minutes later, their little voices are carried throughout the house, usually giggling or arguing and lots of shushing one another.

“Get in bed,” I shout out, with hope that they will instantaneously feel tired and fall asleep.

Skipping over the dreadful details, the evening typically concludes with me explaining to myself, out loud, that I am not being unreasonable by asking them to go to bed. We did everything that had to get done, it was a packed day and now its time for sleep. Simple.

If the phone rings and I decide to have a conversation, not work related, not bill related, just a casual, shoot-the-shit phone call, I find myself every few minutes pulling the phone away to scream like I have a disease. I am forced against my will to frequently get off the couch to sort them all back into their correct rooms and beds.

Just a few of the things that fly out of my mouth almost every night.

  • I’m done!
  • I’ve punched out!
  • So much happened today. How are you not tired?
  • That’s it! You’re all going to bed a half hour earlier tomorrow.
  • Please just go to bed. Please.
  • Now you’re thirsty? Really?
  • GO PEE THEN!
  • It’s a school night and because I said so, that’s why.
  • The kitchen is closed!
  • NO! I have already tucked you in twice, now you’re on your own!
  • SLEEP!

Not sure what I am doing wrong here, but by the time they all settle down, I can’t even think straight. Any creativity to write or desire to read has been drained and I just sit there in shock.

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Right.

 

Dear Blue Pajama Pants

My Dearest Blue Pajama Pants,

It saddens to me have to write this to you, but I fear that it is time we part ways. Lately you seem to be unwinding at the seems, frazzled and weak. It seems as though I have worn you thin and despite your best efforts, you can no longer provide for me the way you once did.

Indeed, we have been through it all together. I remember when we first met, that glorious night in the hospital. I had just given birth to my daughter and desperate to get out of that dreadful hospital gown. That is when you were presented to me, neatly folded and wrapped in soft white tissue paper, nestled inside a colorful bag. From that day forward I knew we would be close, I just felt it.

We shared countless nights walking the floor with babies, innumerable mornings spent coffee clutching. You always stuck around for the clean up too. Remember that one time we painted the house? You remember, it was late, we waited until after the kids went to bed with my husband. He rolled a stripe of sage green paint on you, right on the back. You thought you were done then, but not me, I still wore you proud. Countless mornings we spent together on the bus stop, it never not once bothered me to be seen with you.

Oh, but now my old friend, you have gone grey and lost color in places, you’ve lost your elasticity, and the holes are spreading. I’m afraid there is not much more you will be able to endure. They say, maybe one more washing. So, before it comes down to you completely unraveling, I will leave you now, as you still have your shape and your dignity. When I look back at photographs of us together I will always be filled with fond memories and adoration I have for you.

Blue pajama pants, its time for me to say goodbye. There will never be another quite like you. You will be missed dearly.

Your devoted friend,

Lisa ❤

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Do you have a garment that devastated you to part with? How bad did you let it get?

This doesn’t look so bad, the back is filled with holes. Its not good.

Foot In Mouth Disease – It’s a serious thing people!

Hi My name is Lisa and I have Foot in Mouth Disease.

Hi Lisa (Readers says in unison)

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I have a problem. Words take a zip line from my brain and fly out of my mouth in a nano second. So fast, that I don’t have an opportunity to grab a hold of them for inspection, to making sure they are safe for the public to hear. If you are ever wondering what I am thinking, just sit next to me for a few minutes. Some of you might be like, Wow, that’s not such a bad quality. Why is she complaining about this?  

I’ll tell you why. Example #1:

I am at a close friends gathering. Her boyfriend is there, they have been dating a while now. His parents are there as well. I think to myself : Lisa, those poor people don’t know anyone. Go over there and be charming. Make them feel comfortable and welcomed. Go!  So, I stroll over there, introduce myself and make conversation. Before you know it, they are telling me about how they named there son (my friends boyfriend). It was a toss between two names, the name he has or some dorky name.

