Wide awake in 406

Hotel Bed

The third night in a hotel is supposed to be the one where I finally fall asleep at a decent hour and sleep through the night (for the most part).  I guess it was not to be.

I did fall asleep early, snuggled in bed, ready to make my way to dreamland by around 9pm.

Suddenly, I awake to what sounds like a car alarm going off.  Groggy. I perched myself up on the overabundance of pillows and bed coverings (I think hotels think if they put 6 pillows on the bed it will make up for the fact that not one of them are a good pillow)  to try to get my wits about me.  My heart is pounding, like hearts do when woken up in the middle of the night.

Oh, I left the television on, that must be where the sound is coming from.  I search for the remote frantically thinking the quicker I can make it stop, the better chance I have of simply falling back asleep.  Found it, click.

Okay, so now it’s pitch black in my room, but the noise is still going strong.  I stumble over to the desk, thinking for some reason that the sound is coming from that area – is it the lamp?  Did a prior sleep deprived traveler leave some sort of alarm in the drawer?

Oh hey, there’s a window.  Let me find all 3 sets of window hangings and move them out-of-the-way so I can look out.  Maybe if someone is breaking in I will see them.  “Yes, because surely they would still be there hanging out after all this time”, I say to myself sarcastically  ‘maybe they will even look up to the 4th floor and wave”.

Sure enough, it is a car, no visible intruders, flashing and honking awake everyone on this side of the hotel who happens to be a light sleeper like myself.  My husband would sleep right though it.

Since there is nothing I can do and I’m sure someone has reported to the front desk by now, I decide it best to lay down and try to go back to sleep or at least be ready to when it stops.  I realize very quickly, sleep will be elusive for quite a while.

My half asleep but overly active mind begins to try to map out scenarios of what happened.  Did someone really try to break into the car, situated under a light in full view of one entire side of the hotel?  I decide it’s more likely that it’s an accident.  Then I begin to smile as I visualize a small child with keys dangling from their fingers and an evil laugh on their lips, singing na-na-na-na-na-na.  This makes me smile.

I imagine someone hanging their keys out of a 6th floor window, trying to stop the noise.  This makes me remember that these windows are locked and that makes me feel suffocated and imprisoned, contributing to my anxiety.  Maybe someone was bored and couldn’t sleep and decided no one else should be able to have that luxury either.

Then with my detective skills I have picked up from way too many episodes of CSI and Law and Order, I remember there was a tree directly over the car and I decide that something fell out of the tree and on to the car.   Case closed; now my mind can chill and perhaps I can sleep.

Some time in the middle of my musings, it stopped. I look at the clock and determine about 8 minutes have passed.  I rest my head on the lumpy pillow and try to get comfortable enough to sleep once again.  I was still checking the clock after 11pm.

It will be good to get home and sleep in my own bed.

No to stripes and plaid; together that is

English: capri pants 1960. Deutsch: Caprihose ...

English: capri pants 1960. Deutsch: Caprihose von 1960. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Have I ever said I love my forties!  Oh, I have?  Many times?  Well, excuse me for repeating myself.  I think repeating myself is coming right around the corner too so I might has well have a little practice.

I cannot help but ponder all the things that used to vex me daily.  Mostly about how I was perceived and how I looked.  It’s always been the little things that get me.  I would call myself a perfectionist in some areas, but then not at all in others.  And, I’m not over all of my little idiosyncrasies by any means, but I find myself happier and more at peace with myself every day.  Oh, the absurdities I’ve allowed to plague me!

Just today, I was telling a friend how that I’ve always had to match, even with sleepwear.  I’m not one of those people who can run around the house with stripes and plaid on.  Now, I’m not saying this is the way to be, but it is what it is at this point.  In high school, when the Gloria Vanderbilt, Jordache and Sasson (I am really dating myself here) jeans were in style, my shirts had to match the thread on the jeans.  I have harassed girlfriends when they wore white shoes in the winter; which is not a fashion faux pas anymore, by the way.  The fact that my toenail polished is chipped has often caused me to wear closed toed shoes in the heat of a blistering Florida summer.

Like I keep saying though, things they are a changing.  This morning I had on a below the knee nightshirt and this FL girl was cold in this frigid 53 degree weather.  Let’s take a moment until the laughter from our northern friends dies down.  So, I decided to add a pair of sweats, but all I could find was Capri length.  Then I realized my feet were the coldest thing on my body so I was strolling by my daughter’s room and caught a glimpse of her ankle high leopard print slipper/booties.  I’m really not sure what they are.  She wears them out of the house; I would not.  I slipped them on.

So, I walk by the mirror and had to laugh.  I looked ridiculous.  But no one knew (until now of course).  This admission, sharing it with all of you is success in itself as far as I’m concerned.  Don’t get me wrong, if someone would have knocked on my door, a mad dash for the closet would have ensued.

Maybe I will end up being one of those little old ladies with a mismatched outfit and lipstick in the wrong shade feathering into the creases around her wrinkled old lips, and a winter shoe with a summer outfit.  But, you know what?  Who cares, as long as I’m happy? J

Slow down


Clock (Photo credit: Dalo_Pix2)

So what if the beans don’t get done and the blog doesn’t get written.  This is what I told myself in the shower, although I didn’t really believe myself.  I thought I had to be somewhere early tonight and I was in a rush.  You know the feeling, when you feel your blood pressure rising a bit because you are frantically trying to figure out how to get an hour’s worth of tasks done in 20 minutes.

