Author Archives: Kami

Making Change

My first job as a teenager, aside from babysitting, was at McDonald’s.  I learned a heckuva lot at that job, and not just about work ethic or stuff like that. I learned to appreciate what it’s like behind that counter trying to work with a diverse and strange group of people. I recognized that turning over the running of a restaurant to a group of teens and twenties had potential for disaster as well as for leadership and growth.

We used a preprinted pad of paper for the orders. A customer would tell us what they wanted and we’d write as fast as we could, then figure out the math on the paper, then key in the total on the cash register. Sounds so archaic now, doesn’t it? Seriously, it wasn’t that many years ago. Some places still do it that way, amazingly. (The fabric store I worked at ten years ago did it that way, too.) I’m not sure how the till ever balanced out at the end of the day using that method. Boggles my mind.

photo-17 copy 15I used to take great pride in my ability to figure out change. Nothing quite matched the satisfaction of reverse counting in my head and then forward counting the customer’s change into their hand. Occasionally, I’d catch myself in an error as I counted it out to them. I’d apologize and make the correction, glad for the process that double checked my math.

Even now, when I make a purchase using cash I have the change figured out almost before the computerized cash register does. And I double-check the money in my hand since the cashiers rarely do that counting back thing anymore. In fact, I’m not sure most of them even understand that concept or could figure the change without looking at what the computer tells them.

So why would I bring this up today?

I’m talking around a topic I don’t want to address directly.

Change.

Making change in the monetary sense is easy. Always has been.

Making change in my life. Not so much.

Cash Register

Yes, this is an actual cash register. (Photo credit: tarale)

It’s Monday and I just had one of those weeks where every flaw I possess seemed highlighted by neon markers and flashing red and blue lights in the rearview mirror. I’m not just talking physical flaws, but also bad habits, misplaced priorities, skewed ideas, and misaligned ways of thinking. I found myself wondering how often I justify dumb decisions and behavior with little lies I tell myself.

Went to bed last night weighed down by it all.

Woke up this morning determined to do something about it.

Almost noon and I’m feeling buried.

Maybe I need to slow down and figure out the balance owing and what change is due. Y’know, get a handle on things. Stop acting like an emotional tornado.

It’s tough to be objective about your own life. It’s easy to see all the crap and garbage and think that’s reality. Others see only what you allow them to see and you know they just don’t really know the real you. I know that somewhere between the two perspectives reality sits, waiting for me to acknowledge it and get my groove on.

Does reverse counting change exist for making change in my life? Can I forward count the change somehow to see my way out of the weighed down math-challenged thinking I’m stuck in?

Piggy Bank

Piggy Bank (Photo credit: 401(K) 2013)

It’s awfully tempting right now to swing by that drive-up window and get an order of fries and a coke. Throw in a Big Mac while I’m at it. Throw in an apple pie, make that two because they’re cheaper that way. Eat away my sorrows. Forget the math. Tell the cashier to keep the change.

But I won’t. Not today.

Today I keep the change and the whole wad of cash. Today I begin to make change happen.

Categories: Hope, Wondering | Tags: , , , , , , | 9 Comments

What We Choose and What We Give Up

Ten thoughts by other people with no commentary by me. Make of them what you will.

Alice par John Tenniel 31

“Alice came to a fork in the road. ‘Which road do I take?’ she asked.

‘Where do you want to go?’ responded the Cheshire Cat.

‘I don’t know,’ Alice answered.

‘Then,’ said the Cat, ‘it doesn’t matter.” ~ Lewis Carroll

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“Find a purpose to serve, not a lifestyle to live.” ~ Criss Jami

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“Every man gives his life for what he believes … one life is all we have to live and we live it according to what we believe.” ~Joan of Arc

Thou Mayest

Thou Mayest (Photo credit: danbruell)

“But the Hebrew word, the word timshel—‘Thou mayest’— that gives a choice. It might be the most important word in the world. That says the way is open. That throws it right back on a man. For if ‘Thou mayest’—it is also true that ‘Thou mayest not.” ~ John Steinbeck in East of Eden

“As my sufferings mounted I soon realized that there were two ways in which I could respond to my situation — either to react with bitterness or seek to transform the suffering into a creative force. I decided to follow the latter course.” ~Martin Luther King Jr.

