Sleep is a bitch. Truly. Sleep hates me and I don’t know why. I have never abused her, making her stay with me for hours and hours. I would be happy if Sleep would just hang with me for 4-6 hours a night. But no, she is too busy hanging with my kids, especially Donovan. Instead, she sends Insomnia to my house and I have to hang out with him. And he is no fun. Invariably, Insomnia comes to chill on nights when there is absolute crap on TV. If you want to get rich quick, MSNBC at 0200 is a great place to start. And if you want the next big weight loss thing, turn on any freakin’ channel at any freakin’ time. So, I found myself watching CNN at 0300 last night with my pal Insomnia. Which only led to another downside of Insomnia,… the things you may learn on CNN. A story came on about an incident in Afghanistan in which 4 soldiers were killed. Our brigade isn’t the only one there, but somehow I just knew it would be ours. So, Sleep never came back to relieve Insomnia after that. I knew eventually I would get that call from our support group leader, telling me to call my people. And sure enough, come 1000, the call came.
The Mama Vs. The Middle Brats
I really need to consider padding my walls. I’m not sure that my Tricare insurance would consider putting me in a padded cell because my kids are driving me insane a legitimate expense. And the walls in my apartment are just not all that good for the frontal lobe. As the two of them stand before me, as I lecture them on the incident of the moment, I generally think that they both are mid-out-of-body experience. I have never seen such blank looks on animate objects as I do then. I keep waiting for drool to start to run from the corners of their mouths. And because I see no sign of comprehension in their blank eyes, I repeat myself, sometimes to the point that I truly want to muzzle myself and put myself out to pasture. My favorite is when I lecture them for not listening and they don’t listen to the lecture about not listening. Where is the common sense in that?! Today’s lecture was about rules, and how mine out to trump those of the 11yo neighbor girl’s. To which they both, in perfect monotone unison, replied that my rules are more important, despite the fact that, given a chance, they will thoroughly ignore them at the drop of the hat. They don’t get the concept that their propensity to break my rules at every opportunity lends no credibility to their claim of their importance.
So as a result, they are in the playroom, picking up Ty’s mess, as he lounges on the couch watching cartoons. And I have never seen a more half-assed, lame attempt at complying in my life. I just watched Scott put a pile of books on the shelf and then wiggle them about until they were jammed in and not immediately falling to the floor. Because apparently moving the 5 or 6 books beneath into a neat stack would have taken 10 seconds to many. As I watched, he picked up a toy and put it on a lower shelf, and,… SURPRISE,… the entire stack crashed to the floor. So, he stood there, looking at them,… and walked away, leaving the books where they fell. Being of sound (sorta) mind, I asked him why he left them where they fell. In complete, testosterone-based arrogance, he informed me that he already picked them up once. WTFH?! I literally could feel the blood rushing through my veins in an effort to reach my brain, which was sure to explode. Fortunately, my coffee was at hand, thankfully in my Jake Gyllenhaal mug. So I took a gulp, stared at the chest-naked picture of Jakey-poo and willed my blood pressure down to a healthier level. And in my best, don’t-f&^k-with-me Mama voice, to include speaking through clenched teeth, I informed him that it would be in his best interests if he removed his cranium from his rectal passageway and picked the damn books up. He picked the damn books up.