Stuff Your Head Inside A Novel and Hum, Loudly

It's one of those mornings.

For whatever reason, my body has recently decided to kick its insomnia in favor of something akin to mono.  I think it's trying to make up for the last four sleep-deprived months by forcing me to doze off at  regular three-hour intervals throughout the day, leading up to the grand finale of a 7 p.m. bedtime (before Isaac goes to bed, even).  And, rather than jumping out of bed bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 4 a.m. every morning, I'm having trouble dragging myself out of bed at 7.  Go figure.

(By the way, what does 'bright-eyed and bushy-tailed' mean, exactly?  Who comes up with this stuff?  A family of literary rabbits, perhaps?)

But this morning, the morning of all mornings, I was awaken at what felt like 3 a.m. but may have been 5, by a forlorn fever-ridden toddler, hacking up his lungs and whispering incessantly in my ear.

"Mommy?  Water?  Mommy?  I Isaac.  Isaac sick.  Mommy?  Moooooommmmyy?  Wauren?  Tim?  Bob?  I Isaac!  I sick!"

When 'mommy' fails to work, he quickly moves onto 'Lauren' only he says it more like 'Wauren.'  Also there seems to be some confusion as to whether his daddy's name is Tim or Bob.  This may be my fault.  I'm trying to get him to answer the question, "Who are your parents?" - a fairly standard question to ask any four-year-old, not to mention a good thing to know if he ever gets lost - and he seems to be having difficulty in remembering the name Tim. 

So I tried a new tactic.  It went something like this: "Well, is your daddy Larry?  No?  Is it Fred?  No?  Is it, let's see, Bob, maybe?"  As we don't know any Larry's or Fred's or Bob's, it seemed okay to use these names.  Naturally I was expecting him to issue a loud resounding "NO!" after each query, until finally reaching the finale: "Well, is it Tim?  YES!"  But unfortunately it backfired and he said 'yes' after Bob and now he alternates between calling Tim 'daddy,' 'mommy' (don't ask), 'Tim,' and 'Bob.'

... Not to mention he only refers to himself in the third person since learning his name is Isaac.

I suck at this homeschooling thing.

At any rate, for the next hour or so, my head and back became a trampoline, a matchbox race-car track, a pillow, a snot rag, and a launchpad from which he energetically flung himself onto Bob.  I mean Tim.

I much prefer it when he comes in on Saturday mornings, kisses my cheek, rubs my back, and then runs out again.  (This has happened once or twice.)

He turned the TV on full volume around 6 a.m., and then the house was filled with the fragrant aroma of broccoli and sauteed mushrooms.  Tim, cooking.  As much as I love it that Tim cooks, mushroom is not a nice morning smell.  Also it completely changes the way coffee tastes.  Try it.

Then the drilling began.  A new couple has recently purchased the empty flat on the first floor, and they are now in the process of gutting it.  Basically what this means is that from dawn till dusk, there is this loud incessant drilling noise that, despite being three floors down, sounds like it is happening inside my head.  I have ceased to think logically since their arrival.

To make matters slightly worse, I opened my computer, as is my habit first thing in the morning, only to discover that I just received a rejection letter from my favorite literary agency.  So there I was, standing in my kitchen, surrounded by laundry and dishes and a snot-faced kid and a trail of little plastic toys, reading The Worst Email in the World, absently trying to repair a misunderstood work project, listening to my apartment building being demolished, and feeling just plain ... crappy.  You know, those kinds of mornings.

I'm sure you've had them too, so I really needn't explain what they feel like.  The fact of the matter is, there will always be mornings in which you wake up on the wrong side of the bed and wonder what on earth you are doing in life and why nothing seems to be going according to plan (I blame the literary rabbits, personally).  Mornings when even your favorite cup of mushroom-flavored coffee (blech) cannot stop you from feeling like something of a flop.  They're usually Monday Mornings, but what can I say, sometimes they arrive on Thursday.

And, if you're me, you do one of five things: 1) Sit on the floor and cry; 2) Sit on the floor and laugh hysterically; 3) Frantically clean the house and work-out and get on with it; 4) Stuff your head inside a novel and hum, loudly; or 5) Write a stupid blog post.

Guess which one I did.

Not to worry, I haven't given up hope yet.  Yesterday I had a conversation with a dear friend and she said, point blank, "Even the little accomplishments count."  So, in honor of this horrid Thursday, let me just make a little list:

We're all alive.
We're safe and clothed and fed.
We're working, slowly but surely, towards something.
Not to mention the mushroom smell has finally cleared and I can now go make a second pot of coffee.


P.S.  This is my 500th blog post. I'd meant for it to be somewhat more celebratory, but just the same: Hoorah! 


  1. Happy 500th then!! And I would definitely do 1-5 as well.

    Love the way you write. Your blog is always a welcome addition to my morning ritual... which consequently used to involve getting the kids to call me Sarah, not Emily (the old au pair). Le sigh. Love you!!

    Oh, and for giggles:

  2. I hope your day gets better. That literary agent must be nuts-I would buy anything you wrote, seriously, you are a fantastic writer. The idea of mushroom flavored coffee is making me gag :P
    Oh, and sick kids are no fun, I hope Isaac gets better soon.

  3. Congratulations on your 500th post Lauren...well done.

    And about that sleeping every three hours.....and without sounds rude....is it possible you're pregnant??

    I know when I fall pregnant the first thing that happens is my body wants to sleep more?? Just saying.....

    And looking after sick kids when you feel crappy is never fun so I'm glad you wrote your blog and didn't sit on the floor and cry.

    Hugs to you xoxoxo

  4. Haha yes Michelle that was my experience with Isaac's pregnancy, but nope, not pregnant. I think I'm just catching up on much-needed sleep!

  5. Bright eyed and bushy tailed... couldn't that be from Peter Rabbit? Sounds like something from those stories.

    Congrats on the 500th, that's really great!

  6. Congrads on the 500th!!!!! Great accomplishment ;-)... I have a 5 year old and its never fun when they're sick.. Nice bolg.. I agree, it is the little things that count ;-)

    Happy im not the only one LOL

  7. Ok you had me curious because I've been saying bright eyed and bushy tailed (usually sarcastically due to lack of sleep)my whole life and have never wondered where the phrase came from until you asked the question.

    So naturally I had to google it as I google everything when I want information...so here it is this apparently is where the phrase 'bright eyed and bushy tailed' comes from......

    Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed comes direct and intact from the classic Fox Hunt. A fox with dull or cloudy eyes or a limp, listless ungroomed tail is one in poor health and will not provide a good active challenging chase over a long course.

    and the link so you know I'm not fibbing....

  8. ohmyword, i thought i was the only person who wakes up on *that* side of the bed sometimes...

    "there will always be mornings in which you wake up on the wrong side of the bed and wonder what on earth you are doing in life and why nothing seems to be going according to plan (I blame the literary rabbits, personally). Mornings when even your favorite cup of mushroom-flavored coffee (blech) cannot stop you from feeling like something of a flop..."

    um. yeah. hate those days.
    i usually brew a lot of coffee, talk to God, have a cry, and hopefully halfway through the day i start to feel less crappy. heh.


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