Sleep paralysis

I suffer from a sleep disorder that people don't know a lot about. I have "sleep paralysis". I will fall asleep very rapidly and suddenly my mind wakes up but not my body. I can see the room, but I can not move or call out. I feel this great weight on my chest and it is hard to breathe. These episodes are disturbing and have become more frequent as I get older. I used to have one in a year, then 3 in a year, and now it is every couple of months. I thought I was crazy until I researched it on the internet and found out that there is a name for it and that other people have it too.

Anyway, I had an episode last night. I was dead dog tired because I had been on call the night before at the hospital. I had to go in from 11pm to 3 am and when I got home I was spun up and unable to sleep, so I watched a little TIVO before bed. Finally, I was relaxed enough to go to sleep.

I am one of these people who usually falls asleep very rapidly, within 30 seconds of laying down. I am surmising that because my normal sleep pattern was messed up from call, that this may have brought the sleep paralysis on. I absolutely HATE having these episodes. They are very frightening.

In my research, it seems that alien abductees complain of a sleep paralysis-like state. No, I can not claim being abducted by aliens. I never sense anyone in the room with me other than my husband at the computer.

Anyone else have episodes like this?

Change of heart

I do a fair amount of bitching in my blog, I noticed, so this post is not about bad drivers or bowlers who lack etiquette. I won't say that I won't bitch because I'm not in the habit of making promises that I may not be able to keep, but I will do my best.

I am greatful for so many things in my life and I thank God personally almost daily for the many blessings he sends my way. One of those blessings is my son, Connor.

Connor and I were not always close. I think I fell in love with him when he was about 6 months old. Isn't that a horrible thing for a mother to say? You are suppose to love and cherish your infant from birth....or even before birth, but I can honestly say that I wasn't prepared for motherhood and it reflected in the early relationship that I had with Connor. The whole breastfeeding "thing" was a major issue for me. I felt like a parking meter. I could feed him and then go run errands for 2 hours before I had to be back at the barn for my milking. I'm surprised that I kept it up for as long as I did (4 months) because I did not enjoy it. I had these visions of my infant looking up at me lovingly as I gave nourishment to his little body, and me returning the gaze. Sorry...that's only on the Carnation good start commercials.

I realize now that I suffered from post partum depression. I had lost my father to complications after a lung transplant just 6 weeks before Connor was born...not to mention that I had no clue how much a baby would change my life. I never believed I was going to get a full nights sleep again. I mourned my maiden body, among other things. I resented that I was expected to be so selfless for the benefit of another human being. I had been an only child my entire life and it used to be all about me!

After 6 months, something happened. I guess my maternal instincts kicked in or else I realized that Connor was here to stay and I couldn't take him back like a blouse from Nordstroms. I actually accepted my matronly body--stretch marks, widened hips, and thicker waist. I got joy from hearing my baby coo and gurgle. I looked forward to his milestones. Of course, I had stopped breastfeeding and Connor was sleeping through the night. That helped things tremendously.

He is now a handsome, intelligent, honest, loving 11-almost 12 year old. We have been through several trials and tribulations--chicken pox, ear infections, appendicitis, ADHD, glasses, braces, a broken heart, and the 2nd grade teacher from hell. I'd say we are thick as thieves. I applaud his victories and mourn his defeats. When I am old with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel, I will always think of him as the 7 year old, farting in my lap as he joyously shouts, "OUT, ev-vil spir-rits!

(I know some of you are saying, "Don't you have another son." Yes, I do, but he is worthy of his own post and I will write about him between bitching posts. )

The light was red

I did the dirty deed today--I went to Wal-Mart.

I hate shopping at Wal-Mart because:

1. I spend more time in line waiting to pay for my purchases than I do shopping.

2. It seems to take so much longer to shop there because it is so BIG (It is a super Wal-Mart) and you have to park a couple of football fields from the front entrance. I am not one to wait on a parking space because I despise the passive/aggressive nature of patrons who KNOW you are waiting for their parking space so their sit there in their cars, adjusting the mirror, applying lipstick, socializing with their shopping partner--anything to delay YOU getting into the space so you can get on with your shopping adventure. I will park at the end of the lot before I sit and wait for a space--even in the pouring down rain.

