Musical Beds

All my life, I have had trouble sleeping.  I remember when I was about 4 or 5 years old, my mother escorted me back to my bedroom in the middle of the night and said..."You can do whatever you want...play with your toys or look at books, but you must stay in your room.  Do not wake anyone up because you can't sleep!"  It worked.  I stayed in my room and everyone else slept.  Somehow, I can't seem to impart that nugget of wisdom to my own children. 

I usually sleep between 3 - 5 hours each night.  My sleep problems are frustrating enough without adding my husband, children, and pets to the mix.  My family likes to play a little game I call "Musical Beds" and it goes like this...

First, the fattest cat will jump on the bed making tidal waves as she walks toward my head.  She has always been the demanding one, but with age has gotten a little cranky.  She will walk up to my face and nudge me to pet her.  I am a little afraid because if I don't pet her exactly where she wants...she will bite me.  I usually get bitten several times...so much for drifting off peacefully.

Next, after hearing my whimpers, the dog will leave my daughters bed and jump up on mine thinking I am calling him to come play.  He will repeatedly dive on top of me to play "All Star Wrestling."  After I cower under the covers and play dead, the dog, gives up makes 3 circles and curls up at the bottom of the bed.  Up to this point, my husband, who went to bed at least 4 hours before... is oblivious to the turmoil happening next to him. 

Just about the time I am drifting off, the bulimic cat will start to yowl downstairs (The ADHD dog somehow locks the cat door to the garage where the litter box is located every night)  I will get up to unlock the door.  The cat will be doing the "Potty Dance" in front of the door and bolt through it as soon as I open it.  As a punishment to me, when she has finished her business in the box...she will deliberately walk across my car windows with her moist paws about 32 times. 

Back upstairs in my bed, I again spend 15 -20 minutes trying to drift off... about that time, my 7 year old will come stand silently beside the bed staring at me with his face 6 inches away from mine.  When I realize the moist, hot air I am breathing is not from the tropical breeze I was just beginning to dream about...I almost pee the bed as I suddenly realize there is someone standing next to me.  He is scared about something and wants to sleep with me.  He climbs over me to the middle of the bed.  He will have stepped on my full bladder, causing me to do the "Potty Dance" all the way to the bathroom.

How is it that a little child can take up twice as much room as an adult in bed?  It is like sleeping with an octopus!  An elbow to my carotid, a kick in my kidney, a slap in the face...why are children sooooo violent in their sleep?  My daughter use to pull my hair in her sleep when she was younger!  Half way through the battle I will ask my husband to take Alex back to bed and sleep with him so he won't be scared.  Whew!  Finally...room to stretch out and relax so I can sleep.

About the time I'm drifting off, the youngest will have wet through his "Big Boy Night-Night Pants" and need me to change his pajamas then will insist on sleeping with me.  My tween daughter will join us 30 minutes later because she had a bad dream.  All the animals will return to bite and attack.  And at some point my oldest son may walk in his sleep and I will have to get up to guide him back to bed.  I may spend the rest of the night on the couch...but at 4 am my husband gets up to exercise and get ready for work.  He turns every light on, cranks up the radio, and makes enough noise to raise the dead...so I go back upstairs and try to sleep in the "group bed" once again.

My alarm goes off at 6 am and I am more tired than when I went to bed!  My friend once said she saw a t-shirt that said, "I will sleep when I die"...I certainly hope so...because while I am alive - it ain't gonna happen! 

Musical Beds may not be my favorite game, but it sure makes my kids laugh every time we talk about the antics that go on at night!  I can only hope they have children that will do the same to them one day.

A Hair Raising Experience!

   I am not necessarily an impulsive person.  I can be very flexible...kind of a necessity when you have four children...but I usually think through major decisions.  Hair, for any woman, is a major decision.  We spend a lot of time finding just the right person to cut, color, and style our hair.  We purchase products that give quality results.  We spend time making sure our hair looks just right.   The only exception to this rule is when we can't get an appoint with our cosmetologist...then...we do impulsive things!

   Last spring, I asked my hair dresser to start working in some of my gray to the color scheme.  I have had gray hair since I was 16 years old and was growing tired of coloring it.  I could schedule an appointment every 4-5 weeks for a color, but my gray was becoming very noticeable at 3 weeks!  I thought since I was turning 50, it would be o.k. to show my gray (especially if it was as pretty as my brother's.)  I also noticed that more people were asking my children about their "grandma" that drove them to school...well...if I was going to be referred to as my children's grandmother - then why was I paying to have my hair colored?

