Tick tock says the clock but will there be a beep?

It is 2am! And there’s been a disaster! A calamity!

Sorry. I’ve swallowed a Mr Man book  been reading Mr Men books with my youngest students. Which 30, God no… 40 years on… seem rather more inappropriate. Though, just like me all those years ago, my students adore them.

But I digress.

It started off like this:

My husband abandoned me in the living room.

OK. OK. He left me  watching TV on the sofa. Where I started to nod, then drift… And the next thing I knew, I shot, bolt upright, only to discover that I was splattered with my own dribble.

I staggered through the living room, into the kitchen and desperately tried to remember exactly which medicine I should take and in which order. And not to take any of those correct medicines twice. Or even thrice. And not to take anyone else’s medicines by mistake. After all these years on the planet, I am finally getting used to myself and my own funny ways. I staggered and I blinked and I filled a glass with water. But in the time between the glass moving from the tap to my lips, a suicidal fruit fly had nose-dived into my water and appeared to be drowning.

I blinked a lot more. Yes. It was definitely a fruit fly. So, I calmly emptied the glass, rinsed and repeated. This time, luckily, without the invasion.

I wrote  a quick note for my son, said goodnight to a 20-something, fed the bewildered dog and pottered upstairs to the bathroom where I got into an argument with my own pubic hair. Don’t ask. It was all a bit icky.

Then I tried to find my bed in the dark.

I’ve eaten thousands and thousands of carrots in my lifetime. But they have done me absolutely no good. I have basically no night vision. Normally, I repeatedly switch my Fitbit on in an attempt to shine a light on the whereabouts of my bed (which helps somewhat, although I still stand on or walk into various items in the room, just less regularly. But that’s not so bad any more as my clever husband now wears earplugs to bed and so is rarely disturbed by my frequent shrieking/swearing/banging). But I had accidentally left my Fitbit charging in the car…

I clambered into bed and slapped around my bedside table in my nightly ‘alarm clock search’ routine. As usual, I knocked over the clock then picked it up again and pressed the snooze button down to see the time setting. Due to my acute night vision deficiency this is a repeated action. Without it, I can’t see the buttons or the changing numbers.  I altered my wake up time and I wanted to double-check I’d got it right. I’m a double-check kind of person. The simple fact is that I don’t trust my own brain.

I pushed on the snooze button and the snooze button stayed pushed. As in, it didn’t pop back up.

I pushed and I pushed and then, in desperation I attempted several pulls, with varying techniques. I even put the actual bedside light on to help me with my situation. But to no avail. The pushed button remained disconcertingly pushed.

Would the light remain on?

Would the battery wear out?

Would the alarm go off or would it believe, that in that very moment, when it had intended to beep, that I could possibly have simultaneously hit its snooze button?

And if that should be the case, would it live in some kind of limbo? Convinced that my finger hovered over its button?

Black Friday over by just a mere two hours and I had managed to incapacitate my alarm clock.

I looked over at my Mr Fix-It. Sleeping soundly. I didn’t dare to wake him with my conundrum.

Especially as he’d reminded me, before he went to bed, that I had woken him up at some ungodly hour, excitedly showing him a few early Black Friday deals.

Will I wake on time in the morning?

Should I brave the minus temperatures in my nightshirt and rescue my Fitbit from the car?

Will I ever get back to sleep?

Such a misfortune! What a calamity! A bloody disaster!




Three in the bed (and the middle one said…)

I have spent the night trapped in-between two lovely men.

I am exhausted.

NO! Not like that!

I’m married.

One of them was my husband.

And the other my had-a-nightmare thus need-a-cuddle son.

I lay there. All night. Sandwiched in the middle.

Mostly awake.

Because I really, really, really, really needed to pee.

But couldn’t work out a way to remove the filling from the sandwich without waking up one of the slices.

I did attempt a slithering-in-a-snake-like-fashion-out-of-the-bottom-of-the-quilt manoeuvre. But any slight movement apparently initiated the exact same movement from my seemingly sleeping son.

If, say, you’d been a fly on the ceiling, I’m sure you could have mistaken us for synchronized bed-movers/shakers.

And any slight brush against my light sleeping husband and he’s awake in an instant. I know that from experience. I’ve even managed to wake him from my dreams at times. The slightest waving… OK slapping arm and he’s sitting bolt upright in bed snorting, “What?!?”

So I lay still and contemplated the effects on my kidneys.

And admired the power of my bladder after having had four children.

There’s something to be said for four Caesareans.

Though trampolining is still out of the question…

I digress.


Finally the youngest of us awoke. Refreshed.

And I have visited the Water Closet.

What really needs to happen now, is that I go back to bed and am intoxicated by that lovely thing called sleep on this beautiful (but cold?!?) October Sunday morning.

Good Morning! Goodnight!

Night terror

I’ve been chased out of my bed by a shitty mosquito.

It’s been buzzing around my head, threatening to fulfil its vampire instincts the minute I drop off.

I know where it’s planning to leave me with a great big spot. On my face. Which I will then, of course, have an allergic reaction to, resulting in me growing an extra head.

I’ve tried informing it that I really need my beauty sleep. My husband and I have a once in a lifetime date on Saturday night and I’m already starting to put him off with my red, shiny, dripping nose. My loud sneezes. And the hoarse throat that has been coming and going for the past week.

Begging has done me no good. The evil parasite just zoomed by my head some more.

So now I’m going with the ‘open the bedroom door and leave the hall light on’ plan. In the hope of tricking the merciless one into thinking there are even more bloodsucking opportunities out there. Somewhere over the rainbow. Or even, beyond that light.

Are mosquitoes even attracted to light?

Could just be moths…

What then, keeps you up at night?

WordPress asked me:

What keeps you up at night?

And I, of course, thought of something rude.

I don’t know why that is. I mean, I’m not a teenager anymore. Rather an almost forty-year-old woman.

But I still manage to misread signs wherever I go, and not because I’m dyslexic. Although, two of my children are. They have inherited that from their father and not from me.

I know I’m not dyslexic because my misreading always shows me to be a fantasist. Or immature. Take your pick. Like I notice the swear words in wrongly broken down syllables or the other day, I read on my site the number 5 from my stats, then the word million from a post title and lobbed them together with the word views (at least also from stats) and, of course, gave myself a near heart attack from the sheer excitement of the moment.

5 million views.

See. Fantasist.

Not only because my highest hitting post so far has only 106 hits. But the million part would also be in numerical form, wouldn’t it?

What keeps me up at night (and in this context I mean actually being up, as in not having gone to bed) is the fact that my mind ping pongs awake the moment all the children are, finally, off to sleep.

And once I’m in bed, I’m kept awake both by the not-so-gentle snores of my husband and the ramblings of my incessant mind.