Megiddo altar_0670

Megiddo altar.  (Photo credit: hoyasmeg)

“Sacrifice is a part of life. It’s supposed to be. It’s not something to regret. It’s something to aspire to.” ~ Mitch Albom

“It’s not hard to decide what you want your life to be about. What’s hard, she said, is figuring out what you’re willing to give up in order to do the things you really care about.” ~Shauna Niequist

“In the long run, we shape our lives, and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility.” ~Eleanor Roosevelt

Lucy in the Sky

Lucy in the Sky (Photo credit: gritphilm)

“Sometimes I lie awake at night and I ask, “Is life a multiple choice test or is it a true or false test?” …Then a voice comes to me out of the dark and says, “We hate to tell you this but life is a thousand word essay.” ~ Charles M Schulz

Hogwarts coat of arms

“It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” ~ J.K. Rowling

Categories: Happiness | Tags: , , , , , | 2 Comments

Apple, Not Pumpkin, You Silly People You

We had our first outdoor shindig of the reasonable seasonable weather last night. Ah, everything you could wish for was going on. Well, almost. One daughter and her man were missing.

We had the grill throwing up three foot high flames, a bit of a puddle to splash in, music wafting onto the patio, a babe sleeping in someone’s arms, the smell of bread baking indoors and shrimp on the finally tamed barbie. Hugs, kisses, dancing, a board game, a couple napping, laughter, olive fingers and way too much food. And to top it all off, three choices of dessert, lemon bars, cream puffs, or, wait for it, wait for it, yes, pumpkin chocolate chip cookies.

You know I had to throw some pumpkin in the mix because it’s autumn and autumn apparently means pumpkin, although I’m not quite sure why. Probably because whoever grows and markets pumpkin has a massive campaign blitz going from here to Antarctica to sell the darn stuff or else. There’s stuff out there that should never include the word or texture of pumpkin. Fudge, hot chocolate, cider, soup.

Ew. Just don’t!

Please people, lets exercise a little reason out there!!

To me apple is the fruit o’ the season. Apple crisp with it’s cinnamon and nutmeg crunchy topping with a little ice-cream melting on the side says Autumn like nothing else. Don’t forget apple pie and apple cider and, yes, apple fritters. And the creme de la creme, carmel apples.

That shiny golden brown chewiness on a stick beckons teeth and lips and gums to sink in as you become one with drippy stickiness. Can’t you just feel your chin collecting that sugary glue covered sensation.

I worry some about my dental work getting destroyed by the succulence and power of the lowly carmel apple. And because of that worry I came up with a highly acceptable alternative.

This is kind of a recipe, which I don’t generally do, so you might want to pay attention at this point.

(This point.)

Yes, this is where you really need to pay attention. Thank you.

  1. In a tiny glass bowl place five unwrapped Brach’s caramels.
  2. Add two teaspoons of water.
  3. Nuke in the microwave for thirty seconds. Stir with a fork. If not melted all the way, nuke again for thirty more seconds.
  4. If this mixture isn’t all creamy and delectable by now you’ve probably overcooked it. So sad. Although microwaves can be finicky and maybe you’ve undercooked it, but not likely. Punt. Or try again. I guess.
  5. Cut up one apple, which variety is purely your choice.. I prefer using one of the apple corer/slicer things <== (highly technical name of the device.) You can use a paring knife to cut slices as well. The thinner the better but not too thin. If you make this often enough you’ll get the right ratio eventually.
  6. Find a cozy, secluded spot and dip your apple slices into your melted carmel mixture. Enjoy every bite without fear of losing your fillings, molars or any other teeth parts. And no sticky chin!

There you have it. The perfect personal autumn treat. The quintessential dessert improved and perfected. Who knew such things were possible?

*No pumpkins were harmed in the making of this blog post.

**Now apples being harmed, that might be a different story.

Categories: Food | Tags: , , , , , | 7 Comments

Clocking the Calendar

It’s Friday! Yay!

Or

Oomph, it’s Monday…

Or

Only 3 more hours…

Or

Forty five minutes more is way too long!

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Is it just me or does time have this fluid quality to it that makes little sense? How does an hour race by, yet another hour drag?

And wasn’t January just last week? But wasn’t January ages ago?

What makes the difference in the perspective at which time appears to move?

Like the tree in the forest falling and making or not making a sound, if no one sees the clock ticking or cares what the calendar says does time still move?

I suppose even ancient civilizations tried to corral time and seasons by charting the sun’s movement across the sky. We too attempt to rein in the days and years with meaningful markers that assign structure to the uncontainable force of time.

