So I couldn't sleep last night because my back has been acting up. (Do I sound like a 50 year old drama queen or what?) From my mother, I inherited a right leg that is slightly shorter than the left, and as a result a wacked out right hip and lower back. Come to think of it, I also inherited my chin whiskers, "voluptuous" figure (It's the pioneer genes--we're always saving up for a hard winter.), tendency toward co-dependency, and thin hair. Thanks Mom.
Usually when I can's sleep, I finagle half a Zanex from Erik. Unfortunately, he was sleeping soundly, and I didn't want to wake him up. After an unsuccessful prowl around his pants pockets and dresser, I started getting a little desperate. You know the feeling. Take a look at the clock. See that it's 1:30. Say to yourself, "Well, I can still get 5 hours in." Look again. See that it's now 2:00. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Around 2:30ish, I began scouting the medicine cabinet for sleep aids. No Niquil. No Tylenol pm. No Benedryl. A Ha! A bottle of prescription cough medicine. Says right here--may cause drowsiness. Sounds good to me. So--I took a big swig. Too big apparently, because instead of sleeping, I ended up with the creepy crawlies. That kind of sped-up itchy scalp crawling feeling that is pretty much the opposite of sleep. Fuck. It looks like much coffee and yawning are in my future.
I took my dad out on a date for Father's Day (late--I know) last week. We had dinner, went to a movie, had a talk. It seems like in all the people I truly love, there is one character trait that I both love and hate in them. In my mom, it is her intense ability to care. This is a blessing and a curse. She knows my back is acting up and has been calling--taking Sophie without me having to ask--bringing me Alive. So sweet. On the other hand, she is very easy to hurt--particularly when it comes to the Mormon church and the fact that I am not a part of it any more. She feels completely responsible, and is sure that I won't be with her in the afterlife. It honestly pains her everyday. So we've grown this vicious cycle of her being hurt and me being hurt about her hurt, and her being hurt about my hurt about her hurt. Exhausting.
Oh--I was talking about my dad. Sorry. What I love and hate (hate is strong--maybe don't understand would be better) about him, is that he takes absolutely no responsibility for other people's choices or feelings. Where as with my mom, any discussion about the church turns into an emotional shit-sandwich, with my dad--it's no big deal. Example: One day we drove by a Mormon church that was being built (not hard here in Southern Utah). He said to me, "You should go back to church." I said, "No I shouldn't." He said, "Why not?" I said, "Because I don't believe in it." He said, "Well, that's the only good reason." End of discussion. Honestly, that was one of the most emotionally releasing talks I've ever had.
Today's best thing about being a mom:
As there is no Sophie reference in the above post--I'll take this chance to say that my daughter is absolutely beautiful. Really. Model beautiful. Movie star beautiful. I feel like a shallow shit for saying this, but I love to dress her in something cute (not every day--often she looks like a dirty street urchin), do her hair, and take her out and listen to people say, "Isn't that a beautiful little girl!"
Today's worst thing about being a mom:
How about the pile of peed on training pants waiting for me to wash them?