After months of insomnia on the daily, it has to be bed bugs. Um, no it’s not.
Well, why the heck can’t I sleep then….
Monsters under my bed? No. Gremlins playing in my water at the bedside table? Noooo. Spooky tree constantly tapping at my winder? Oh geez, no. Still mourning that breakup? uh…you may have gotten me there. Maybe...
So, it IS the bed bugs…
Okay, maybe it isn’t, but I have good news! A pegacorn landed in the backyard?! No. I finally got a good night’s sleep! Ah, boring, boo! I know! I couldn’t believe it either. Being the self-proclaimed Insomnia Queen, I would rather push through puffy eyes and feet dragging than try to sleep through a night of troublesome flopping around on my mattress. *flop *floppity-flop The thing is, it seems as though I am just so much more productive when I am not sleeping rather than if I am. I know, I know, you need your sleep… restorative, repairing, blah, blah, blah.
That’s all fine and good but all the brouhaha aside, when I try to sleep in -believe me, I have tried! – I find myself tossing and turning…. and most likely getting bit by something.
Maybe the wrinkle fairy. Maybe!
I wish it were bed bugs… or a wrinkle fairy; but, unfortunately, it’s just my lifelong sleep disorder. Yeah, self-diagnosed. No need for a medical professional when I have my handy dandy voices in the back of my head – which oddly sound much like my Mother – saying “Get Up and Get Moving, Sweetheart! Stop Your bellyaching! There’s a world out there to conquer!”
Yeah, it is more of like a shouting, than a ‘saying.’ Glad you noticed it too. And, you think my father’s voice in the back of my head would be different; but, alas, you’d be wrong. It goes something like this, “Man Up! We’re Slanina’s!” Yeah, I come from a tough brood. Which is why I WISH my sleeplessness WAS from bed bugs. That would be easier to blame. And yeah, I’m sure the -not one; but – two voices in the back of my head aren’t helping. Not even a little bit, girlie. Gotta love that… and neither are easy on me.
And so, yeah. I get my ass up and get moving.
Dammit. That guilt.
As for the breakup, I’m doing fine everybody, thank you for worrying about me! I’m moving along and doing me… and for my bestie who reminds me to get under a new one to get over the old one?
Nah, you know that’s not my style. No men. (for now, anyway…)
I need space. None that include d***. Ahem, foul language, I meant a gentleman caller, yes.
Now that Ol’ St. Nick has made his way through our chimneys, left his boot marks of soot all over my carpeting, and there is wrapping paper remnants galore….
It is time for a little spring cleaning. Um, not spring. In the winter. There you go. It’s time to take inventory of all your hits and misses for the year. Then go Shop Splendid.com because if you’re anything like me – nobody is like you, darling – then you MUST have new clothes to clean up those messes!
Anyway, I’m a hyper-organized girl and can’t stand a mess. Zero. Any sign of a clutter-disturbance – and I mean, ANY –
drives me batty. Big-time fruit problems. Like pineapple-sized conundrums. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll help a person;but, if you’re a straight up, drama-atttracting, chaos-creating…. uh, destroying everything in your wake kind of kiwi, I’m out. Cluttered home, cluttered mind. Interpretation: I start my year-end inventory process with cleaning up paper, zucchini shavings -huh?- all out-of-order type messes, rearranging furniture -gotta realign the Chi -oh! and trying to figure out how to sell that hippopotamus I got for Christmas….
Ever notice that when you have a bunch of nonsense laying around on that credenza, yes… or shoes scattered across the stairwell, omg, I’m listening… or even dishes in the sink, keep talking… that your mind gets distracted so much easier and you’ll find yourself crying on the floor instead of getting anything done you originally planned and had down on your list. Holy Moses, YES! All because you saw a wrapper that used to house a stick of string cheese somehow shoved in between the stove and the cabinets.
Damn snack wrappers.
They will put me down every time…
I ditch all the Pineapples. The what?
The pineapples. How many do you have?
Not too many. But I have my own translation – of course you do – for this prickly; but delicious island delectable. As sweet and wonderful the actual treat can be, I use them as a point of reference for the fails in life. Ah.
So let’s get to this year’s Pineapples!
For me, my pineapples were, including but not limited to
a happily ever after turned nightmare
figuring out how to sell that hippo
having to start my life all over
…and I still haven’t quit those (organic) energy drinks
Not too bad, considering there are people in the world who have it WAY worse than I did; but, nonetheless, there’s my blanket recap. Some pretty big life changing events; but pivotal moments bring change and change means you are growing as a human being. I don’t wanna grow up! Who does?! I surely don’t either…
But if you don’t grow, let’s keep it real. You’ll never find that happiness, success, or true love. There’s my “One To Grow On” PSA service announcement!
So I say, good, bad or pineapples, MAKE IT HAPPEN! Now that I’ve taken inventory, I can make a plan to recover, rebuild, and maybe ride that hippopatumus around the yard….
