Sometimes we all make poor choices.
I’d like to submit the recollection of hairstyles (and, most notably, THE BANGS) in 1987 to illustrate my point. People, never mind THE GROSS AMOUNT OF TIME it took to achieve hair that stood taller than NBA stars; we were walking fire starter back then, with the amount of aerosol Aqua Net holding our Rave home permanents in place.
I’d like to submit the prom gowns of the late ’80s as my second illustration. I have no more love for the pale pink gown that I was so head over heels in love with in 1988. In it, I could have danced across the stage on Barbara Mandrell’s show, but now the old pictures make me wish that I’d worn something that didn’t involve capped sleeves the size of Buicks.
Sometimes poor choices don’t happen in our youth, even though there’s probably no time in my adult life when I’ll ever decide that Pop Rocks candy poured into an RC Cola is a good idea. No… sometimes poor choices are made when we are old enough to announce to our husbands, “I think I’m going to get a chain to wear around my neck for my reading glasses. It’s because I need them… and don’t need them… and need them… and don’t need them.”
Last night, I got out of bed and watched the lunar eclipse.
I’m not sure what sane woman decides that YES! YOU KNOW WHAT? I’M GOING TO GO WATCH THE MOON AND STAND ON MY COLD DECK IN BARE FEET, UNTIL I CAN NO LONGER FEEL THEM, FOR THIRTY MINUTES, BECAUSE THIS ISN’T TEXAS WITH ALL ITS WARMTH, Y’ALL, AND THEN I’M GOING BACK TO BED, SO THAT I CAN BE WELL-RESTED WHEN THE TODDLER GETS UP IN ANOTHER HOUR!
(I’d like to go ahead and accept my golden trophy for Outstanding Use of a Run-On Sentence now.)
The pre-story is simply this:
Hubs and I are raising a toddler who needs less sleep than a twenty-two-year-old grad student who still enjoys a decent party with Captain Morgan four nights a week, while he crams all the textbook knowledge into his head in all-day study sessions at the library. That grad student is the one who never sleeps and buys his coffee at Costco.
Last night, Thing 2 decided that he JUST. WASN’T. SLEEPY. And because he wasn’t sleepy, there wasn’t any amount of begging and pleading on my part that was going to convince him to JUST GO TO BED ALREADY, BEFORE MAMA’S HEAD SPINS AROUND LIKE AN OWL ON ESPRESSO SHOTS!!
So… Hubs and I did what any parents who live on the edge of total sleep depravity would do: We shut Thing 2’s bedroom door, and we got into bed ourselves. And then we proceeded to listen to Thing 2 lay on his bed and sing his ABC song, which made us smile, despite the fact that our baby was still awake and what the stinking heck?!
And then we listened to Thing 2 thump the walls with his bare feet, in rhythm while he sang “Old MacDonald Had a Farm.”
And then the next thing I knew, Thing 2 was standing beside my bed, hollering, “Hi, Mommy!” When I jumped out of bed, he ran back to his bedroom and slammed the door in my face. He threw himself onto his bed and yelled, “Sleeping!!”
Sometime around 10:00 last night, I finally had that toddler asleep.
Sometime around 10:02 last night, I was finally asleep.
And then I woke up at 1:00 this morning, because I had to pay a visit to the ladies’ room. Which, of course, was the exact time that I remembered that the Blood Moon should be going on. Now listen. I never had any intentions of actually getting out of bed to see this lunar eclipse, because… well… I knew there would be videos and professionally-taken pictures online today, and I could relive what I had completely missed during ALL THE SLEEPING, through the wonderment of the World Wide Web.
Only the bathroom break (DANG THAT 4:45 STARBUCKS TRIP!!) had me awake anyway, so I looked outside at 1 AM. And… Holy smokes, people! The eclipse of the moon WAS amazing, even though I’ve never harbored any real interest in astronomy in my entire life and still think Pluto should be a legitimate planet.