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People dream of traveling through time as if it’s a vacation destination or a malleable clay waiting passively for reshaping.

Then those déjà vu moments throw our thinking off kilter, making us wonder if time does bend and flex and fold. I’ve never cared for that sensation. One “time” in particular still sticks with me even after nearly forty years.

I’ve wondered, awkwardly, if I’ve experienced that crucial moment multiple times as a chance to finally get it right. But I don’t believe in stuff like that!

Waiting. Hurrying. Wasting. Losing. Looking back and looking forward. Reminiscing. Regretting. Wanting more. All things we do with time or wish we could do with time.

I think time does the doing and we ride its crest or tumble uncontrollably through its wake or float along in its gentle waves. But we and it are, apparently, always moving.

Or are we?

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Categories: Wondering | Tags: , , , | 2 Comments

Open the Windows

My flowers are loving the cooler weather, and so am I.

My flowers are loving the cooler weather, and so am I.

Guess what?

It’s gardening season!!! Happy dance, happy dance, happy dance!

Yessirreebob! In the desert climate of Arizona, it’s time to put those seeds in the ground. I get tingly all over just thinking about it.

Tingly might be overstating things a little.

Who wouldn't rather spend time with this beauty than a pile of laundry?

Who wouldn’t rather spend time with this beauty than a pile of laundry?

There’s just something about getting my hands in the soil, helping Mother Nature with her tasks, watching the little nothings of seeds become shiny orange carrots, rich red beets, curly green spinach. Sure, I admit that it’s work, but anticipatory work. Work with an outcome you can see and that lasts. It’s nothing like doing dishes or laundry or mopping or any other sort of indoor chore that already needs  redoing within hours, if not minutes after finishing.

I’d almost always rather be outside than inside. If I were rich I’d pay a glorious someone big bucks to keep the housework under control so I could frolic in the garden, mow the grass, plant bushes, trim trees, map out square foot plots of wonder and green stuff. I’d eat outside every meal I could, with a big shady umbrella for day time and candlelight in the evening.

Oh wait. I could do part of that now, without a house helper. Nothing’s stopping me from taking breakfast out to the patio table and breathing in the (finally) cool morning air of fall.

Surely I can ignore a few chores indoors and let my feet take me outside more often, to clean up the summer’s detritus and prep a spot for some waiting fall plantings.

Patio lights

Patio lights! (Photo credit: life is good (pete))

And evenings, well, sure, they’re a bit busy for me, but still, I could light a candle or two out back and sit in a lawn chair, look up at the stars, breath out the days dusty worries and breath in some oxygen freshly exhaled from the nearby orange tree. Or I could head out front to the porch swing and watch the world wander past at the park, catch a glimpse of a hummingbird getting its last sip from the feeder before settling in for the night.

I could probably even read a chapter or two by candlelight, or patio light if I thought about it.

It’s that priceless time of year in the desert with only good things to anticipate and summer’s heat a fading memory. It’s open window season, music wafting out into the yard season, planting hope season.

Categories: Gardening, Nature, Outdoors, phoenix | Tags: , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Seven Levels of Dante’s Quilting

Have I ever mentioned crafts on this blog?

No? Not surprising.

I DESPISE, okay maybe that’s too strong of a word, I highly dislike, crafting. Participating in, if I’m more  precise.

Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh.

I am currently in the middle of a ginormous CRAFT FAIL of epic dimensions.

English: Red Pinterest logo

If you haven’t, just don’t. You’re life will thank you for it.

Okay, maybe it isn’t technically a craft. Yes, yes, it is. It’s something that requires the PINTEREST gene. Born in the last century, I am sadly lacking in this apparently critical gene segment in my DNA.

If these quilt frames weren’t borrowed they would have been part of a ritual burning in my backyard during the past several hours of insanity and aggravation.

Apparently, as I found out last week with my daughter, putting a quilt on a frame requires at the minimum, two people. Sixteen would be better. Twenty might make it turn out well.

Four people need to stand at the north, south, west and east fung shui points in the room in which the quilt resides. Four people must stand equal distance apart chanting the kumbayarowtheboatashore chant. Four more people need to summon the craft powers of the underworld to levitate fabric, batting, fabric, quilt frames and quilt stands. Four more are helpful if they don’t mind getting stabbed by giant thumbtacks whilst they attempt to pin, simultaneously or laboriously one at a time, all three layers of said quilt to levitated boards.

