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I used to sleep. I used to be a champion sleeper. I used to sleep so hard and so long I’d make hibernating bears question their methods and be ashamed to call themselves bears at all. I’d sleep from sun down to sun up, with a nap in between. My stepmom used to tell me young people sleep so much because their minds and bodies are still growing and adjusting. Whatever the reason, I slept. Like a pro. And now I don’t.

I want to sleep but simply can’t. Not at night anyways. Due to sleep apnea, becoming a mother, sharing an uncomfortable full sized bed with my husband, and caffeine issues I just…don’t…sleep. So on some nights when I’ve gone a week or so without sleeping and my body is ready to shut down I take Nyquil before bed. I take more than I’m supposed to. And yes, it isn’t okay. But it’s cheaper than prescription sleep aids and for the most part non habit forming. And it works. It works really well. Too well, actually. So by the time morning rolls around I’m a zombie until noon because I have this thing where alcohol, high fevers, and yes, sleep aids, don’t work in my body like they do everyone else’s so the effects don’t wear off when they should, or even begin when they should. Nyquil lays me out for 24 hours sometimes, but I can drink a giant bottle of vodka and wake up without a hangover. I’m telling ya…something’s weird about me.

Last night I took Nyquil to sleep. And this morning as I sat on my toilet drooling out the side of my mouth trying not to fall off said toilet, I glanced to my right and noticed my dog anxiously staring at me with this look that said, “UM YEAH I GOTTA DO THAT TOO”, and I realized she hadn’t been let out to pee yet. So I called to my soon to be four year old and grumbled to her to release the Kraken, which she did happily and everyone went about their “business”.

Fast forward 5 minutes and I’m standing in the shower waking up just a bit and thinking about the day and trying to make plans and make my brain stop telling me to be a cow and see if I can fall asleep standing up and wouldn’t that be a cool parlor trick if I could when I suddenly remember that last night our beloved family dog discovered she could escape our backyard and had gone gallivanting about the neighborhood and neighboring fields for an hour before returning home. And now she is outside, in the backyard, alone, and not making a peep. Panic set in. I shut off the shower after having only shampooed my hair, ran to the back door and surprise-surprise, she was gone. Vanished into the wind. Or over the gate. That seems more likely.

More panic ensued as I hurriedly dressed myself and Kid Awesome and spent the next 20 minutes hunting our gypsy dog with cat treats as a lure. (She really digs cat treats.) She trotted up eventually while I was rolling through our neighborhood very slowly in my car, looking super stalkerish, and didn’t seem at all put out by her morning adventure and my arriving to end it. How nice for her. We all went back to the house to try this whole “morning” thing over again.

And then I couldn’t find my phone. My phone was gone. So BACK into the car we go, cruising again around the neighborhood, fearing I’d dropped it out of the car when chasing Houdini dog. 10 minutes later we’re back at the house, I’m tearing apart my car looking for it, still can’t find it, on the verge of tears. Then, on a whim, I pick up the cat treat bag and there it is…in the cat treat bag…on the kitchen counter all along.

Well now. Finally we can start our day. I mean, my god we haven’t even had breakfast yet and it’s already 11. There’s still time to fix this though. We have an hour left to get ourselves back on track. So I make breakfast, throw the kid into her seat, give Houdini dog dirty looks because she’s sitting at the back door whining to be let out, and begin my daily round of blog reading/commenting that isn’t really daily yet because I’m horrible about remembering to read and comment blogs, but today is THE DAY I’m going to turn all that around. Houdini dog gives up whining and falls asleep at my feet under the table, and then I remember why I love her so I forgive her and run my feet over her thick, soft coat, and let her know she’s still my favorite pup. And now…the four year old starts acting up. She’s decided she doesn’t WANT her breakfast. She WANTS mine. I tell her if she WANTS she can go jump off a cliff. She explains to me that she WANTS to go outside to play. But I WANTS her to eat. She WANTS nothing of it. And we argue about it. And we glare. And then mid staredown my mother calls, and we start chatting, and Kid Awesome is still not pleased and no longer WANTS her applejuice, and WANTS my milk, and reaches for my milk and knocks over both my milk and the apple juice and soaks the entire table, both our breakfasts, and the bills husband foolishly left on the table the night before.

And I snapped. I hung up on my mother. And transformed into the scariest thing my family has ever seen, although they rarely have to see it: I TURN INTO MY GRANDMOTHER. I stand tall, take long, heavy steps, and my accent goes from sweet Southern syrup to thick Redneck molasses and right then and there we have a come to Jesus meeting. And not to be left out I record these thoughts with my inner secretary to relay to the husband because I’m pissed off that he insists on leaving mail and other items laying around and it’s a shame he can’t be here for this meeting so I’ll forward the minutes onto him later. All the children, both furry and non furry, sit upright as I begin my tirade into whose house this is (MINE), who the boss is (ME), and who makes the rules (ME AGAIN). I command the 4 year old eat her breakfast before I give it to the dog, I command the dog to back away from that back door because I swear to GOD if she doesn’t give me a break about getting out I’m going to send her up the river, and I pretty much overlook the cat because for once he’s not in the middle of whatever madness is going on and instead is probably glad he slept through all this morning’s activities.

Finally it seems as though they’ve all caught on that they don’t like me when I’m angry and by 12:30 we’re all tucked away in bed for a nap. A much needed, and much deserved nap.

And now I can sleep. And the morning was a failure. And mornings are kind of overrated anyways. And I am beyond giving a crap that my house is a wreck, I smell like wet dog, my toddler fears me, my dog is too stupid to fear me, and today is Thursday and I have one more day of this before the weekend when Mr. Awesome is home to help me cope with these wild children and this wild life.

I used to sleep. I used to be a champion sleeper. But now I’m an old retired sleeper, reliving the glory days of sleep, and yelling at neighborhood hoodlums to get off my lawn. I think today I understand why they do that. Because after you’ve survived raising your own, the last thing you wanna do is deal with someone else’s stepping on your tulips. And messing with your naptime. And interrupting your showers.

DAMMIT.

I still haven’t finished taking my shower.

The End.