I woke Hubs up, because WHAT GOOD WIFE WOULD LET HIM SLEEP AND MISS OUT? And then I woke the boy up, too.
And then I got the bright idea to go outside on my deck and TAKE PICTURES. I was in my red flannel pajama bottoms, with the sheep printed all over them, and my bare feet, because I never proclaimed to be brilliant. The deck was approximately MINUS EIGHTY-FOUR DEGREES, which meant that I couldn’t feel my feet in exactly six-point-four seconds, and still I persevered, because I have the kind of constitution that’s usually reserved for Navy SEALs.
And here’s the thing: For a lunar eclipse, you really need a tripod. I don’t have a tripod. So, I did every manner of, “Let me just balance my camera here on the deck railing and see how it goes.”
I’m pretty sure that MY snapshots of the Blood Moon will win photography awards, because LOOK!
Don’t worry. If you were hitting the wine hard before you started reading this blog post, you’re not slurring your vision yet! That’s the moon. Which was sort of stationary. Except it was photographed by a girl who never became a surgeon because (1) she hated all of her science classes with a passion, (2) seeing bloody stuff that should be hidden forever on the inside of a body makes her nauseated, and (3) her hands are somewhat LESS THAN STEADY.
(And? If you’re wondering? The little blue streaks in the sky are actually the headlamp on Elliott’s bike, as he prepared to fly that bike across the sky with ET in the basket.)
(Either that, or it’s a street light somewhere, which probably makes more sense, because Elliott and ET did their stunt on Halloween, and this is April.)
Hubs, who had gone back to bed, kept asking me, “How’s it going out there?” I’ll tell you how it’s going: I’m a horrible photographer, THAT’S how it’s going. That was pretty much the point when I came inside, on feet that I could no longer feel, and said, “You know what? My pictures are THE WORST. Deck railings have NOTHING in common with tripods. I’ll just wait to see Jason’s pictures on Facebook tomorrow morning.”
Because Jason? Well, he’s a friend of ours who is a PROFESSIONAL PHOTOGRAPHER and he’s an ASTRONOMY ENTHUSIAST. I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Jason was going to be out in his yard with a million dollars worth of camera equipment, and telescopes, and stable tripods, and all that head knowledge on film speed and shutter speed and whether or not he should go fully automatic with the flash on.
And he didn’t disappoint, because look at one of the images he pulled off:
I totally DID NOT take this picture; it’s because JASON took this picture. And since we never, ever, not even under the rare occasion of a Blood Moon, use last names here at Jedi Mama, Incorporated (since the world is full of crazy people, in case you didn’t know that), I took the horrible liberty of blocking out some pertinent, identifying information of Jason’s, which sort of ruins his push for free advertising here on the blog.
(But seriously. Jason’s photography skills are stellar. He caught THE VERY BEST snapshot of Thing 2 this fall, even though Thing 2 refuses to look at a camera lens, even if you’re offering him miniature marshmallows. Jason pulled off the impossible with our toddler. If you’d like to see his website and hire him to pull off the impossible with your own babies or toddlers or camera-shy husbands, please email me and I will send you the link for his business. Unless, of course, you’re a crazy person who wears trench coats and dark sunglasses and stalks blogs, and then FORGET IT.)
And all of this to say… after Thing 2 had gone to bed at 10:00 last night…and after I was up at 1:00 in the morning and standing out on my deck with no house slippers on for a sweet forever…
THING 2 GOT UP AT 3:00 IN THE MORNING!!!
And he was up for a while.
I think that makes my 1 AM run out onto our deck in my bare feet a poor choice on my part.
(Except I did catch those stunning snapshots of the moon, that sort of make you feel like you fell off a carnival ride from all the WHOA! BLURRY!)
So I’ve pretty much felt like a train wreck most of the day today, which is why I’m heading to bed right now.
Y’all have a merry Tuesday.