When The Human Mind Is Exhausted And Has Faced A Lot Of Barf, It Doesn’t Compose Paragraphs Of Great Worth

As the Chief Executive Officer here at Jedi Mama, Inc. (who also happens to serve as her own personal secretary, janitor and laundress, to boot), I regret to inform you that tonight’s blog post is going to be every bit as uneventful and uninspiring as last night’s blog post was.

It may have something to do with the fact that I deliberately (and with forethought and planning) decided to stay awake until 10:30 last night, reading.  It’s the nerd in me, that couldn’t put the book down.

(The real book.  With paper pages.  Because the Kindle is lost on the elderly.  MaMaw is set in her ways, regardless of the fact that Hubs and the boy keep trying to bring her into the future.)

(What is this “future of reading” you speak of?)

Apparently, with one more “great night” with the toddler mattress on the floor, I was feeling rather brave.

And also laughing in the face of danger.

And even shaking my head at the very real possibility that the night could just explode around me.

At midnight, Thing 2 got up.  Because he can, he exited his bed.  He hollered for his mama.  He hollered for his tractors.  He hollered just to hear his own voice in the blackest part of the night.

Because Hubs was leaving this morning at the crack of YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME, to drive himself over to Rival Town (some 100 odd miles away) to fix a computer firewall for a client, I pounced on Thing 2 like a wild turkey on a day-old hotdog bun.  I shushed him, because Daddy needed his sleep for all the driving in the dark that he was going to be doing.

Never mind that Mama needed her sleep, too, because PE DAY!  And CHASE THE TODDLER ‘ROUND AND ‘ROUND DAY.  I took one for the team.  Thing 2 and I hunkered down in  his bedroom, with the door shut.  I proceeded to plead with him, beg him, and command him to GO TO SLEEP ALREADY, BEFORE YOU MAKE YOUR MOTHER FULL-ON, BAT-POOP CRAZY WITH ALL THE LACK OF SLEEPING!

He finally minded me at 3:00 this morning, when he quit the fight and went back to sleep.  I was ECSTATIC with the joy of returning to bed myself, after three entire hours of being on the front line, and then…

… the insomnia struck.  I heard the clock in our living room chime 4 AM, and that was the last thing I remembered, until Hubs was making his coffee an hour and a half later, so that he could get on the road.

I mumbled in a voice that sounded exactly like I’d eaten a bowl of gravel for dinner the night before and then gargled with chainsaw blades, “The baby and I were up for three hours in the middle of the night.”

Hubs said, “Seriously?  Really?  I didn’t hear anything.  I’m sorry.”

I replied, “You’re welcome.  I’ll just shuffle out of bed now and see if I can remember how normal people function again.”

And that is how the day began.

I also did one load of laundry, because I’m challenging myself to see if I can have completely empty laundry buckets in our closets for the first time in a decade.  Truthfully, I don’t know why I’m even bothering with that, because when you have PERFECTLY EMPTY LAUNDRY BUCKETS, it lasts for twelve minutes, before some member of the male tribe yanks a shirt off and tosses it into the dirty clothes realm.  But I waved the flag of challenge to Myself, and Myself accepted, so I’ve been washing clothes a lot in the past couple of days.

(And by a lot, I mean I’ve actually BEEN WASHING CLOTHES.  Which is not how things normally shake down around here, because I can push the laundry-doing off until boys begin to ask one another if they shouldn’t just gather their allowance money and go to Walmart to buy new socks.)

I taught PE today, too.  It was really great, because one of my 2nd graders said, “I don’t feel very good.”  Except he looked good.  And he’d been running full-on, like a locomotive set to BEAT YOUR BEST TIME ON THE TRACKS, BABY.  I said, “Oh, I’m sure you’re okay; why don’t you get a drink from the drinking fountain and come back.”

He did.

Three minutes later he came right back up to me, which is where the children ALWAYS want to be in the moment of crisis, opened his mouth to say something, and I watched all of this saliva and froth come out of his mouth.  My first reaction was, “OH, SWEET MERCY!  IT’S THE RABIES!”  Except it wasn’t.  It was a lot of spit and a little bit of lunch, and it just ran down his chin, right onto my gym floor, where it puddled and bubbled a bit.

I did what any loving, caring PE teacher would do.  I shoved him four feet to his left, and smacked the back of his neck, so that his head was bent over a garbage can.

He dry-heaved a bit and made some unproductive gagging noises, and then he said, “I think I feel better already.”

Well that’s fantastic!  Except, now I have to get the rubber gloves and the yellow crime scene tape and spray the disinfectant that will eat the polyurethane right off this wood floor, because I’ve signed off on the fact that I have seen the yearly video on BLOOD-BORNE PATHOGENS, and this is how you have to do things, if you want to continue to collect a paycheck and escape every level of cooties infestation.

(Yes.  That really was a long sentence, because I can run one on like an Olympian.)

After that, there was soccer, because it was the boy’s last games of the season.  He played in a little round robin tournament, where each team plays all the other teams for a twelve-minute game.  I lost count after the fifth game.  I have no idea how many twelve-minute games we pulled off.  It was nonstop, back and forth, around and around the mulberry bush, kind of action, and that was just me, chasing Thing 2 along the sidelines and telling him a thousand and four times, “You are not signed up for this soccer league, so you MUST stay off the field and let the big boys play!  I don’t care if you ARE a fantastic kicker!”

And then I came home to find that one of the cats (But I really do know specifically which one it was, bless her disgusting heart.) had decided that the cat food and the hairball weren’t mingling well in her gut together, so she just left a little steaming loaf of WELCOME HOME SURPRISE on my rug.

Because a cat?  The hideous creatures have acres and acres of hardwood floors to live on, but if they feel that a hairball needs to be cast out, THEY WILL RUN!  RUN LIKE THE WIND!  RUN AS IF THEIR VERY LIVES DEPENDED UPON IT! to get to an area rug for the hairball’s dramatic, heaving exit.

So it was kind of a THIS-WAS-ONCE-IN-YOUR-STOMACH-AND-NOW-IT’S-NOT sort of day, all the way around.

People envy my life, with all of its glamor.

In fact, if you are new here, and you were hoping to hear about all kinds of glamorous things, may I just politely let you know that you have the wrong blog?

I hope you’ll understand why I just have to go to bed now.  I’m not even going to give in to the nerdy urge to read.  It’s because, at this point in the game, my defensive line has sat itself plum down on the field, because it just quit playing, and it’s ignoring the coach’s advice of, “Get back in the game!  Give it all you have!”

I think my defensive line has already given all it had to give today.

Merry Tuesday, y’all.

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