   My hair stylist tried all sorts of things for 8 months trying to work the gray in. I had highlights, more highlights, low lights, a medium base with highlights, and more highlights, and more highlights...until I was bleach blonde.  Not really what I had anticipated.  I had very dark, german, curly hair before. I had told my husband that I may have to cut it all off and start over to get back to my natural color.  I think he was tired of me complaining and said, "Well, why not!  You wouldn't have to color your hair anymore!"  I mistakenly took this as encouragement, forgetting how frugal my minimalist husband is...who was probably just thinking he could save a lot of money if I quit coloring my hair.  I should've known better...he usually doesn't agree with me.

   Well...I tried to get my hair colored in February when I was 4 weeks into the bleach blonde...no open appointments.  I tried at 5 weeks...nope...at 6 weeks...nothing!  O.K. Now I am desperate!  When I volunteered at the school one day, my son's first grade classmates asked me what was wrong with my hair...why was it 2 different colors?  Rotten kids!  That was it!!!!  I went home and thought..."I am going to do it!"  "I have at least a half inch of white hair showing...I can shave it off."  Always wanting to make memories for my children (whose hair I always cut)...I decided to let my 6 year old shave my head.  Hmmmm.  Looking back now...probably not the greatest idea.

   I walked out of the bathroom and my 16 year old son fell on the floor laughing.  Not the most encouraging sign.  My six year old kept staring at me with a look of horror.  My 12 year old daughter came down the stairs to see what all the commotion was and started screaming then started laughing.  I picked my 4 year old up at preschool (wearing a hat) and he yelled across the room..."MooooooooooM!  What are you wearing a hat for?  Take it off!"  He ran over and tried to rip the hat off my newly shaven head.  I was dodging and ducking him in an effort to keep my head covered...I wasn't ready to go public yet with the previous reactions I received.  We made it to the car and the the little scoundrel pulled off my hat. He yelled at the top of his lungs, "What did you do that for?!  Who cut off all your hair????  You need to put it back!!!!"

   I wasn't feeling very confident about my impulsive decision right about then.  My husband came home from work and laughed...a little too hard and too long.  That was the point I thought, "Surely, there is not much more humiliation that a person can endure."  I was wrong.

   As my hair is growing out...it has gone through some interesting stages.  I can't say they have added to my confidence level, but they have certainly made for some interesting observations and discussions with family and friends.  The following are the stages...each one named by a family member or friend.  I hope you can laugh along with me...because at this point...it is either laugh or cry...I choose...laugh.

Day One - "THE CANCER SURVIVOR" Look

One Month - "HAIR STYLIST GOT SCISSOR HAPPY" Look

First 4 Months - LOTS OF HATS!

And CAPS!

Month 2 - "THE BUTCHY LESBIAN" Look

Month 3 - "The POODLE" Look

Month 4 - "OLD LADY CHURCH HAIR" Look

Month 4 (Combed Out) - "GEORGE WASHINGTON HAIR"

Month 5 - "THE ELVIS FRONT CURL" Look

Month 6 - "THE ALBERT EINSTEIN" Look

Month 7 - "THE RAT'S NEST" Look

   So, Friends...this is a great opportunity to learn from another's mistake...just wait for the hair stylist!

The Return of the Chicken Man

     I have always preferred small town to big city, rural to metropolis, and mom & pop shops to large chains.  This year I've noticed just how much our small town is trying to keep up with the big boys.  About an hour from my house is a big city.  If you follow the highway towards my little town you will hit another city...smaller...but still big enough to house 4 Starbucks, a Target, a Sam's Club, and traffic cams that will ensure a ticket with your picture sent to you if you aren't careful.  A short drive later is my little rural town with it's one stop light and 200 free-range chihauhuas.

    It is apparent that the people in my town have come to the conclusion that advertising is necessary to ensure business.  At first I was a little appalled at their approach, but I have come to enjoy their efforts.  One evening as I was driving through town, I noticed a hand-painted sign on plywood propped against a telephone pole outside our "sketchy" grocery store.  In big dripping letters...it read, "MEAT  $3.59 lb".  Instantly, I thought..."What meat?  All meat?  Why is it all the same price? and Who on earth who go in there to buy anything that could expire (chances are it was long past that date?)  It must have been quite a sale...the sign remained for months until a big gust of wind blew it over and people just drove over the top of it thinking it was a repair job for the potholes.

     The following picture is a local example of "small town advertising"- also hand painted on plywood and propped up against a garbage can... I think you can tell the type of neighborhood you're in by the way they advertise their yard sales.  I had to get out of my car and look at the merchandise...I bet you can only imagine what type of treasures I saw!  Yes that is my "Purple People Eater Mid-Life Crisis" Car parked behind the sign!!!

