Bedded Bliss

July 9, 2000

I'm guessing there was a huge run on smelling salts at the store this evening as most of you probably fainted when you checked over here and found an actual entry. OK.

My daughter now sleeps at night.

About a month or so ago something happened. It all clicked. Now there's no more bedtime drama. The gates have been stowed. Bedtime means sleep time now. Oh the joy.

I make it sound so easy, and it was. Sort of. But with all good things there is a price.

No more afternoon naps.

Nap time was always cause for drama, similar to the night time version, but usually resulted in success for us--a nap and some much needed quiet time for mommy and/or daddy. The struggle on Zoe's part was good, but not as prolonged as the night time version. She finally figured out that if she just played quietly in bed we would assume she was asleep and we finally figured out she would eventually drop off.

Well, the naps were good but it was getting harder and harder to get her to take them and when she did take them it was getting harder and harder to get her to go to sleep at a reasonable hour.

The last straw happened when one weekend she went nap free, and although cranky from about 7:00 until bedtime, when she hit the sack she was out. Then Monday came and she took a nap at school. Apparently there is a law in (at least) California, that all children in preschool who are under five must nap. She didn't go to sleep that night until nearly midnight. That was horrible.

The next morning I told the teachers there would be no more naps.

My daughter goes to sleep now.

Oh joy!

In other news: Sister #1 was out for a visit. She was here for two weeks. A fun time was had by all.

I came this close to piercing my belly button. Now, for those of you who know me, you know this doesn't really sound like something I'd do, but there you have it. I had the place picked out. I was committed. "Was" being the key operative word. I then spoke to the piercing guy on the phone. First off he asked how old I was. I told him. He said he figured as much because if I was some 20-something bimbette, things like infection rates would never have come up in a conversation.

I asked was if it hurt. He assured me it would only hurt as much as I wanted it to. Well, here's the rub: I didn't want it to hurt. At all. I just wanted it done. Apparently in this whole piercing subculture, which as a 40 year old suburban housewife I'm not really part of, the pain is part of the whole experience.

OK, the pain this was addressed. On to healing times. Well, then Fred (the piercing guy) told me it can take one to two years for a belly button piercing to heal.

One to two years.

It takes longer if stuff rubs on it or if it gets bumped into a lot.

Well...I have a 4 year daughter who climbs on me pretty much non stop. I also have the abs of a 40 year old woman who did not hit the gym after the birth of her daughter, so I'm not inclined to be going out in hip huggers and saucy little midriff blouses. So we have banging and rubbing pretty much covered.

Two years.

I do not have room in my life for an open wound for two years. I'm having enough trouble dealing with a cold sore on my lip that I've had for three days.

So...no belly button piercing but the desire is still there. So much for madcap.

Can we talk about Big Brother for a minute? Oh. My. God. I'm totally addicted to this crap. So much so that I think they should have a TV channel devoted to it so I can watch it full size whenever I want. Yes, I have streaming video (or whatever the hell it is) but even on my 24" monitor the image is only about two inches square.

I find myself checking in on them throughout the day. One last check before bedtime. Last night they were playing Trivial Pursuit. Right now they're sitting in the living room talking.

The compound where the Big Brother house is, is about ten minutes from where we live. I actually suggested driving by there after dinner tonight. Am I pathetic or what?

We had our Second Annual 4th of July Barbecue and Fireworks Extravaganza last week. Last Tuesday to be specific.

Fireworks are courtesy of LA Valley College, which is only a block or so away.

Mo and Nancy, with their respective dates, were the only journalers in attendance, besides the host and hostess. And frankly, we haven't been very good journalers lately, but that's another story.

The traditional burgers (of the ham and turkey variety), Italian sausages, hot dogs, chicken wings, cole slaw, corn on the cob. The usual sort of fare. Along with a Texas Sheetcake, courtesy of my mother in law, and cupcakes, decorated holiday-appropriate, courtesy of Sister #2. (More details on that another time.)

A fun time was had by all though any possibilities of things getting too out of hand were tempered by the fact that most of us had to go to work the next day.

I hate that. A holiday that's on a school night.

About 11:30 that night Chuck finally realized that he'd have to go to work the next day and got really bummed. So bummed in fact that he couldn't possibly go to work the next day.

Here's the thing about taking off the day after a holiday as a sick day: Yeah right.

His excuse was going to be car trouble, but I'm here to tell you: that's never a good idea.

I have a rule about calling in for a mental health day: Never plan too much the night before. There's a simple reason for this. Whatever you decide is going to be the reason you stay home is likely to befall you if you spend too much time thinking about it the night before.

So Chuck was going to use his car and I since his wheels aren't in the best condition right now, this was clearly bad mojo looking for a way into the house.

I suggested using excuse #42: sick child. First because it's a novel excuse for a guy. Give a good impression to his coworkers. Hey, he's a really family man. Secondly, you can come back to work the next day looking completely well. All you have to do is lament how tired you are and glad to be back at the office after having tended to a sick child the whole previous day.

He called his boss in the morning and said it was a sick baby. I didn't give Chuck any more guidance than saying Zoe was sick.

When I got home from work I asked what affliction Zoe had. A bladder infection he told me. Oy. He's another rule about staying home: if you stay home because you're with you're sick kid, never make the kid really terribly sick. (Back to that bad mojo thing.) An ear ache is always a good one. So is a fever. Never conjure up anything that needs antibiotics to cure.

Well it's a school night here. My daughter is asleep. My husband threatened to write an entry tonight. One more check of my friends over at Big Brother and it's bedtime for this kitten.

Night all.

Until next time...