These C-clamps look like torture devices for good reason.

These C-clamps look like torture devices for good reason.

Most helpful of all is the four horsemen, er magical C-clamp operators, who can open attach and clamp the four corners of the earth, or in the case, the four corners of the quilt to the self-moving, non standing stands.

My daughter and I managed to do this with only two people last week. I’m not sure how. There must have been quilting angels standing guard. After only two hours of wrestling wood, fabric, tacks, clamps and bad words we finally managed to have to quilt suspended midair. Ten minutes later we had finished tying the quilt together. An hour after that we had disassembled the contraption and sworn off quilting for the rest of our unnatural lives.

That is until my quilt top was ready for quilting. Which it has been for the past four years and one week. I’ve put it off. For good reason, obviously.

Today, I thought I’d attempt putting the quilt on the frame all by myself.

Yes, you read that correctly. Alone. One single person.

Cute, yes. Innocent, no. Don't be fooled by the folksy denim look of this monstrosity.

Cute, yes. Innocent, no. Don’t be fooled by the folksy denim look of this monstrosity.

I reasoned I am an intelligent, well read individual. Besides, I googled it. I’d just done the deed last week. How hard could it be? It’s just fabric and wood. I’m a grown up with skills, talents, logic and some patience.

If I ever think I might make another quilt top, please stop me if I suggest I might want to. But if I succeeded somehow in creating one, I would do everything in my power to allow someone else the privilege of machine quilting it. I’d sell plasma, collect beer bottles, play the violin on a street corner collecting change, whatever it took, to pay for someone else to finish the danged thing for me.

I must be insane.

If I wasn’t before this, I surely am now.

Categories: Humor | Tags: , , , , , | 4 Comments

Pivotal

It’s Gratituesday. I’m thankful for those pivotal moments in my life that have made all the difference. One in particular comes to mind today. Oddly, I don’t remember the person’s name who played such a starring role.

On a slightly overcast day nearly twenty years ago, I had just arrived at an outdoor “retreat” of sorts. Nervous and uncertain about what to expect, I stashed my luggage and showed up for the keynote speaker. Walking across a wide expanse of mowed meadow, I felt a slight hint of rain. Looking up at the clouds I wondered how the week would change if it rained instead of shined.

I soon found out.

Sweet, sugary Brach's lemon drops. Made with r...

Brach’s lemon drops, made with real lemon juice! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

By the time all the participants unloaded luggage and found their way to the lodge where the keynote speaker would soon begin, the rain made itself part of the proceedings. People entered first with slightly wet heads and wiping raindrops from eyeglasses. Those who arrived a few minutes later looked disheveled, wet and somewhat wary.

The first thing the speaker said was, “Everybody stand up! Yes, everybody, even you all in the back rows.”

She waited. A few stragglers seemed reluctant to stand at which she pronounced, “The correct answer when someone asks you to do something is, ‘I’m excited about this idea!’” She smiled a big smile for a short person and said, “Let’s try again. Everybody stand up!”

Nearly everyone in the damp smelling room responded in a lackluster voice, “I’m excited about this idea.”

She laughed.

“I think we need a change of direction. Sing along if you know this one.” She then proceeded to belt out an energetic rendition that went like this.

“I’m singing in the rain, just singing in the rain, what a glorious feeling, I’m happy again…”

A few brave souls joined her part way through. As they did so a clap of thunder rolled across the hills outside at which a few people moaned, and a couple of people clapped. There was even a cheer or two.

When they finished singing she looked the group over and laughed again. “What was that phrase I said we should respond with?  ‘I’m excited about this idea!’”

She put her hand to her ear as she said, “Everyone sing along with me!”

“I’m excited about this idea,” the group responded.

“I can’t hear you,” she said.

“I’m EXCITED about this idea!” we all yelled back.

Then we all belted out the first few phrases of “Singing in the Rain.”

Glowing gumdrops.

Glowing gumdrops. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

For good measure we did another song with actions, of sorts.  Arms spread as if welcoming a rainstorm, head back and mouth opened wide during the “ah, ah, ah” part of the song, we sang:

“If all the raindrops were lemon drops and gum drops, oh what a rain it would be…I’d stand outside with my mouth open wide, ah, ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah ah, ah ah ah. If all the raindrops were lemon drop and gum drops oh what a rain it would be.”

I don’t remember anything more specific about that speaker, not even her name.

