Somnolence Part Deux

I've reconsidered my list from yesterday's post.  It isn't fair to give the impression that my husband is responsible 40% of the time for the disturbances to my sleep.  There are actually many more things that wake/keep me up that he has nothing to do with.  Such as:

1.  Dogs barking at neighbors/strangers/other dogs/cats/each other, etc...
2.  The landscapers and their deafening equipment
3.  The garbage truck
4.  Any loud traffic, like the crazy motorcyclist zooming down our street at suicidal speeds
5.  The voice of a stop-by friend who doesn't know when to go home.  He's great and all, but after 10 pm his voice is like nails on a chalkboard.
6.  The pool pump when there's not enough water in the pool
7.  Teenagers talking and laughing loudly in the hallway
8.  When it's too hot or too cold and I just can't get comfortable
9.  The annoying buzz from the baby monitor
10.  And of course, Baby H himself.  He's actually the most responsible party for my fatigue.  But he's cute so he's forgiven.

Somnolence

I am a light sleeper.  It is a blessing when you know you will wake up easily to your little one's whimpers in the dead of the night.  You don't have to fear being surprised by a would-be burglar.  But most of the time it is a curse.  No matter how tired I am, I'm just so easily disturbed.

Things that frequently wake/keep me up:

1.  A fly dive-bombing me that got let in from the many times our back door opens and closes to let dogs in and out
2.  My two dogs howling when the phone rings more than twice
3.  My husband snoring
4.  The sound of the TV too loud
5.  The front door opening and closing
6.  My husband's alarm
7.  My husband's snooze alarm
8.  Repeat.  He often snoozes five or six times.  Then I force him to get up or give up.
9.  The annoying hum of my ceiling fan and the way the pull chain taps against the light cover
10.  Bright light.  I once got out of bed to tell my husband to turn off the porch light because it was too bright in the bedroom.  He said, "It's the full moon, dear.  I have no control over that."

See what I mean?  It's brutal.  I can't even imagine what it must have been like for the guy whose water heater exploded last year.  He was asleep when it happened.  The water heater shot through his roof and landed two blocks away, ripping apart his garage in the process.  It literally shook walls, shattered windows, and knocked pictures off the walls of neighbors' houses up to two blocks away. 

Now that is a wake-up call.

Uh. May. Zing.

Rarely do I experience a moment when I'm completely blown away by someone's talent, when I'm left with my jaw hanging open in amazement. The kind of moment when I wonder why some people don't believe in God, since clearly there is a kind of talent that is sparingly doled out to a fortunate few that just can't be human.  Nobody is that talented themselves.  It's superior God-given talent that I'm talking about here.

With a build-up like that you're probably going to be disappointed to hear that's it's "just" a song.  Off the Gladiator soundtrack, no less.  (Never seen the movie and don't plan to but the soundtrack must be amazing.) 

What blew me away is the song called "Now We Are Free" by Lisa Gerrard.  She's not even singing in a real language.  It's a language she made up as a child and it's how she "talks to God."

She is so talented that she's truly above the rest of us.  We're all illiterate, belching, nose-picking apes in comparison.  I'm not even going to bother to further try putting it into words.

The Sleep Strike

My son woke me up at 3:30 this morning and it quickly became apparent that he wasn't going back to bed anytime soon.  By about 9:30 my husband asked, "What's wrong with him?"  Our little bundle of joy had been fed, changed, and rocked.  He didn't have gas and his teeth weren't bothering him.  When he proved impervious to a warm bath even, I decided that I was dealing with a sleep strike.  Of course, at nine months old he's incapable of talking.  But if he could, I imagine his list of demands would be something like this:

1.  I want more fruit and less vegetables.  What is that icky green crap you're trying to pass off as "mixed veggies"?  It looks like snot and I'm having none of it!

2.  And while we're on the subject of food, I don't want any more prunes.  If you want me to poop then don't feed me bananas or apples.  Ever.

3.  Do something about your morning breath.  I love that you kiss me and coo to me first thing, even when I wake you up before the roosters.  But P...U!  I might be a baby but I have a nose that smells, you know. 

4.  What's with the constant change of diapers?  First it's Cruisers, then Baby Dry, then Extra Protection.  My little tush gets used to one thing and then you spring something new on me.  Make up your melons and be done with it!

5.  I am capable of acclimating to room temperature, just like you.  Don't always assume that I am cold.  For Pete's sake, this is Phoenix, Arizona!  Please don't dress me like I'm an Eskimo in Siberia.