“Well, I think you made the right choice. Its a good thing you didn’t name him Dorky Name. He would have been terrorized growing up. Could you imagine?” I say, without coming up for air. Then, I continue to say all the ways you could make fun of a person with said Dorky Name. I am rhyming out different insults tied to the name, even a little song. Mind you, I am counting on my fingers all the ways I came up with to prove that they clearly made the right choice. This goes on for about a solid five minutes (I am not exaggerating, I wish I was). FINALLY, I stop moving my mouth and there, there it was. The SILENCE. I’ve done it again.

“Dorky Name is my name” Boyfriends Dad says, straight faced and very insulted.

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Yup! I do this all the dam time!

My intention is not to be malicious and I am sorry if I have ever insulted anyone out there.

Does anyone in the crowd have the same disease as me? Can you top this story?

I must warn you, this is the tip of the ice burg as far as stories. I have been suffering from this for a loooong time. I got stories!

The good news is I have a prescription for it now.

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Ahh! Words to live by!

TO BE OR NOT TO BE?

Confession: I should be at the gym right now!  No one will be upset that I am not there, climbing away on the stair machine.  No one will even know.  Well, except for me, and you, but you won’t say anything right?

Confession: I have been paying for a gym membership for a few months now and have gone a handful of times.  Again, no one really cares, or says anything to me about it. Perhaps that’s the problem.

I’d rather, work on my novel, read a book, which I hope will improve my writing or give me ideas, or work on my blog.  Like now.  All of these acts, require me to sit on my butt, preferable with a cup of coffee and maybe a small sweet snack.  Does this count as following my passion or just lack of motivation to be healthy?  Hmm.  Don’t answer that.

If you look around at people as they get older, you can tell who took care of themselves. I don’t want to be one of those people, struggling to walk, in poor health. I want to be a little spit fire, zipping around everyone, with a zest for life! I want to be like Jane Fonda! Yeah!  I know, she is rich and probably had “work” done.  You’re right, she did make all of those exercise videos and stayed fit.

Okay, Fine! I’ll go to the gym. . . . tomorrow.  😉

JANE FONDA

My fitness motivation.

Photo Credit: Sportsphoto LTD/Allstar

Confessions of a Late Night Scandal

I don’t know how to say this, so I’ll just come right out and say it.

I ate the chocolate covered pretzels (sigh).  I didn’t mean to, honest.  Let me explain, please!

It was late at night and I was shutting off the lights, moving the elf, dumping the last few cups lying around, out in the sink for the morning, typical night.  On my way into the bedroom, the dim light caught the reflection of the box.  The metallic, red color, perfectly tied white bow, and a peek-a-boo window, there it was just sitting there, begging me to look in its direction.  I pretended not notice, looking through my drawers for something more comfortable to slip into.  I turned my back to it, as I let my pants and bra fall to my feet and when I looked over my shoulder, it was faced in my direction. My lips curled up in a smirk and I quickly put on the oversized shirt for bed.  “No, you don’t belong to me” I whispered, as I bit down on my bottom lip, trying to control my urge to rip it open and indulge. I took a few steps closer and it became more persuasive, to seemingly show me more of what I was turning down. I felt hot and a moment of weakness passed over me.  It happened so quick, I tore everything off it in a moment, until I had what I was looking for, a mixture of sweet and salty decadence.  It was as good as it looked and it hit the spot.

When it was over, I went into the bathroom to clean up, stepping over the evidence on my bedroom floor. I felt like I was going to be sick. It was wrong and I knew it.  I had bought them as a holiday gift, they were not for me.  I fell weak to its seduction and I’m sorry. I am reminded of the shame when I look at my list of people I need to buy for, I have had to painfully re-write the name for whom it was intended for.  The store clerk questioned me,”I thought you crossed everyone off last week?” I slid the revised list in my pocket and lied, “I miscounted.”

My guilt has forced me to move all of them out of my bedroom. This will never happen again. I swear! I have moved forward and so should you.

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