I’m not sure what she said. But something clicked in me. Something sparked. Some cog turned that set in motion a churning machine of interconnected wheels, chain reactions, window opening, door crashing changes.

Maybe her joyful manner, her laughter, her energy overpowering even a thunderstorm affected me. Maybe the twinkle in her eyes or the bounce in her step brought some unspoken message that only I heard.

I felt it though. I felt different. From that moment, I began to chang from a cowering, shy uncertain afraid-of-her-own-shadow ghost of myself into a full-blown, somewhat bodacious, speak my mind, belt it out loud, say what I think semi-brave woman of substance.

No, all those changes weren’t instantaneous. More like a set of dominoes aligned in an elaborate design where the little rectangles rose on steps, circled and swirled in intricate paths, I too, unconsciously began my own domino effect of growth and change.

Maybe this woman’s words or actions or attitude figuratively poured water on a seed that lay dormant under a dirt and trash covered patch of ground in me. Someone else may have laid the seed in the ground and then years later, time and opportunity and, maybe the rain that day became the catalysts. Whatever happened was pivotal.

English: Screenshot of Judy Garland performing...

Judy Garland performing Over the Rainbow for the film The Wizard of Oz. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Like Dorothy in “The Wizard of Oz”, my life changed from black and white to brilliant Technicolor. I became excited about this idea, and excited about that idea. Left and right I saw positives around nearly every corner.

It rained that entire week. In fact it rained so long and hard that some small trickling streams became raging rivers. Thunderstorms kept us awake nights. Schedules changed and rearranged. My feet never felt dry.

But me, inside, I felt newly born in the deluge.

I ran into this woman briefly, several years later, somewhere random, and had just a moment or two to tell her, “You changed my life with a presentation you gave a few years ago.” She looked at me, confused, without a clue who I was or what she’d said or done.

“Just know,” I said as the crowd whisked me away, “that you made a huge difference in someone’s life. Thank you!”

Yup. Pivotal. Turned my life around one hundred eighty degrees.

Lucky me.

Categories: Gratitude, Gratituesday, Happiness | Tags: , , , , , | 2 Comments

Caskets, Headstones, Tears and Laughter

Somewhere in the top ten worst things to have to deal with as a human being, I’m just guessing here, I imagine picking out a casket or a headstone for a loved one would rank in the horrendous category.

Headstone

Headstone (Photo credit: Karen_O’D)

Also in that same range of horrific would be picking out your own casket and headstone. Worse, if you happened to be younger than fifty.

Can’t even get my head around those things.

A few years ago Mom and Dad bought their shared headstone. They had it engraved with all us kids’ names on the back. On the front they have their names with their birth dates and then the dash.  The blank after the dash will get filled in eventually. Hopefully not for a couple more decades. They had it set in the ground next to my brother’s resting place. Some fifty odd years ago they had the wisdom to buy a couple of plots when they purchased his. Brian wasn’t even a year old.

Talk about horrific things in life to endure. That’s surely the absolute worst. Losing a child. How does someone survive that? I don’t ever want to know.

They made that purchase to save us kids the expense and hassle. That’s just like them, always thinking about everyone else. Not long after they did this I was visiting and they wanted to show me the headstone. I gotta’ tell ya’ I was a bit freaked out by the idea. Once I got there, I was okay with it, sort of.

A beautiful cemetery. It’s in the northern foothills of the town I grew up in. A green sloping knoll with a few small trees. The view from their plot overlooks the entire valley north to south and east to west. In my younger days we used to visit every Memorial Day, place flowers in the metal vase, pull a few weeds, try to figure out where to stand so as not to be disrespectful. That’s Memorial Day to me. Remembering my brother that I never met, since I wasn’t born yet. But we remembered him.

The last 8mm reels Dad transferred to DVD had scenes with Brian and my other older brother. It felt like Memorial Day watching that. I wanted to reach out and hug him, say hello, ask how things are going up there. Part of me pictures him as growing up, getting married, hanging out with the rest of us. Part of me pictures him staying small, sweet and cuddly. Part of me wishes I’d had a chance to know him.

Isn’t that odd? He’s family though. So it shouldn’t feel odd, I guess.

This isn’t what I thought I’d say today. Surprising what sneaks out of your heart when you open the door a little for something else you stuffed in and quickly slammed the door on.

Maybe what I really meant to write isn’t for public consumption. Maybe what I really need to say about death and dying can only be spoken in the language of tears.

