Why I grew 20 more gray hairs today

Well, we're all sick. Again. Now it's some nameless virus that isn't the flu but feels only one degree less horrible than the flu. It's Owen and me this time. Sore, sore throat, stuffiness, fever of the body and fever of the...cabin.

We have not done one fun thing all winter, I swear. Not one. The closest we've come to fun was driving by the mall one day. We waved at the play area in the mall, waved at the train table in the bookstore, waved at storytime. "Hello, fun things!" we called. "See you in April." (Maybe I'm exaggerating a wee bit but it surely does not FEEL like it.)

The illness gave me 10 gray hairs. The other 10 came from the IT department at the venerable institution where I work. Remember when I mentioned the inventory program that they wanted to run on my laptop? Well that must have been some powerful program, cause it crashed my hard drive. And oh, by the way, we lost all your data oops.

Let's do a run down of the data I lost:

2 semesters worth of handouts, lectures, essay assignments, and exams? Check.
All family pictures taken since last summer? Check.
Every single one of my bookmarks? Check.
Current emails and e-address book? Check.
All the patterns, tutorials, and craft ideas I've collected for 6 months? Check.
The nearly finished, put hours of time into it digital scrapbook I'd been working on for Paige? Check.

I'm usually pretty good about backing up data, and I do have a backup for my less recent teaching materials, but I haven't backed up in awhile (obviously), and I've been really lazy about backing up my personal stuff.

At least I still have my health.

Oh....wait. No I don't.
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Because I don't have anything to say...

{Dave Walker cartoon via How About Orange}

Hoot, hoot

Staying up late is my grandest indulgence, an indulgence paid for by purple undereyes, lethargic mornings, and, occasionally, a shorter fuse. Sometimes I feel guilty about the short fuse. My children deserve a chipper, well-rested mother. But quiet, uninterrupted time is in short supply in my life, and I crave it more than I crave sleep. In fact, I think I'd be less chipper with more sleep and no time to myself (if I could ever really describe myself as "chipper" at all.)

Secretly, I like it best I'm the only one awake, when every other soul is asleep, and I can turn off the always chattering television, putter around on the computer or the sewing machine, and eat more ice cream (or cookies or potato chips) than I should.

I longingly remember a time before Paige, when Owen was 3 and Mitch was 1, and they napped at the same time. We'd go out in the morning to shop or play, come home for lunch, read a few books, and then they'd sleep for 2 hours. Back then, I went to bed at a more reasonable hour, but I had those 2 hours after lunch to indulge myself. I never get time like that during the day now. Mitch doesn't nap anymore, and when he's in school, Paige is awake and at my heels. Everlastingly.

So I have to wait until after they're all in bed, which usually means, at the earliest, 9:30, since our bedtime routine starts at 8:30 and can take longer than an hour to complete, depending on the children's level of cooperation. That means if I stay up later than midnight, I have 2 or 3 blissful hours to do whatever I want, more enriching to my psyche than extra sleep, I promise.

Sometimes, I'm oddly happy when I can't fall asleep. Legitimate insomnia absolves me of any responsibility for and guilt about night owling. The quiet between 2 and 4 am is a deep quiet, very restful to my spirit. Being awake in that quiet gives me the purest feeling of aloneness I can hope to attain now that I'm married and breeding.

Maybe it's irresponsible. Maybe sleep deprivation is the source of all my flaws: my scatterbrain, my impatience, my clumsiness. But sleep is a cheap substitute for mental rest, the kind I need to keep my core intact.

Plus, I'm here to tell you, ice cream after midnight tastes twice as good.

{image from Night Owl Paper Goods}