3. They don't have everything I need and I end up going to another grocery store ANYWAY to complete my shopping.

4. They are ALWAYS busy--even if you go in the middle of the night or early in the morning.

5. I can't get out of there in less than an hour.

Today, I went in the afternoon--the same time everyone with a child under the age of 5 shops. All through the store you heard crying babies and toddlers who were forced against their will to trade their naps for shopping with mom in the metropolis of Wal-Mart. After allowing all of my frozen food to thaw and swiping my debit card for $89.03 worth of groceries, I loaded the 9 shapeless, plastic bags and two cases of diet green tea into the trunk of my beetle so that I could make my escape to the solace of my own home.

Our Wal-Mart has a long, outside driveway on the fringes of the parking lot that many people use as a cut-through to the main road. At the main road is a stop light with 2 left turn lanes. I came up behind an elderly couple in a Buick (seriously, do they drive anything else?) in the right lane of the 2 lanes turning left. In the left lane was a Hyundai with 3 young people in it. We all were sitting at a red light-- a L-O-N-G red light, but a red light none-the-less when the elderly woman driver in front of me either didn't realize she had a red light or else she got tired of waiting for a green light. She began rolling through the light at a slow speed. Traffic was barrelling down the main road and was about to hit her, so I honked my horn to alert her that she was about to be mowed down. Well the hyundai in the left turn lane must have taken my horn for a signal to wake up and go! They started to roll through the light too. How stupid! The light was still red. The elderly couple and the hyundai sat in the middle of the intersection while traffic whizzed by in both directions. They reminded me of the frog in the video game "Frogger". All I could see was that little frog getting splattered all over the road as he tried to cross between 18 wheelers and cars.

Well, I am convinced that God looks out for fools because somehow, they rolled through the light without being hit, the light turned green, and we all went on our merry way.

The thing was, if they were in such a hurry that they ran the red light, why did they go 30 miles an hour in a 45 mile per hour zone?

A little catching up to do...

I know it has been a while since I've been here so I thought I would show my shameful face in cyberspace after being gone over a month. I hurt my back New Years Eve at the bowling alley. Thank God the bowling alley bimbos weren't there to see it or they would have had a good laugh.

I feel like I've lived a lifetime in the last month. The holidays are always big in my family. My parents are both from rural Tennessee and neither one had much growing up. My dad was one of 8 kids and he was lucky to get anything to eat if he wasn't one of the first at the table. My mom was the last of 5...and was a late baby for my grandmother (who is now 93). My mom's family was devoutly Southern Baptist but didn't celebrate any holidays except by going to church. They didn't have a Christmas tree, a Thanksgiving dinner, and didn't even celebrate birthdays.

Well, holidays at my house as a child were a two month festival! My dad made sure I always had lots of gifts at Christmas. We always had big, lavish meals on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Years Day. My mother made sure I was surrounded by lots of holiday spirit, decorations, lights, and people who loved me. It was always a special time of year and the tradition continues in my own household for my children. This was a sore spot with my spouse, who came from a poor past, but he has caught the "holiday fever"... and it only took about 15 years. My happiest memories were the holidays, no doubt.

Now that it is all over, the decorations are put away, and you can't go to the store without seeing Valentine's Day stuff, the dust has settled and I can resume a normal life again. Winter is always a downer for me after the holidays. Usually in my part of the world, it is cold, rainy, and miserable, but this week the weatherman has predicted highs in the 60's, so it hasn't been the usual post holiday let down. I like a little snow, but it doesn't seem as though we will get it this year. If we don't get it by mid January, we usually don't get it at all. The best we can hope for is freezing rain, which no one likes except the kids (if it closes school).

I got a pretty awesome treadmill/eliptical for Christmas from my mom. I have been on it a little now that my back feels better. I've been taking it slow because if I re injury it, it takes another 10 days before I can move again. I look forward to using it when/if those cold, rainy days occur this winter.

My older son started basketball season last Saturday. The coach said, "We have practice at 830 pm Monday night". There were choruses of "Oh, MY son will be there. You can count on dat." I was not one of those parents, as I missed the game. My mother relayed this news to me on Sunday and I said "830pm? Is he out of his mind? " Practice lasts an hour. Okay, we are now at 930. The middle school is 15 minutes away. It is now 945 in my mind. My son has to shower before bed. It is now 1000. It will be another 30 minutes (at least) before he can settle down to go to sleep. It is now 1030. Hell NO! On a school night? If it was a Friday night, it would be different. My son is ELEVEN. He plays REC BALL. It is not the NBA, the NCAA, or even a high school team. Connor is a straight A student and I'd like to keep it that way. More power to the mothers who sent their sons to 830 practice. I'm into academics and have high educational and scholarship hopes for my child. Maybe the only way the other boys will get into college is by a basketball scholarship, but that won't be my child. He is mediocre, at best, on the court. I put my foot down and called his coach and the phone call went something like this:

"Hello, may I speak to Coach Williams?"(me)

"Uh, yeah. Hold on." (Coach's 12 year old son)

"Hello?" (Coach)

"Coach Williams? This is Connor's mother. I am calling to inform you that Connor will not be at basketball practice Monday night. It is too late for him. He is in bed on a school night by 9pm so we will see you Saturday at the game." (me)

Silence....