I'd give in to any of his demands if I could just figure out what keeps him from sleeping sometimes.  Maybe it means he's a genius.  I heard Albert Einstein never really slept like a normal person his whole life.  But while I'm in the middle of my sleep deprivation I think I'd settle for a C-student and a good eight hours of Zzzzzz's.

The Two Mrs. C*****'s

Dear Melissa C*****,
You may notice this letter is addressed to you and signed by "you."  This is not a letter from your future self.  We actually share the same name, you and I.  That's right.  There are two Melissa C*****'s.  Since we live on opposite ends of the country you wouldn't think this would present a problem.  We could co-exist, blissfully unaware of the other's existence.  We were doing just that until one day when your mother joined Facebook.  

You wouldn't think something so innocuous would cause any problems.  I guess when your mom looked for your profile she just didn't consider the possibility there might be more than one of you out there and she friend requested the first Melissa C***** that came up.  No biggie.  I let her know I wasn't actually her daughter and considered the matter closed.

Then a funny thing happened.  She got my email address, probably from my Facebook.  I guess it's my own fault.  Afterall, it's melissa.c*****@gmail.com so I can see this has caused her great confusion.  The first time I let her know of her error.  I let another email or two slide before I tried again to let her know I am actually not her daughter and if she intends you to receive any of her emails, then she should apply some attention to the matter promptly.  For whatever reason she has completely ignored my protests that I am not in fact the Melissa C***** that she birthed, reared, and apparently wants to maintain contact with.

So the email communication continues.  When your mother sends a forward, I'm right there on the disti list with Tom and Dave and Jim and Anne and Robin.  I've no idea who these people are.  Perhaps they are your cousins or aunts and uncles.  Maybe even your siblings.  Regardless, now that your kinfolk has gotten my email from your mom's disti list, they too want to be friends on Facebook.  They're following me on Twitter.  They e-vite me to family gatherings.  I have to say, the BBQ sounded fun but unfortunately, I couldn't make it because I am a complete stranger living hundreds of miles away from you. 

Sounds like you have a good life.  Your family is very close.  Well, apparently, except for the whole not having each other's email addresses thing.  Hope you clear that up soon.  Until then, I'll ignore the forwards and political rants but I do like getting the rare but adorable e-birth announcements.  Who was the proud mom of that precious baby girl?  Your sister?  Your cousin?  Either way, congratulations to her.

Signed,
The Other Melissa C*****

My Blog on the D-List

I'm a secret Kathy Griffin fan.  I'm closeted because of her way of saying things... how should I put it?  Well, things that would make your grandmother's hair stand up.  But I love her straight-faced humor and acid tongue.  I think we all sometimes wish we could just lay it on the line and get honest like she does, although that kind of behavior isn't likely to win friends or influence anybody.

Anyway...  I was watching Kathy's show, My Life on the D-List.  It was the episode where she's trying to broaden her fan base by appealing to the younger crowd.  Who better to mentor her than Paris Hilton?  (Yes, there's some sarcasm there.)  Seriously though, if you want your photo in the mags then you can't go wrong by being Paris' gal pal.  And in case you didn't hear the news: Paris has ditched her catch-phrase "That's hot" and replaced it with "That's huge."

As a mother of a teenage girl I can relate to the need to be in touch with the younger crowd.  I definitely want to be the parent and not a friend but that doesn't mean I have to wear mom-jeans or be out of touch with what's popular. Like today for example: I took my daughter to the hair salon and she brought along her friend.  When we found out her cut and color was going to take about two hours I decided to take her friend to the food court to kill some time.  I was trying to think of conversation starters.  The obvious go-to topic was of course school and what's her favorite subject and does she like her teachers.  Then I decided I should try a different approach.  Kids don't want to talk about school.  (For that matter, at 13 they don't want to be called kids.  They're teens.)  So I asked this teenager who she was routing for on American Idol.  This was a huge risk, and I don't mean huge in a that's-hot kind of way, I mean big.  I don't follow AI.  I was planning on bluffing my way through but I got lucky.  She doesn't watch AI either.  She does watch 16 and Pregnant.  Hit!  I watch that show too!  Normally I detest MTV but any show that accurately depicts what life after a baby is like is a show I can get behind. 

Kathy Griffin likes to make self-deprecating jokes about being a D-list celebrity.  I wonder if there was a Mom-list what my ranking would be.  I'm thinking A-list.  Did I mention that my daughter's bill at the salon today was a whopping $166 with tip?  And I bought her New Moon the day it was released.  Plus, I can hold my own in a Team Edward vs. Team Jacob debate.

As a writer, I'm not on any list.  I don't even have a D-list blog yet.  But one can always hope.  And that would totally be huge.