Of course, there’s an exception to that. I know someone who can talk about death in the language of laughter, too. She has a braver and more urgent reason to speak about it. Sure, she cries the words, too, sometimes. But the mixture of the two languages is  part of what apparently keeps her sane in the face of something very nearly unspeakable.

Death and dying.

Tears. And Laughter?

I think I need language lessons from her.

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Related Posts I’ve written:

My Closest Friend is Dying

Sudden or Slow?

Riding the Killer Waves

 

Categories: Death | Tags: , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

You Say Tomato, I Say Tamato

More ways than ever to pass on information hasn’t made communicating all that much clearer has it? Or has it? Here’s a few thoughts by other people about how humans attempt to interact.

“The most important thing in communication is hearing what isn’t said” ~ Peter Drucker

in utero email

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“It’s hard to communicate anything exactly and that’s why perfect relationships

between people are difficult to find.” ~ Gustave Flaubert 

computer joke

If only…

“So much of language is unspoken. So much of language is comprised of looks and gestures and sounds that are not words. People are ignorant of the vast complexity of their own communication.”~ Garth Stein

honk-text

There are definitely some dangerous side-effects to certain ways of communicating.

“The single biggest problem with communication is the illusion that it has taken place.”

~ George Bernard Shaw

Reminds me of Abelia Bedelia. Remember her?

Reminds me of Abelia Bedelia. Remember her?

Categories: Communication | Tags: , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Newborn-babyitis

I’ve acquired newborn-babyitis.

This involves being confused about night-time and day time. Specifically it means where the rest of the world believes it’s time to sleep my brain and body is a non-believer.

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Don’t be fooled by this sweetly sleeping infant. This photo was snapped midday.

Like a newborn, this occurs at the most inconvenient times and places. Specifically at bedtime and in bed.

There’s no logical reason for a baby to think it’s time for alert and active thrashing about and for making various odd noises when almost everyone else (except those who work third shift) has drifted off into dreamland, or as I call it, “that which cannot be named or achieved.”

There’s no logical reason for my own thrashing about and the sense of my body plugged into a direct current of electricity. Wakeful and semi-alert well past bedtime reeks of the nonsensical and infuriating.

This state of unrest, literally un-rest, is particularly aggravating when not ten minutes before climbing into bed my head kept nodding off to the side, dreams kept intruding in the current episode of White Collar or Burn Notice on Netflix, and my eyelids had lost the ability to remain open.

Why, oh why, oh why, couldn’t that near comatose state in the family room translate into the bedroom, on comfy pillows, with a fluffy comforter and total silence?

A pacifier

Unlike a newborn, I don’t have a wet diaper, I don’t need feeding, I’m past the swaddling stage, a binky is completely optional lately and swinging or rocking would just make me nauseous.

This happens even following a completely caffeine-free day. No diet Coke, Diet Pepsi, Dr. Pepper or Mountain Dew. And no, none of that surreptitious caffeine like they sometime put in Root beer. My body craves, desires, requires, can’t go on without, will go stark raving mad without sleep. I’m not about to jeopardize that with a little fizzy fling on ice.

Why such rebellion from an otherwise cooperative and compliantly sleepy brain? I sort of understand the infant’s topsy-turvy sleep schedule. They’ve been ensconced in a perfect floating world for so long where sleeping and waking all looked and felt the same. Suddenly changing when those things happen appears illogical to that tiny brain. But a full-grown, semi-sane adult should drop off into Never Never Land with nary a thought.

It’s like getting in the car and finding the engine won’t turn over. Not even an Rrrrrr, or a click. Just Nothingness. A giant void of non sleep. I don’t even begin to approach that little ledge between consciousness and sleep. Yeah, you know, that elusive line of awareness, fuzziness and goneness. That blissful, wonderful, coveted lack of sensation.

That slippery slope dried up recently. A fence got built in its place.

Baby blankets

Baby blankets (Photo credit: happydacks)

Grrr.

I’ve had experience with sleep meds so I’m not really anxious to go there.  Poor sad potato.<<== Click there to make sense of that weird phrase and to understand my reluctance to go the chemical route.

Eventually newborns adjust their sleep patterns to conform to the family schedule. At least usually. Or so I’ve heard. Not sure I ever experienced that with my own children.

I could take a cue from the wee little ones. Maybe I need to try a pacifier, a blankie and a lullaby or two.

And naps. Lots and lots of napping.

Categories: Mental Health, parenting, physical health | Tags: , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

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