Okay, so as I finished this post I realized it was the most pointless story ever. So read at your own risk! I thought maybe I was feeling less sleep deprived today but after writing this and rambling on about something so mundane, I think I may still be recovering... Enjoy. Or not. Your call.
Yesterday was a bad day. My true grandmahood revealed itself in the worst of ways. Gone are the days when I could stay up until the wee hours of the night and still function as a normal human being the next day. Any less than 8 hours=death.
Here's what happened...
8:15 pm: Lance and I go to Blue Moon with Courtney for half-off burgers.
9:15 pm: We leave Blue Moon and head to Fred Meyer to pick up a couple of essentials (you know things like toilet paper, light bulbs and whatever snacks husband happened to pick up along the way.) All the while I'm exhausted and dreaming of resting my head upon my soft pillow and drifting off to sleepland.
10:00 pm: Leaving the store and my dreams of sleep are becoming even more tangible as I know we are but minutes away from my heavenly bed.
10:05 pm: Lance suddenly makes an abrupt turn the opposite direction of where we are supposed to be heading.
So, I, of course, ask him (in as patronizing of a tone as possible) where on earth he thinks we are going?! And with a twinkle in his eye he tells me that he's craving a pina colada and so is taking me out for happy hour! Oh the joy in that man's heart to be surprising me with such a gesture. And the sinking feeling in mine...
My control-freak, hater-of-spontaneity mind is silently screaming "Noooooooo! This wasn't part of the plan!! You want to be in bed!!".
But my kind, husband-loving self audibly said, "Sounds great!".
10:20 pm: Arrive at La Isla.
As expected, we are among about five other weirdos who go out this late in the middle of the week. There was no music playing either so it was eerily quiet. We literally had to whisper sometimes without feeling like we were broadcasting our conversation to the entirety of the restaurant. Also, the waiter accused us of wearing fake wedding rings to trick him into believing we were twenty-one (since you can't get married before twenty-one?!).
But that's fine. It was nice. Just like old times before we became elderly early to bed, early to rise...happy, wealthy, wise kind of people (on a typical day Mr. One-hundred Dollar Bill would be so proud of us).
11:45 pm: Finally arrive home.
12:30 am: Head to pillow and to sleep simultaneously.
6:30 am: Alarm. Death.
7:00 am: Dragged from bed by husband. No time to get ready. I look awesome.
7:20 am: Arrive at Whole Foods so Lance can pick up something to bring to work for lunch. My zombie-self orders a bagel and a double pumpkin spice latte in the hopes that it will launch me from my catatonic state.
7:50 am: Drops Lance off at work.
8:10 am: My flimsy limbs drop bagel, cream cheese side down onto the ground.
8:11 am: Expletives were shouted.
9:00 am: Arrive at work. Still a zombie.
9:00-3:00: Changed diapers, wiped snotty noses, kissed owies, enthusiastically played Chutes and Ladders and created fantastic Lego cities despite half of my brain being asleep.
3:15 pm: Feel like death still. Google teaches me that espresso actually has LESS caffeine than a cup of regular old cup of coffee so I have, in fact, had LESS caffeine than usual.
4:30 pm: Work round two. Had planned on making a cup of coffee round two before leaving but completely forgot.
5:30 pm: Major tantrums were had (not by me, but by the little ones). My first response is to wonder why they are acting like children. Oh, wait, because they ARE children.
6:45 pm: Can't carry cohesive conversations with employer. When asked how the kids were I say something along the lines of "I'm doing great, how are you?!".
Okay, maybe that's just typical awkward me. But I'll take any excuse I can get.
7:00 pm: Arrive home and make chili and cornbread for dinner.
8:00 pm: Sleep deprived brain malfunctions cause bad measurements to be made and thus ruining the cornbread. Two whole pans worth (the plan was to have delicious leftovers for days).
8:01 pm: Tantrums were had (this time by me).
9:00 pm: Watched The Office in the hopes it would provide some comedic relief to my humorless day. It worked. A little.
9:30 pm: Got into bed and Lance turned on Top Gear. And as usual I drifted off to sleep to the sounds of Lamborghini engines roaring and the soothing voice of Jeremy Clarkson shouting "Powerrr!".
And that, my dear children, is why you never, ever go to bed after bedtime. Pain and suffering will ensue.
If you read this far, kudos. I have no idea why...
Cheers to Friday!