Sleep... does such a thing exist?

Let me start this entry by reminding you that I am a mother of two young boys. In our house, with our crazy schedules we always have a musical bed thing going on... musical as in musical chairs, randoming shuffling about from one location to another.

As a mother I have always felt a bit of guilt for trying to get my children to sleep in their beds by themselves. How could I say, "No I am going to sleep in my bed with Daddy while you sleep all alone." How is that fair? I know I am a total push-over, but seriously, when you have that little, sad face looking up at you, telling you about their bad dream and the scarey monster... how can you say, "Go to bed all alone while I have your father to protect me from such evil things."??? Also, my husband works a varying shift; his schedule changes all the time so often times my bed is empty. In these times, especially, I welcome the warm bodies of my boys to keep me safe and help me sleep.

Some time after my second child was born I started letting my boys sleep together in either one of their rooms. They both have full size beds and it just seemed fair in regards to the argument about me sleeping with their Daddy, they could sleep with each other. They sleep together each and every night. It is so cute when I find them in their rooms all snuggled up with one another. Many nights, despite my husband's schedule, the boys make that middle-of-the-night trek into our bed. When this happens on the nights when my husband is home and is sleeping in our bed, this makes for cramped quarters. Two adults + two children in a queen size bed = not a good combo. On these nights I will sleep for a little while, wake up with a foot or some other body part on my head, and decide to make the shift to their bedroom... musical beds begins.

There are also those nights when the children wake me up because they've had a bad dream, or when they have to use the bathroom, or they have a tummy ache, or (insert your favorite reason to wake an exhausted mother here).

If the children are not the culprits to interrupting my slumber it's the dog. We have the sweetest 5 year old mutt anyone could ever hope for. She loves to sleep in our room, although we were smart with this dog and did not allow her the privilege of sleeping in our bed. Besides with up to four people in there at one time, there simply is no room for a dog too! Sometimes, our Honey dog gets her schedule confused. You see, she falls victim to my husband's crazy work schedule too. When he comes home at say 3 in the morning, he lets her out establishing a pattern of the 3am potty break. Well, inevitably his schedule changes and it has done so without anyone consulting the dog. On such nights Honey dog will wake-up, need to be let out, and come to wake me up. At first, it starts out as a simple whine, the kind that wakes you up just enough to hope someone else hears this and will let the dog out. Of course that never happens and eventually she is loudly begging me in a sound something like, "OWR, HMMM, OWRRR, OUWRRR, ARRRR, #@%&!" and that is when I get up to let the dog out. At times like these I am gumbling and complaining all the way down the stairs but then praise her for not pottying in the house. None-the-less, I have been awakened from my much needed slumber.

Ok, so if it's not the kids, and it's not the dogs, it is, dare I say it, the husband. He will come in at some un-Godly hour, home from work and crash, boom, bang as he changes his clothes or brushes his teeth or whatever it is that he does while I am trying to sleep. Can't anyone see that I am exhausted, here?!

There is rarely a night when I get a full, uniterupted sleep. Even on these nights my crazy life takes over. I wake up from the children, the dog, the husband, or perhaps because I am ready to get up, or the sun is shinning and the thoughts start... What day is it? Do I have school? Am I late? What time is it? Where is my husband?... did he make it home from work? Am I supposed to be somewhere? Do I have a babysitter? Did the kids miss the bus? Am I late for carpool? Do I have time to take a shower?

It is precisly at such times as these that I recognize my need for a white board. We have these at the hospital... a simple dry erase board in each room telling the patient the date and names of the people caring for them. We also post things such as goals for the day, anticipated discharge, and questions to be addressed. In certain cases, with confused/demented patients we post the re-orientation information such as, you are Such-and-Such Hospital.

My white board would say: "Your name is Rebecca. You have two children, a husband, and a dog (anyone else you find in your house should most likely not be there). It is such and such day of the week... today your activities are (insert school, work, miscellaneous) at this time. Get up!" Hmmm... actually I think I'd like it to read a little nicer... perhaps it would say, "Good morning sunshine!" or "Wakey, wakey eggs-n-bakey". In my dreams it reads, "You have nothing at all to do today, sleep until you are totally and completely refreshed!"