     I think sign-waivers can be very entertaining.  The way they dance and move can be fun to watch as you almost hit the car in front of you.  Of course not all businesses can pay someone to dance on the street...so there are mechanical mannequins that waive signs in a jerky motion that may attract interest.  I've seen several of these advertising body piercing and tattoo parlors locally.  But my all time favorite is our own "Chicken Man."  I first saw "Chicken Man" last year when he was propped up against a sign that read "1 hour parking - 24 hours a day."  I don't really know why someone would want to park by "Chicken Man" for more than an hour...let alone at all, but hey, let's obey the law!  This must not be "Chicken Man's" first gig.  In fact, I'm pretty sure this might be his last stop before retirement.  "Chicken Man" has more than a few feathers missing and the ones left are black from traffic exhaust, his vinyl face is peeling from the sun, his cracked beak is crooked, he has one hand, a peg-leg, and a red sock on the other half-exposed leg.  "Chicken man's" costume doesn't close in the back (how embarrassing), he is wearing a child's sombrero, and he is tied by the neck with a rope to the pole.  "Chicken Man" does NOT conjure up images of juicy chicken cooked on a grill...yet...that is what he is advertising...in only Spanish!  I wonder who their target group is?!  "Chicken Man" stands by the side of the main highway that runs through town.  He stands alone tied to the sign under a tree beside the "Sketchy" Grocery store that advertised "MEAT".  There is usually a man standing  behind "Chicken Man" at an oil drum, cut in half with smoke pouring out, poking the pollos with a long stick. As I drive by, I wonder if any of the pollos looked like "Chicken Man"...mangy and old!?  I don't get an appetizing feeling from the sight.  In fact, "Chicken Man" may be a great appetite suppressant for me.

     A few months back, "Chicken Man" disappeared.  It was left to our imaginations what could have possibly happened.  Perhaps a car ran him over...he caught fire from the smoking oil drum...or he finally retired to the "Old Chicken Man Home...a.k.a. the dump."  They advertised with the hand painted sign on plywood propped in front of the parking sign.  It seemed lonely.  Drab.  Sad.  I actually missed "Chicken Man."  Then....a few weeks ago..."Chicken Man" returned!  Apparently, he was just on vacation!  Once again...the world has been put right!  Well, at least as far as the mystery of "Chicken Man" is concerned.

     I can't say small town advertising is perfect.  But, I can say it is creative and a little endearing.  So, next time you want to go to a "Big Ass Sale", buy some "Meat", or want some "Pollo" cooked on an oil drum...just visit the next small town you pass through...or Not...Olive Garden is 45 miles north!!!

Laboring Labor Day

  Many people go camping, swimming, boating, hiking, or other fun activities on Labor Day weekend.  Our family has built the tradition of celebrating 3-day weekends by re-arranging the garage.  My husband started this tradition years ago, much to the chagrin of the rest of the family.  First, we procrastinate until noon saying things like, "I need another cup of coffee"... "I just need to check the email first"..."I have to go to the bathroom"..."I need to eat."  After sufficient procrastination, we whine, mumble, sigh, and move extremely slowly to the garage.

   The fun begins as we drag the contents out of the garage onto the driveway in front of our house.  Throughout the day, there will be many people stop to peruse our treasures thinking we are having a "Yard Sale".  I have to tell them we are not selling any of the items, while my husband is nodding his head frantically in the background trying to get me to sell my grandmother's hand crocheted tablecloth to a stranger for $1.50.  

   By 4pm we have emptied the garage, filled the garbage and recycling cans, and are blowing, sweeping, and scrubbing out the empty shell.  The little boys are drenched from playing in the hose and have sprayed the cars, the windows, the dog, me, and half the garage contents at this point.  My teens are practicing extreme whining techniques, I am downing ibuprofen, and my husband is becoming frantic that we can't put it all back before the sun sets!  

   My husband likes to arrange the contents of the garage asthetically. Boxes of the same size, color, or material (plastic, cardboard, etc...).  Because he is a minimalist and nothing in the garage holds importance for him...organizing the contents by use is of no interest to my husband.  There will be Christmas ornaments next to light bulbs, and tools behind the litter box.  For the next 2-3 months, I will be rummaging through the garage in search of a screwdriver or extension cord.  When I am unable to locate what I am looking for, I will go to the store and purchase a new one.  I will be able to use it until the next time we celebrate a President's Birthday, Honor Dead People, Explorers, or Martin Luther King by re-arranging the garage!  

   My family is hoping to one day celebrate 3-day weekends differently...but it may not be until my husband becomes senile and forgets that we have a garage.  Until then, we will continue...