Putting priorities to bed

For the past week or so I have been trying to convince Monkey that sleeping in her own bed is a great idea. It's slow going. As a compromise to having to wake up as many as six times a night to carry her back to her room and into bed I have set up a bed for me in her room, part laziness, part convenience, plus she doesn't wake up too much so I can get her back to sleep faster. We have been through this drill before only to end up all back in the big bed on a regular basis. I have also been trying to keep a strict bed time, nine o'clock, and getting her to actually fall asleep first in her bed before waking in the night to look for me. Often she won't fall asleep in her bed and has to be put into bed once asleep. I am still trying to figure out how to fix that. It has a lot to do with her not yet being weaned.
- I ranted to a friend recently about how there is this huge push these days to encourage new mothers to breast feed; there is an organisation called the "La Leche League" (spelling?) which is a kind of grass roots support system you can call for help or to answer questions about breast feeding. My rant was this; it's all well and good to push mothers to breast feed (got my own qualifications on that particular argument but lets move on) but where are these mother suckers when it comes time to get the kid OFF the boob!? But I digress. -
So Monkey is not weaned and now associates boob with comfort and safety (I got some exes who can relate). She almost never falls asleep without the boob. This makes it very hard to get her to fall asleep in her own bed and next to impossible for anyone but me to put her to bed. Not fun.
So anyway, because she is going to bed at nine (not always falling asleep for as much as an hour but whatever) she is waking up earlier and earlier. Today it was 8:15. As I lay there while she insisted on me getting up I debated the merits of putting her to bed later so I could sleep in some again. MyDear hadn't left for work yet and was greeted with a delighted "Daddeeee!". After the days first diaper change I put on the morning kids shows so I could go make breakfast and a cup of tea. When I came back with a couple of Eggos and my cuppa (with lemon as I feel a cold coming on) MyDear was watching Monkey rock out to the "Super Readers". We sat and watched her for a while until MyDear had to leave for work.
Once he was gone I started thinking about all the things I wanted to get done today and my mind turned to the sock pattern I am trying to create. At MyDear's request I am devising a sock pattern fashioned after a sharknosed WWII fighter plane. It is not easy but very engrossing. I keep not doing things like dishes, laundry, groceries because I am working out the sock pattern. (Yes, I am obsessed. I accept it.) So, needless to say things are piling up around here and I HAVE TO leave the pattern for a while and catch up some. Today is groceries, shower, put away clean laundry and try to get my laptop fixed for free. Seems like a do-able list but life has a way of stalling things. And of course spending my morning blah blahing on my blog is just ridiculous in the face of things but hey, if I can be engrossed by the idea of a sock I obviously DO NOT have my priorities straight.

Too Quiet

I knew she was being too quiet. There is the quiet when Monkey is engrossed in a benign activity like filling and emptying her vintage barn with the mooing door. There is the quiet of Monkey "reading" herself a story. There is the quiet of watching for the millionth time the most exciting kids movie ever made- whatever that happens to be this week. And then there is the quiet of undertaking a forbidden activity. Every parent knows it. It awakens the parental "spidey sense". And yet I let it go for a few minutes because I was otherwise occupied.
In acquiring a sudden boon of house plants from a friend leaving the province my main concern was in regard to Monkey trying to eat harmful foliage. The sheer size of many of these potted beauties meant, however, that putting them up high or out of reach was impossible or down right dangerous. So the next logical option was to keep an eye on her to ensure no leaf munching went on. Surprisingly - to me at least- she has never attempted to eat the forbidden plants but the dirt... the dirt is at times irresistible.
So what should I find to explain the unnatural silence but my little angel with her tender tootsies nestled in a pile of potting soil while she methodically scoops more onto the floor with the heads of her two tiny "princess" dollies. Her big eyes shine up at me as she waits to see what my reaction will be. She seems torn between sharing her delight and dreading my reprimand. Though I was disappointed and annoyed (as much with myself as her) I must admit we did have fun washing her hands, feet and princesses in the sink before I had to go sweep up the mess.
All parents be advised, heed the "spidey" sense. Do not hesitate.
Lesson learned.

The Dark Mistress of Snot

I don't think I have had the flu - the actual flu- since my teens. No wonder everyone rushes off to the doctor thinking they are going to die, that's the way it feels...for real. I think the criteria for judging if one has a cold or flu should be the regularity of complaints coming from the infected person; the more you complain the less likely it is to be the flu, because with the flu, one has no energy to complain, or roll over, or cough.
I started to see the virus in me as the manifestation of some Latin-American style "Day of the Dead" Icon, some skeletal creature in female form working her necessary evil on me through fatigue, head congestion and, the most evil of all, endless viscous snot.
I spent one night dreaming that the bed was a raft on a dark, choppy sea. I and the other raft members spent our time trying to knit a sail out of rags but just kept making more convoluted rags.
My snoring got so oppressive my Dear had to move down to the couch.
One night I sweat through five separate shirts.
For several days I felt as though I had swallowed razor blades and that and a completely blocked nose reduced my diet of tiny swallows of soup when ever I could raise my head.
But as thick as the fog spread by Lady Influenza was it lifted suddenly leaving me with a slight sniffle and little else as a memento.
I am stunned by how healthy I feel. I feel as though I ought to make an offering to Lady Influenza thanking her for the weird dreams and leaving me unscarred...but what? Used tissue? Ginger tea? Warm blankets?