tired

I'm starting a few supplements today in the hopes that they will help me to sleep and possibly curb my sugar cravings. They were recommended to me by my discipler, and she's noticed a dramatic difference. I don't sleep well - I can usually fall asleep, since I get in bed around 12:30 am, but I can't stay asleep nor do I sleep deeply. I don't go to bed earlier because of the magic of hours without a small, energetic distraction winding himself around my ankles and begging for food. I've tried experiencing the magic of those hours in the morning, but that would involve leaving the lovely warm bed. So, I stay up too late and get up just in time to be late for work.

Also, I have a snacking issue - I love it beyond all reason. I'm not one of those girls who likes to snack on fruit or nuts or something weird like that. I go straight for the sugary goodness of cinnamon bears (if I don't actually chew them, they don't pull my braces off), ice cream, a white chocolate mocha without much of that distracting espresso...mmm. So, the first time I approached 160 pounds, I was eight months pregnant and felt pretty good about only gaining 20 prego-pounds. The second time, I was still nursing Blake and eating like my belly button and back bone were too well-acquainted...but something had changed, and the weight crept back on. Then it stayed there. I have actually had a nightmare where the terrifying thing that woke me up was the fact that I'd stepped onto the scale and it read 175.

That was months ago, and I realized as soon as I woke up how silly it was...but I knew I was on my way if I didn't change my eating habits and/or exercise. Since I don't really enjoy the latter, I've been working on the former (I don't really enjoy that either, but portion control and moderation don't require me to break a sweat and take a shower). As a result, I've lost eight pounds since Thanksgiving. Wahoo! It's the little things, like my pants buttoning without giving me a muffin top.
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Blake has taken to s-t-a-l-l-i-n-g at bed time. He is, in fact, an expert at it. Here's a typical evening for us: jammies on and teeth brushed, he gets a cup of milk or water, and we read two or three stories, usually about tractors. I turn on the mini Christmas tree he's overly attached to, his night light (because he NEEDS them, BOTH of them), and his humidifier, and he gets to push the button on the CD player for a full hour of VeggieTales delight. We pray, I hug and kiss him, then get up to go.

"Momma? I just need, um...um(insert about 10 of these)...um...I just need a drink. I just so sirsty (thirsty)."

"Momma? Mmmm (burying his face into my neck), I missed you so much. You have to sleep with me." I'll admit, I give into this one just a little.

"Momma? I just need to snuggle. Will you scratch (tickle) my arm/back/face/eyes/neck/hand?"

"Momma? It's just so serry (scary)." When asked what, he tells me that it's the chair. It needs to face away from him. It already is. I tell him lovingly that his stalling is disobedient, and if I have to come in again because of it, I will have to discipline him. The only reason he can come out of his room at night or call me in again is if he's pooped.

"Momma? I just go poo-poo. It's stinky-yucky-gwoss!"

Tonight I heard a very sudden and very dramatic increase in the sounds coming from his room. I open the door, and VeggieTales IS BLARING. THE CAPS LOCK IS A VISUAL REPRESENTATION OF THE WALL OF SOUND INTO WHICH I INNOCENTLY WALKED.
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I get to go skiing tomorrow with Molly. We are anticipating a lot of laughter and possibly cussing as we reacquaint ourselves with both our gear (Are these my skis? I thought my skis had flowers on them?) and the concept of throwing our fragile bodies down a steep and slippery slope. Should be fun, and I'm glad I'm going with her, because there will be no pressure to perform, and if there is pressure, I will just hip-check her and knock her down, then sit on her with my big, Gore-Tex-swathed ass.
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Slippoly - Blake-speak for "slippery." I love it and try to get him to say it as much as possible without him knowing. Any time we walk on ice (which is everywhere here - Bozeman doesn't plow worth a darn), he slides all over and exclaims "Momma! I ice-skating! It's so slippoly!"
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I may not be ready for a romantic attachment, but if you're going to tell me that, have the good sense to say that God is not ready, or the timing is not right. Otherwise, it sounds like you think I'm doing something wrong, and then I will get all up in your business clarifying EXACTLY what you meant by that.
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I miss time with Naomi.