I’ll be back tomorrow.  I’m trying to recover from my weekend away.

Last night, I fell into bed at about 1:15 a.m.  I got up with my kids at 7:45 a.m., then marched through my day with determination.  I drove my daughter and her friend to school, came home and finished drying my hair, then headed out to the grocery store with a little pile of coupons.

Upon my return, I picked up the trash dotting the side of my driveway.  (Kids!)  Then I dragged in the trashcans, cleaned out the van, replaced the fallen cupboard door in on the bathroom cabinet, vacuumed the living room and family room, participated in a telephone conference for my job, put away groceries, picked up my daughter from kindergarten, cleaned up the kitchen, did loads and loads of laundry, worked for four hours, cooked dinner (chicken in the Crockpot, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole), sorted through the basket of papers on my desk, chatted with my husband, put away all the laundry, carried more dirty laundry downstairs, read The Year of Magical Thinking (Joan Didion), and worked for three more hours.

Such a flurry of activity!  All because I’m going out of town Friday afternoon.  I’m driving to Bellingham to spend the weekend at a scrapbooking retreat.  Did I already tell you this?  Oh, wait, I did.

Anyway, that’s where I’ll be. . . apparently, they have wi-fi there, so I may be checking in.  Then again, I might not.

And when I get home, the house will be a disaster and the milk will all be gone, but I’ll have a completed 2005 scrapbook to show for my time away.

Did you see that crowd of people at the inauguration?  Two million souls crammed together, shoulder to shoulder in the freezing cold?  That’s how I’m feeling right now, seriously crowded by my life.  I can’t seem to find enough space to stretch out and find some solitude.  And my life isn’t even that stressful.  I just can’t find enough time to do what I want or need to do.  And that makes me feel like I’m tied to a chair.  (This computer chair, come to think of it.)

But where were we before the Russian hackers so rudely hacked through my old edition of WordPress and took down the server?

Our newish van was hit by a car in a parking lot.  My husband telephoned me to share this bit of news.  Shockingly enough, the culprit left a note with his insurance information and that guy’s insurance is paying for the damage, including the use of a rental car.

You’ll recall that my husband has had a spate of bad luck–our passenger-side window of the same van was shattered in December while he drove in the snow.  Then his debit card number was stolen.  I told him he needs to just stay in he house where nothing bad can happen (ha ha) but he’s going to Texas, instead, to pick up a new-t0-us car.  (Did I tell you the story of the red Cadillac? )  But that doesn’t happen until January 29, the day after my birthday.

Meanwhile, this weekend I am going on another scrapbooking retreat–hey, what do you know, I’ll get time to myself (driving through Seattle traffic!), but I am such a glass-half-empty girl that I am fretting to myself about whether I’ll be able to get the house in order before I go and dreading that I’ll come home to disarray and then I’ll have to immediately start working again and *weeps*. . . please stop me.  I am going to scrapbook for the weekend!  I am looking forward to it.  I’ll be reliving 2005, which, as I recall, is the year we went to DisneyWorld, so that will be fun.  (Though it would be more fun to just go to DisneyWorld.)

Oh!  I saw “Gran Torino” over the weekend.  I absolutely loved that movie.  I kind of want to see it again.  (Warning: lots of cursing–beware if you are very sensitive to language.)  The only bummer was that a child of about four years old sat in front of me–this is definitely not a movie for children.  Why do parents allow their children to see things that cannot be unseen?  I am baffled.

What else?  Nothing, I guess.

My blog woke up.  Now I need to put some nice pretty words in her.  Soon, very soon.

Did I mention that I’m giving up caffeine?  I drank my last Diet Coke with Lime can today, though I cannot guarantee that I will not buy a small Diet Coke at McDonald’s tomorrow.

* * *

My daughter goes to half-day kindergarten.  The past few classes, she’s called me at about 11:15 a.m. to ask me whether I’ll be picking her up.  She knows I will, but she calls just to hear my voice–and her sweet teacher lets her.  Grace tells me, “I just really miss you,” and what can I say?  It really is that fabulous to be in my presence.  Ha.