"I will have him shoot baskets and practice in the court after school Monday, but he will not be at your late practice Monday night." (me)

Silence....

"Uh, o....kay." (coach)

"Thank you. Good-bye." (me)

I don't know if he was stunned into silence, shocked, or pissed. I don't know him well enough to conclude anything. It was odd. I guess my child was in the minority and everyone else was planning on showing up for practice at that late hour. Maybe I have different priorities for my children. Am I old-fashioned?

We will see if Connor is even played on Saturday. You can bet I'll be at the game.

Bowling Alley Bimbos

Every Friday night, we go bowling. It started because my oldest son is on a league, so Cole, Scott, and I bowl on a lane together while Connor bowls with his team.

Tonight, we got lane 37 (one of my personal favorites as I always bowl well on it). We were 1/2 way through our game, when 2 women in their 30s and their 3 children (2 boys that were about 6 or 7 years old and a little girl about 2 years old) began bowling on lane 38. One woman, a petite blonde, had another one on the way. I just want to add that the brunette woman made the word "muffin" come to mind.

The two women were conversing while the children were bowling--neither woman was paying much attention to the children, as they were picking up our personal bowling balls and running around on the lanes. They obviously had no bowling etiquette, as the children were oblivious to anything except when it was their turn to bowl. We have taught our boys not to approach the lane when the bowler next to you is bowling, as you can distract them if they see you in their peripheral vison. They know this and respect this. Even my 5 year old understands the basic rules.

Well, after a while, Scott had had enough. He spoke directly to one of the boys and said, "Son, don't touch my bowling ball!" He said it loud enough so that the conversation between the women was interrupted and they stopped talking to turn and stare at him. I tried to soften the sharpness in his tone by explaining to the boy that the ball is heavy and that he could drop it on his foot or mash his fingers.

It was obvious that the women were offended. When the children had completed a game, the two women approached the management and complained that we were yelling at their kids. I turned to the manager and said, "They have no bowling etiquette. They have allowed their children to run amuck all over our lane, handle our bowling equipment, and bowl out of turn, so we told one of the boys not to pick up the 16 lb bowling ball. Since they wouldn't say anything, we did."

The brunette woman turned on me and said, "I don't yell at my children!"

I said, "Yes, that is obvious."

She said sarcastically, "We didn't realize you aren't suppose to touch anyone else's ball. What is the big deal?"

I was envisioning a big piece of duct tape over her mouth as I answered, "We didn't want your children to mash their fingers in the ball return or possibly drop the bowling ball on their foot."

"Oh, I'm sure you give a shit about my kids." She replied.

Does this woman not know she is dealing with the Queen of Sarcasm? And actually, no, I didn't really give a shit about her kids, but I hate to hear children cry so I replied, "I wouldn't want anyone's child to hurt themselves just because no one was properly supervising them."

Her voice went up an octave in protest as she said, "I watch my children! I just don't believe in yelling at them."

"You mean, you don't believe in disiplining them", I corrected.

"My children turned out fine. " she said.

"So YOU believe." I replied.

Well, the brunette muffin knew she wasn't going to get the last word because I was spun up so she carried her ruffled muffin self and her mini muffin children to the last lane, lane 40--where they drove the older couple bowling next to them, crazy with their undisiplined kids. The older couple actually stopped bowling in mid game and left.

A few minutes later, the brunette's cell phone rang and she began talking animatedly to the person on the other end. Well, while she was talking on the phone, her little 2 year old daughter picked up one of the boy's bowling balls and proceeded to throw it down the lane. The lanes are oiled and when the little girl stepped over the line, her feet went out from under her and SMACK went her little noggin on the floor. The brunette cut her call short to attend to her bruised, non-supervised child. After the child calmed down, she engaged in conversation again with the pregnant blonde. They weren't watching the children--AGAIN and this time, the 2 year old smashed her fingers between the balls as one came out of the ball return. It must have hurt like hell because the little girl had her mouth open and her face screwed up, but no sound was coming from her mouth--until she caught her breath and then the people on lane 1 at the other end stopped bowling to look. I guess they decided the bowling alley wasn't as safe as Chuck E. Cheese, so they left.

