I can’t sleep.
Not just tonight. I mean in general. And the irony? My body tells me I desperately need to.
This week I managed to hit the sheets at 3:30 am and 4:15 am on two separate nights. In my defence, this latter one was because I was taking myself off to bed at 1:30 - late, but reasonably so for me - and noticed a few ants on the kitchen bench. Then few more. Then a goshdarn avalanche. Let’s just say the kitchen wasn’t in a pristine state to begin with, so everything had to be moved, de-ant-ed, and set aside on the dining room table before sweeping sponge-fuls of Satan’s Little Minions to their deaths under the running kitchen tap. I thought about fumigating them with surface spray but didn’t fancy the thought of having to disinfect the benchtops as well, so it was the ‘au naturel’ method of drowning and Finger of Death (squishing) until the stream finally stopped. The whole debacle took me TWO AND A HALF HOURS. The object of their desire? An unwashed bowl I’d used earlier in the evening to make homemade muesli (granola) bars. The bars were held together with honey. Lesson learned. ‘Nuff said.
So I’m not sleeping properly. And because I’m tired all the time I’m relying on artificial (yet curiously delicious) sustenance to get me through the day. Today, I had half an hour to spare before walking up to the school to pick up the kids so I sat down on the couch with a magazine to read. I was tired but I didn’t think that tired. Next thing I know the phone is ringing.
“Um, hello?”
“Hello Mrs Lizzie’s Home. Your children are waiting in the front office. They’re sobbing and petrified you’ve abandoned them. You’re a horrible mother.”
Well, okay, she didn’t say that, and they weren’t. I’m sure she was thinking it though. But I swear, I’ve never had my heart jump into my throat with as much force as it did today (even that time the doctor took one look (well, okay, feel) at my newly-nineteen year old cervix and promptly told me to “get up to the hospital immediately because that baby of yours will fall out any minute - but be prepared, because our hospital doesn’t have the facillities to handle premature births.” Phooey on him - I lasted another two weeks and J was born at 36 weeks). Complicating matters today was the fact that J, who normally travels home via taxi each day, was still en route home - with no-one else at home to greet him - so I had to call up the taxi driver (thank God for mobile phones) to ask him to drop him in front of the local school (where Boof and Moo go) instead. J was none too pleased at the last minute schedule change and as for the younger two - well let’s just say I won’t be winning Mother of the Year anytime soon for being 20 minutes late.
Now if you’d done something horrible like this you’d totally bribe them too, right? Mama’s poison-de-jour was a chocolate Paddle Pop (like a big Popsicle/Fudgsicle? - again, thank God for a morning grocery run earlier in the day) Totally worth it.
It was while they were eating them that I noticed another ant infestation.
Did I also mention that it was like 36ºC (close to 100ºF) today? I am NOT a warm-weather kind of girl. In fact, I’d rather slowly poke my eyeball with a rusty fork. I was just about sobbing by the time Talented Hubby arrived home to find me de-ant-ing OUR FURNITURE. Now, credit to the man for taking one look at me and keeping his mouth shut about the missed school pickup - ignoring my failings is one of the reasons why I love him so much :)
But this heat? I want to move to Canada. Seriously. Laura will put up with a crazy Australian gal, right? Laura? Hello? LOL.
* written in the late evening and scheduled for the next day. I heart scheduled posting…
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