So today, she calls me.  I’d been taking a nap (I’m like a baby–I stay up too late, wake up early and then need a morning nap) and after I hung up the phone, I realized that I had a message on the phone.  It was flashing.  I hadn’t noticed it flashing before then because I hadn’t expected any calls this morning.

However, while I was taking my daughter to school, my supervisor at work in New York called and asked me to send some information immediately or to call her.  Two and a half hours later, I noticed her urgent message.

I flew into hyperspeed, showering quickly, getting dressed and hurrying to the computer to send an email before rushing off to pick up my daughter at school.  As I closed the van door and turned on the engine, I saw that I would just make it to school on time, barely.  It was 11:47 a.m.  School is out at 11:45 a.m., but the class takes a few minutes–a surprisingly long few minutes–to file out of the classroom like dawdling ducks behind their teacher.  I know this because I am usually sitting in my van in the parking lot watching their slow progress.

Then I thought, huh, my feet feel different, so I glanced down.  Lo and behold, my left foot wore a white canvas sneaker and my right foot wore a black plush slipper with authentic sheepskin lining.  With an audible chortle, I sped toward the school (takes two minutes) only to arrive as the buses pulled out of the parking lot.  Which meant that my daughter was back in the classroom with her teacher awaiting my unexpectedly tardy arrival.

I had no choice.  I had to stroll to the classroom in my shockingly mismatched footwear and, of course, I couldn’t just play it cool.  When another mom met me at the door, remarking, “Boy, they were out early today,” I said, “YES, AND LOOK AT MY FEET!”

Then, inside the classroom to the teacher, “Hi, sorry I’m late.  LOOK AT MY FEET!”

And I launched into the entirely unnecessary, dramatic story about why I was wearing a shoe and a slipper.  (Note to self:  Shut.  Up.  Also?  Get some sleep.)

The bickering makes me crazy.  It makes me screaming crazy.  My 6-year old wants her beloved teenage brother (almost 16 years old!) to play video games with her.  You’d think this would be a simple matter, easily accomplished, but the teenager cannot ease up on the 6-year old and he always plays to win, despite her screams of frustration and her tears and subsequently, my screams of frustration.  (No tears.)

I am pretty sure I will not miss this part of motherhood.  Other things I will not miss include:

1)  Washing dishes that I did not use.

2)  Picking up balled up socks.

3)  The noise, noise, noise, noise.

4)  Sticky doorknobs.  (What?  Your doorknobs to the kids’ areas in your house don’t get sticky?)

5)  Unflushed toilets.

6)  Losing all the scissors in the house.

7)  Tripping over shoes in the middle of the room.

8)  Empty milk cartons in the fridge.

9)  Whining.

10)  Bickering in the car.

If I do miss those things, I’ll just borrow someone’s kids for an hour or two until I come back to my senses.

The other day, the bank’s Fraud Department’s automated call system telephoned to request that my husband call them to discuss some suspicious charges.

Turns out someone somehow stole the numbers from his debit card and were using this fake card to pay for stuff.  Five charges were made before the bank caught on and called us.

His card was in his wallet when I called him.  We have no idea how this crime was committed.  (I’d love to really know the details.)

He canceled the card and the bank told us what to do to recoup the money that came from our account.

The funny thing is that the person who stole from us did not really live it up.  He or she bought almost fifty bucks worth of stuff from Gymboree, fifteen dollars worth of gas from Shell Oil, a meal at Denny’s for $15.99, a Coca-cola for $1.75 from a vending machine and stayed at the Courtyard Marriott (that charge hasn’t cleared yet).  As it turns out, the charges have to clear first before we can contest them and get reimbursed.  (Nice, huh?)

Seriously, if I were living on stolen money, is that how I’d spend it?  I’d like to think I’d buy a ticket and high-tail it to Tahiti with an all-new wardrobe.  If I were a thief.  Which I am not.

I wonder if this thief will be caught?  I somehow doubt it.