You work until whatever time and then you have a list of things to do (have you noticed this list never goes away, it just changes).  The way I plan things, if all goes according to plan, everything usually goes pretty favorably.  But, let something or someone throw a wrench in my plan it can go from smooth sailing to a tropical disturbance fairly quickly.  It’s my own fault because I don’t tend to leave much wiggle room in my plan; something I need to work on.

Have you ever blow dried your hair, while putting on lipstick and picking up a stray sock with your toes to sling it in the laundry basket?  Yeah, that’s how I roll.   How about brushing your teeth while throwing in a load of laundry or knowing exactly how much time you have to do simple chores in the morning while waiting for computer to boot up, or talking on the phone while doing dishes or cleaning the shower while you are taking your shower?  Nifty little multi-tasking, time savers but are they really necessary?

The thing is, there are not many things in my life that are truly so important that they are worthy of so much stress and rushing.  It’s not like I’m up against a multi-million dollar deadline or that anyone will be largely impacted by my being a few minutes late.  Don’t get me wrong, it’s good to plan ahead and have some goals and be on time.  However, if something doesn’t get done, what will the outcome really be?  How important is it?  Things to think about.

So while I was ironing my shirt (because you always find something you want to wear that needs to be ironed if you’re in a hurry), the phone rang.   I answered and continued to iron (no sense in wasting time) and the call was to inform me that I no longer had to be somewhere early.  See, all of that anxiety was for naught.  So, here I sit, hot tea in hand, comfortably and leisurely writing my blog.

Have a blessed, stress-free night!

Heartache in the making

English: High Heels on pink background

Do clothes really make the woman?  I think we all know the answer to that and it’s a big negative.  However, you have to admit, there is just something about getting all gussied up.  It makes us feel good to look our best.

I had the pleasure of taking my daughter and her friend shopping today for that perfect dress and shoes for a special event.  Both of these young ladies are very girly and have been known to be somewhat picky, so I was dreading the hours of scouring the stores, possibly to no avail.  The road trip to the particular store they had in mind, took about an hour.  I got to listen to them talk and sing and laugh and ask me how much longer.

When we arrived, they started by rifling through the racks to see what was available.  After tossing several over their arm, they headed to the dressing room.  Then they proceeded to try on, turn, twirl, take pictures of each other, try another and then try on the same one again.  They look to see who might be looking at them, and hope for some input.   There is something about the look on their face, when they find “the one”.  It is quite different than the look on my hubby’s face when I tell him what it cost us.

The moment when my daughter says, “Thanks mom, you’re the best”, is the highlight of the day.  You see, I’ve already done this with one daughter and I know that she will be gone far sooner than this mama’s heart is prepared for.  This is why I relish these invites and tolerate the aching back and forget about the money spent.

This is my youngest daughter’s last year of school and every “event” is making me emotional.  Just thinking about it, my heart has a pang of grief in advance for the times that I know are coming.  Next year at this time, when I think back on this, I will have the memories and the knowledge that she has them too.  I will also take comfort in knowing that every time I possibly could be, I was there.

Gone are the matching bows


Ribbons’n’Bows (Photo credit: starryeyez024)

I remember years ago, the day after Thanksgiving was the day for putting up my perfect tree.  There would be matching ornaments, bows, ribbons, tree skirt, you name it and it was beautiful.  I was extremely proud and looked forward to all the compliments I would receive on my fabulous tree.

I don’t remember what year it was exactly when my mother in law passed on some words of wisdom. Just FYI, she is a good mother in law and I love her very much.  She has provided me with wonderful advice many times over the years.  She told me that the Christmas tree should be filled with decorations that children would enjoy.  I don’t remember her exact words, but she let me know that she would prefer my tree be covered in whimsical, frivolous, not necessarily matching ornaments AND the kids should help do the decorating.  This was monumental for me; this was my thing and surely they would mess it up.  If my memory is correct, I heeded her recommendation that very year.  When the time came for the kids and I to decorate the tree, I had to bite my lip to refrain from telling them exactly where to put each decoration.  I’m sure I failed in that regard plenty of times and one of my kids will probably hasten to remind me of this. They are also aware that not all of their home made ornaments made it on the tree.  And, I know I still had issues with how the tinsel was applied.  It really does need to go on ONE strand at a time, you know?  But, all in all we enjoyed every minute of it and looked forward to doing it together.

Of course, as my mother in law already knew, the kids would enjoy this so much more and from then on every year I let them pick a few more.  Sometimes they would pick one to express their love of a favorite sport, or another interest, sometimes just because it was cute, but it was always fun to watch them choose.  I still have most of them and continue to use them, which is why my tree is now a mixture of old and new, pastels and brights, classic and trendy, childish and mature.  But, as a friend mentioned today when talking about her tree, there are memories with so many of them and memories of decorating with my girls.  Thank you, Nancy for your wisdom.  You are at least partially responsible for helping me mature from the selfish, silly girl I was in my twenties and for that, I am grateful.

Mitch Teemley

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