Skip to main content

Slumber Parties

I can hear the screeches and screaming and laughter from here. I'm not hiding---no, I'm not. Honest. I would never hide from eight little girls all hyped up on sugar and pizza and pop. I'd never sneak up to my bedroom and lock the door behind me.

Ok, I really would.

They're loud. I mean really loud.

And I'm tired. I had four hours of sleep last night and while that used to fly when I was in my teens and twenties, it doesn't so much now that I'm old(er). I'm a serious sleep deficit situation here. It's bordering on the critical. You see, last night when my husband came home from work around 1 a.m. I'd just fallen asleep. He woke me up because he, get this, couldn't find my purse.

Yes, you read correctly. At 1:45 a.m. my husband was tearing the house apart searching for my purse.

"It's downstairs hanging on the shoe-thingy" He went off to look and came back saying it wasn't there. Well, it had to be because the rest of the house (at least the downstairs) was spotlessly clean in preparation for tonight's slumber party fiasco.

There were three loads of clean laundry in our room, so he tossed some of that around and still couldn't locate it.

A few minutes later I heard him on the phone to the pharmacy refilling my perscription with their automated system. He'd found my purse and the pill bottle he'd been searching for. Ahem. Right where I'd told him it was in the first place. Have you ever noticed that males suffer from a testosterone-fueled disability as it regards looking under or behind things in order to find things they're searching for? That's another blog post in and of itself.

I won't tell you just what the Rx was for. Again, that's a wnole 'nother blog post.

So I was awake. Once I go to sleep and am awakened, I do not go back to sleep. Ever. Well, ok, ever is a minor exageration. I eventually drift off after three or four hours. This has happened two or three times in the past week, hence the sleep deficit.

Now because there are screaming prepubescent girls downstairs munching on pizza and popping sweetarts, I can't go to sleep even though I'd dearly LOVE to do so.



  1. I shouldn't have to do this. You have been living with a man for long enough to have worked these things out for yourselves.
    1) We seldom have trouble finding things that we last used. We kind of remember where we put them.
    2) We have no concept of "where stuff belongs". Therefore, if someone of the female persuasion moves stuff that we put somewhere that seemed logical, we will have no clue as to where to look for it.
    3) We don't have a driving need to alter the places that things are kept. We will put things back in pretty much the same place each time. Not exactly, but see "1)" above.
    4) All of the above applies particularly to the kitchen. Do not ask us to put stuff away if you are anal about it. We will put stuff in pretty much the right cupboard or drawer, but don't expect us to understand why dish A needs to go on top of or at the side of dish B. These concepts are entirely alien.
    4) We all (except the most unfortunate) possess one thing that always has a firm idea about where it wants to go, and accommodating this wish is the prime criterion for determining all of our actions. This explains why you have a house full of screaming children.
    You should, by now, understand why your husband will never be able to find your purse unaided. Ever.
    I hope that this helps.
    I am sorry if this comment is in the wrong damn place.

  2. Ah, children.

    I am so glad mine have grown up.

  3. vicus dear, you're male. Due to his unfortunate state you also suffer from testosterone poisoning and the inability to look under, behind or around objects in order to locate something you need/want/have been sent in search of. It's not your fault.

    Dave, I love children. Honest I do or I wouldn't have had four of them. This slumber party wasn't as bad as some others where the guests threw up all over the place. I count that a success.


Post a Comment

Go ahead....tell me the truth :)

Popular posts from this blog

A Poem to an Abusive Man

I've been doing a bit of research on abuse, domestic violence and how it usually ends. It's not pretty and it's painful and I hurt every time I read another woman's tale of horror.

Did you know that emotional abuse is as detrimental as physical abuse? And that most emotional abusers continue on to become physical abusers? I didn't. I do now. I found a site where formerly abused women, on the path to recovery from their abusers, have written poems. This one below is one that haunted me.

Thank You

You wooed me with poetry
I bit on the hook
Had I only first read
The name of the book

I would have avoided
The very first page
For pages kept turning
Revealing the rage

The ups were a great high
The ride was a bash
But I rode with my eyes closed
To avoid seeing the crash
I knew it would come soon
But I never knew when
The rage and the leaving
And the path to the end

You had to control things
Determined you would
Emotionally destroying me
Every way that you could

I'll Love You Forever, I'll Like You For Always...

I rely on the kindness of strangers...

Or not so much strangers as readers of my miserable blog.

I received a beautiful card in the mail from my long-tine reader (perhaps my ONLY reader) that lifted my heart. Thank you, G. Parkes. It was kind of you to think of me. Seriously---you are so sweet. Thank you.

Perhaps we can meet in person one day. I'll be in Utah after Conference. We'll see how it goes.

I've been caring for my autistic grandson since July. It seems longer sometimes---and that's not a complaint. I adore this little man. He holds my heart. He fills my arms and my heart in the way that my own small babies used to do. When mine reached the age where they didn't want to be in my arms any longer, I felt their absence. Their absence from my arms was heavier than actually having them in my arms. It was an ache that is difficult to describe, a phantom pain where something once was but now is no longer.

Before my husband and I went to the cabin th…

I'm Sick. And the election isn't helping.

I spoke too soon about feeling better. My grandson was delightful enough to share his virus with me, so I've spent the past five days losing everything from both ends. It hasn't been pretty.

As a weight loss program though...

At least one end of me has stopped spewing. Now I wait for the other end to stop pretending to be filled with hot lava and erupting without much notice. Sorry, this is what is called over-sharing. Apparently I'm very good at it. You're welcome.

Last night I walked around the block with hubby and our adorable puppy. It was the first time I've been out of the house in five days. It was lovely, even though I was very shaky. Today I actually tried to accomplish something. I sat at my jewelry table, moved my seaglass around. Picked up pieces and played them through my hands. Such beautfy that came from something considered useless garbage and tossed away. I love my sea glass. It gives me the happies.

I also had a severe case of J…