Here We Go...

I started my final year of nursing school this week. Initially I was so excited, partly because the end is even more in sight, and partly because of my new found confidence I owe to my summer nursing tech experience.

My first day of class went well on Monday. After class and ever since then it has been a little rough. I will try to be brief here...

After class on Monday I was planning to exercise. There is this women's boot camp program that I was planning on starting and was on my way there. I noticed my gas light on and stopped to fill up but there wasn't an attendant at the window. I had to pre-pay and with no one to hand my money off to I couldn't get gas. I left figuring I'd stop again after boot camp. So, here I am on my way to get my fitness on when... putt, putt, putt... my car runs out of gas on the side of the road. Are you freaking kidding me?

Now, I am sure everyone (almost everyone... some people) have run out of gas before... no big deal, right? Well the case is not so when you drive a Jaguar. Even though it is a 2005 and was as affordable as a Kia, people see you on the side of the road and think you are an absolute moron for driving a luxury car and what... don't you have enough money to put gas in the tank! The situation was not made any better by my two young children in the car reminding me how I should've gotten gas at that station, yadda, yadda, yadda. My husband wasn't answering his cell phone, insert extreme frustration and humiliation... oh, did I mention that this is the second time in my 4 months of owning this car that this has happened to me? Last time I was in the drive-thru line at a coffee shop. (I blamed that one on my lack of caffeine!)

Ok, so I manage to be saved by my heroic, gas-can-hauling husband. I drive immediately to the gas station without passing go or collecting $200 and despite my kids' numerous attempts to get me to stop at every fast food joint along the way. When I get home my husband and I begin our daily chat/time to catch up. He starts by telling me that he thinks our 5 year old is depressed. Can I say it again... Are you freaking kidding me?
Evidently our youngest son said something to the effect of drawing a picture of his life... insert big, sad, angry face drawing here. Oh my goodness... I just started school... I don't have energy for this... what the heck.
I cry, mope, fall asleep on the couch. I wake up in a mad rage yelling at my husband. I scream, "Mean dye! Mean dye!" My husband asks me what the hell I am talking about and I spell the word, "D-Y-E" (not to be confused with its morbid cousin D-I-E). I don't know the exact thought process going on in my head although I do remember feeling frustrated that the overhead light was shinning brightly into my REM twitching eyes.

The next day I wake up, get the kids off to school, and come back to chill a bit since I didn't have class. I feel guilty as I reminisce about how I had post partum depression when my younger son was born. I had gone to the doctor at that time to discuss medications and he recommended that I quit breastfeeding and take an anti-depressant. I couldn't do it... I was an Olympic Champion breastfeeder... how could I quit just for the baby blues? (Now when I say Olympic Champion breastfeeder I mean it. I could have easily solved starvation problems in third world countries, if not in the third world itself.) So now the image I have running through my head is one of toxic breastmilk, posioned with some serratonin sucking virus... I figured (as any rational person would've) that because I chose to breastfeed my son in my state of depression I must have fed him something that depleted his serratonin source and after 4 years, we were just now starting to see the effects. Nevermind the fact that our schedules all just got super-uber crazy. He is in kindergarten, I am in school, my husband's schedule just flipped from days to nights... NOPE, it was my toxic breastmilk.

Ok, so I am feeling a bit crappy, to say the least, when I log into facebook and see the status of my friends. I notice one of my sisters' status updates... Happy Birthday Dad! Oh shit! Yep, today would've been his 79th birthday. I didn't even realize that it was September 22. Ugh! I start crying, bawling, and looking at the picture slideshow we created of his life. Insert more tears, sobbing, bawling... I am instantly catapulted back to 2007. The year he died, one week after his 77th birthday. That year I tried to call him three times to wish him a happy birthday but never got in touch with him. When I went back to Michigan for his funeral I couldn't help but feel guilty about not sending him a birthday card, not getting in touch with him, not being able to tell him one more time just how much I loved him.

Hmmm... extreme sadness and guilt... what to do? Well, Dad would've gone to the movies; he always went to the movies. I figured in spite of it all and in honor of Dad's birthday the boys and I would celebrate with a trip to the movies. The title of the movie fit the mood of my day perfectly, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.