As they were leaving, I couldn't resist saying with a smirk as they passed by, "If your children need any more disipline, we'll be here next Friday too!"

Phases

Either I am destined for sainthood, or I did something really bad in my previous life and I am now paying dearly for it.

BOTH of my children seem to be going through "phases" and I am not going to survive these phases without medication.

My oldest, Connor, is 11 going on 35. Highly intelligent but not a lick of common sense. He just came to me after playing video games for the last 3 hours and said, "I am going to brush my teeth, get a drink of water, study for my science test, study for my social studies quiz, and can you please review my pre-algebra homework?" It is amazing to me that he waits until right before bedtime with this request, assuming that I have no life and that I am full of energy. Perhaps he presumes that I never sleep, never do laundry, never do housework, never go to my part-time job. I think he thinks that I wave my magic wand and it all gets done. I do not operate on his schedule, in fact, I am his polar opposite. When my feet hit the floor in the morning, I am ready to go, full speed ahead. I peeter out around 9 pm. After all, this is when normal people wind down. Connor is a night person. I have to drag him out of bed in the morning, clutching his pillow and blanket, crying out "No! It can't POSSIBLY be time to get up already. I just went to sleep! " and I have to threaten to knock his lights out to get him asleep at night. When he does get to sleep, 1/2 the time, he sleepwalks, going into everyone's room in the middle of the night. He came to my side of the bed one night and just stared at me like a serial killer. It wigged me out! I told him to quit disturbing the family and go to bed, which is exactly what he did. Basically, he is a good kid--he just thinks the world revolves around him and his schedule. Your usual, self-centered youth.



My other child, Cole, has all the common sense his brother was suppose to get and then some. In fact, he is manipulative, cunning, calculating. Will lie straight to your face, looking like an angel the whole time. Tonight, he came in from the backyard, crying, with a bruise on his hip. When my husband asked him what happened, he said, "I ran into the trampoline." Well, those of you who own a trampoline know that it is about 3 1/2 feet off the ground, which would have injured him at about the level of his front teeth. He would have to be about 7 feet tall for it to bruise his hip. When presented with these facts, he changed his story to one that involved him climbing on the outside of the net on the trampoline and missing his footing, thereby falling on the frame and bruising his hip. I was angry that he was climbing on the outside of the net, but more angry that he LIED about it. I can't STAND it when someone lies to me, but the lies have been pouring from him almost since he could talk. We have punished him and it does not cause him to tell the truth except when it suits him.

Arrrggggghhhh! Being a parent is the hardest, grueling, most thankless job in the world!

The Skin I'm In

I often ponder things that make me wonder if I am crazy. I have debates with myself, philosophical conversations with myself that would convince a pyschologist that I have a split personality. I believe this comes from being an only child and having no one to talk to regularly--not that I blame my parents. They were doing their part not to over populate the earth by having only one child.

One of my great debates as I rake leaves in my backyard (that has as many trees as a state park) is this: If I was only left with one of my five senses, which would it be? I'm sure you can tell from the title of this post that it would have to be touch.

I love to touch my children's skin. My youngest son has the softest, smoothest skin. It's like touching a marshmallow. He is very fair, so I spend the summer chasing him with the 45 Coppertone--making sure he doesn't get a sunburn. I remember when I was a child that I never wore sunscreen. It just wasn't pushed like it is today which is why, I'm sure, we see so many skin cancers now. That and because of the big hole in the ozone layer.

I love to touch the wonders of nature. When I am outside, I run my hands over the bark of my favorite oak tree in the backyard, feeling it's roughness under my fingertips. I'm sure that the tree is at least 50 years old. It is 40 feet tall, towering over my yard like a sentry. It has watched my children grow for the last 9 years, Tolerated them climbing all over it, provided shade from the hot sun, survived Hurricane Isabel. It is majestic. No wonder the Druids worshipped them.

Every May, we have a migration of ladybugs to our area. It is one of the most amazing events I've ever witnessed. I love to have one light upon my arm and travel to my fingertip. The tickle she provides delights my inner child.

It is a good thing that I am not afraid to touch people, considering my profession. I don't just touch them when I assess them. Many times I can sense when someone needs a hug or their hand held. Ah, the power of human touch is a great secret. It can provide amazing comforts both physically and emotionally. It is truely one of our greatest gifts to share with one another. It is a sense I can not live without.