He’s growing on me and I named him Spot.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
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Every year we put up our tree the weekend after the Gobble Gobble has made it’s visit. If you catch me on a hyper-excited year, I’ll start blasting iTunes with my entire holiday library before Halloween. Yes, I’m that nuts about Christmas. Oh geez. And while my entire library of holiday songs consists of a plethora of artists, spanning generations, I typically only play Mariah Carey, Christina Aguilera, and yeah, my own seasonal ditties that have been recorded for the world to hear. Shameless plug coming…. Yes. But hey! I’m a fan of only the best singers on planet earth. Wow. That’s right… lacking ZERO confidence here. Slow down on the eggnog, sister girl.
Mark Your Calendars, folks: My birthday is also four days before Rudolph’s big ride. Whoa. No crying. This was never a bad thing for me. I always LOVED that! I buy my annual Godiva Big Box -my fav!- and fill it with the Peppermint Truffles, totally my fave, and I shop during the best sales events of the year… it’s all roses, baby. And yes, MY FAV!! Red, preferably. When I was a kid, sure, I had to share my birthday cakes with plastic reindeer and sleigh bells on top of the icing; but, they made great additions to my Barbie doll village afterward. Which, notably every doll I ever had taken a visit to Rita’s Pretend Barber Shop and ended up with the chopped haircut special. You cut all your dolls’ hair?
Uh… More on that in another post. How did you even get kid scissors to cut plastic hair for that task? No more questions… and don’t ask my sister about it either, she still hasn’t forgiven me for the porcelain doll incident.
And anyway, I thought we were talking about cake. I’m never one to complain about cake. Or gingerbread houses full of candy with a few candles on them. Dual purpose sugar rush!
Which brings me to this holiday season. There is an neapolitan swirled ice cream cone of personal transition going on with me this holiday. Don’t get sappy. I won’t. Pay attention. And for some reason, this brought back a pretty funny memory of the year my son and I were first on our own when he was two years old. I knew it… sap. Hush. I was staying with friends and I didn’t have any money for a real tree or anything and at two years old, baby’s not noticing anyway; but, it had been such a rough few months that when my toddler peeped out this new table-sized Christmas tree with small, decorations and lights my son took one look at that tiny conifer and started bawling.
And bawling some more.
And, oh… My. Lord. Still bawling.
I swear this kid wouldn’t stop crying for hours. I couldn’t locate the problem. He was crying so long that I wound up crying! Strong female role model moment there. Sarcasm. 1) I turned the lights of the tree off and on. Nope. 2) I put his presents in front of him. Nada. 3) I was like trying to tell the little adorable ball of tears, “hey, shit happens, it’s just me and you kid. Let’s move on with it.” Didn’t help, did it. Nope. Not a chance. 4) In hindsight, that pep talk may have been more for me. Because of my crying. *shrugs
So nothing worked.
5) I finally grabbed the tree and stuffed it in the closet. And he stopped crying.
What a minute… It was the tree? Not just any tree. It was the damn Bonsai-Christmas tree?!
Here I was, a crazy lady, rearranging furniture, throwing feathers around the room, and the whole time it was the freaking shrubbery!
He not only stopped crying.. He started smiling. He was my little baby monkey, sweetheart. The next year, I was back on my feet, bought a full-sized tree and he was all giggles. To this day, I haven’t bought one short stack Tannenbaum and have since refused to by a stunted bush because of that year. Which brings me to this year. My kid is almost all grown up, not really into the whole “Santa” thing anymore – even though, I have threatened him that – if he tells me he doesn’t believe, he will get COAL IN HIS STOCKING. He’s never tested it. And YES, my mother told me the VERY same thing, so yes, I still believe in Ol’ St. Nick because you NEVER know when he’s watching. Plus, my mother is NOT of the “bluffing” persuasion. I’m not going to test her.
Moral of the story? Don’t buy evil desk trees? No. Throw timber in closets? No.
Stick to the basics.
Enjoy just being with those who love you and love being with you.
My son doesn’t even remember that random year because he was so little; but what has transcended from that small moment in time was keeping things simple and being together with all our little family traditions. Like Christmas tree tossing… Hush. No.
Our Santa would bring his favorite books every year. Sure, he’d get legos and other toys and whatnot; but, books were an important part of that Christmas morning craziness. Why? Because it meant that we could spend each nigh reading stories and using his imagination as he grew up into the amazing young man he was meant to be. He will be well read, well rounded, and cherish those story times at bedtime when I used to read to him, and as he got older, we’d just sit and read together. Which we actually still do. And yeah today’s post ended up with a little sentiment. Dammit. I knew it it! But sometimes, you’re reminded to cherish the most important things in your life. Where the magic REALLY is.
The people in it….
What traditions do you have every year?
Check out my author’s picks for this December Book Haul/Holiday Edition.
P.S. Dear Santa, I still believe in you because my mom told me so and with that, I would like some new tank tops this year. That maybe have glitter on them. Or not. Either way, Thanks! And as always, you’re more than welcome to opt-in on my birthday presents too, since its so close to your delivery date. I’ll leave some carrots for the reindeer; but this time, please bring a pooper scooper. I love you, Rita