* * *

Meanwhile, I’m sleeping a little better.  I’m just thankful that my insomnia is not made worse by having to care for babies with irregular schedules.  I was reminded of those days by an old journal I came across this weekend.  When my twins were three they had chickenpox back-to-back.  For six days, I hardly slept.  Aside from the time my son had surgery and was hospitalized and then sent home with a catheter (!!!), the chickenpox days were among the worst days of my motherhood.

Now, at least when I can’t sleep, that’s all I have to do:  not sleep.

You might notice that I’ve been writing these posts in the dark hours of the night.  I work until midnight, then check out my email, Facebook, blogs and various Internet things.  I might fold a load of laundry and take dishes in to the kitchen because my children all have broken arms and can’t carry their dirty dishes to the sink.  Or fold the blankets they snuggled with on the couch.

And then, it’s one a.m. or one-thirty and I realize how tired I will be in the morning.  So I go to bed.

Then I can’t sleep.

The past two nights, I’ve been awake at 2:30 a.m.  One of those nights, my daughter woke me at 4:30 a.m.  Then my husband got up at 5:30 a.m., my son came through my room to use the shower at 7:00 a.m., my daughter woke up at 8:00 a.m., and when I returned home from taking her to school, I went directly back to bed where I had hallucinogenic dreams.  Seriously, I dreamed that my husband came home to pick up something and I couldn’t rouse myself and when I woke up later, I wasn’t sure if it had happened or if I only dreamed it.  Did he come home?  Or not?

I almost called him to check, but then resisted that urge so he didn’t think I had finally lost my mind for good.

<

I would be so happy to go to bed and fall into a deep, dark, dreamless sleep, but instead, when I finally sleep, it’s restless and filled with nutty dreams.

I have always been a good sleeper.  Once I slept through a hurricane, in fact.  I am a sound sleeper–I mean, I WAS a sound sleeper.  I fell asleep the second my head hit the pillow and didn’t wake until the alarm rang.  Now, I don’t even use an alarm because my kids wake me.

[Funny thing:  I just heard footsteps upstairs–my daughter was awake, in my room, standing by my side of the bed, trying to tell me she had a bad dream. . . I ran up to try to keep her from waking my poor husband, so she told me about her bed dream while she used the bathroom, something about kitty litter on the counter by the toaster and the cat sitting in it?]

Anyway.  Sleep.  Elusive sleep.  Come to me, stop running away!  And note to my Brain:  Stop with the  bizarre dreams.  I can’t take anymore.

* * *

Remind me to tell you about the call I received from my bank’s Fraud Unit!

At about 10:00 p.m., I was sitting here at my desk in the family room which is adjacent to the kitchen.  Working, as usual.  I heard footsteps come down the stairs–they sounded more like my son than my husband, but then the front door opened.  Oh, I figure, in that half-paying-attention way, must be my husband retrieving something from the car.

Then, the door opened and my 6-year old daughter walked back inside, into the kitchen and headed straight for the refrigerator and opened it.  I jumped up, realizing that she must have gone outside and furthermore, that she must be completely asleep.

“Are you sleeping?” I said to her and as I approached, she started to take off her pajama shirt.  I said, “Hey, look at me.  Are you awake?”  She started to cry a little, so I picked her up, told her she was asleep and took her upstairs.  She was shaking when I put her into bed, then she asked to use the bathroom.  As she sat there I said, “Did you go outside?” and she couldn’t answer.  I think she was still asleep.

I put her back to bed and deadbolted the front door!  The very idea that she would do such a thing scared me silly.  At least she can’t quite maneuver the deadbolt.  And I suspect that if the lights in the whole house were off, she would just come into my room, even if she were sleepwalking.

* * *

Meanwhile, the rain continues to fall here in the Pacific Northwest.  A few weeks ago, we had record cold temperatures and an unusual amount of snow.  Now, we’re having more rain than a region should be allowed to have.  (I think this much rain might be illegal.)  A bunch of rivers have overflowed their banks, people are being evacuated and I’m going to build an ark.

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