Tag Archives: college

Sleep Me off My Feet (PLEASE)

exhausted

When I was in college, you knew it was time to start getting ready to go out on Saturday night when my roommate, Theresa, exited the shower, walked across the apartment in her towel, and cranked up “Caribbean Queen.”

It was like a dog whistle.

Within minutes, bathrooms were bustling, Stiff Stuff was spraying and lips were lining (with precision).

And it was 10pm.

 

Nowadays, if 10pm rolls around you can be damn sure I am hoping my night is almost over.  Why?  Because I am freaking tired, that’s why.

 

I’m not exactly proud of it but I’m certainly not ashamed by it either because I know I am faaaaaar from alone. I want to sleep so badly but all my kids are at their rite-of-passage vampire stage so I’m outta luck.  I have teens coming in later on weekends and that stinks.  I have ‘tweens staying up later on weeknights and that stinks worse.

 

I know we all signed the (We’ll) Sleep (When We’re Dead) Contract when we became pregnant and that was all fine – back then.  But for the love of God, was it signed in placenta fluid?  Is there an expiration date?

 

Listen, I’m entitled to be a little cranky.  I happen to be running this show alone now.  My husband’s job keeps him out of town a lot and I must admit brag that I’ve gotten awfully good at keeping things afloat as a single parent. So long as everyone’s alright with egg sandwiches for dinner and a minimum of clean socks, I’d say this machine is running incredibly smoothly, thankyouverymuch.

But I have to be honest.  I am beat, man.  Throw in the Middle Age First Amendment (Thou Shalt Not Sleep Three Consecutive Hours Once One Hits 40 Years Old) and you are looking at an explosive yet very potential mixture  of sleep deprivation and homicide.

I can’t be like my kids and catch up with sleep on Saturdays because come on, there are dogs to be walked and husbands to reconnect with over coffee and  — you know – that litany of things on a never ending Weekend To Do List to tackle.

And forget lazy Sunday sleep-ins because let’s be real, we all know how those go: if you’re not where you’re supposed to be on Sunday mornings (cough, church) you’re definitely where you want to be (baseball/soccer/football field or well, a diner….) so THAT never works out either.

I suppose I could try sleeping a few hours as soon as I got home from work, waking up in time for dinner but — seriously, who can do that?  Oh wait….that would be a high school senior, who naps, then effortlessly drinks coffee at nine to stay up for three more hours of homework.  Screwy, right?

 

I think the greatest irony to this whole dilemma is that …

 

by the time all the chaos of kids and chores and commitments winds down …

 

… the Middle Age Second Amendment is suddenly upon on:  Thou Shalt Not Sleep Past 5amEver.

Can I get a collective “Craaaaaaaaap…..” from all my tired sistas out there?

 

 

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College Kid Heading Home? Release the Kraken!

Woman+Pulling+Hair+out

 

My daughter, a college freshman, comes home this week for her winter break.  This means my emotions — like every other college parent’s – are running the gamut of YayyyyyyyyyyOoooooooohhhhhNoooooooooo.

 

Cue in collective nods from those who have danced this dance before me.

 

She’s had four months of independent living, coming and going at leisure, not having to answer to anyone and doing whatever in the world she feels like at any time she feels like it.  These typical rites of college passage no doubt will make her transition back to home a nightmare of unparalleled proportions.

 

Guess I’d better get my thick-skin-suit out of storage.

 

We had a tiny bit of friction during the long Columbus Day weekend.  We had a bit more (cough) differences of opinion during Thanksgiving.  But let’s be real here.  A few argumentative moments here and there are nothing compared to the barrage of discontent that will fester over five weeks.

 

Five looooooooonnnnngggggg weeks of

 

… ridiculous rules (because ‘don’t start a load of laundry and then immediately leave the house for twelve hours’ is …unreasonable?)

 

… crazy curfews (because bars can kick people out soon after midnight but parents shouldn’t?)

 

… and outrageous expectations to be – I don’t know – an active member of this family (because popping in for an occasional meal or – dare to dream – coming out of a bedroom for more than fifteen minutes at a time is … irrational?).

 

Yes, we are all sorts of looney over here.  Poor kids – it’s just like West Point under this roof.

 

I know, I tell her, I remember.  My mother and I drove each other nuts every winter AND summer I was home.  I keep telling my daughter that, like it or not, it is the way of the world.  That it is something every college student since the beginning of time will go through.  Naturally my sage sentiments fall on deaf ears.   She tries to reason …

 

It’s not fair.

She’s responsible.

She’s intelligent.

She makes good choices.

(All true, I might add.  But then she’ll throw in some crazy statistic like …)

 

She’s the ONLY one with a curfew

(or, worse)

No one else’s mother even cares what they do or what time they came home.

(No one?)

Nope.  Not one.

I then call balderdash and bam! we’re right back to a Saturday Night Smackdown.  It’s sure to be a tough time but I’m ready.  My litany of retorts isn’t very creative but it’s plentiful.

 

This is not your dorm room.

Get used to it.

It is what it is.

I felt this way, too.

Because I love you.

Because I said so.

I do trust you.

It’s only about safety.

I understand.

I get it, I really get it.

and so on…

and so on..

But nothing is changing.

A mom is a mom is a mom.

 

 

Evidently we shall never see eye to eye on this but I imagine we’re not supposed to.  I just hope she doesn’t sulk away her vacation like Greta Grump and enjoy some of the time while she’s with us.

 

The house, while still busy and loud and messy … is a brighter place when she is here.   I so don’t want to be in Def-con 12 Battle Mode during the holidays.   I kinda just want to watch movies under fuzzy blankets with her … and do a little shopping … and share some late lunches … and well, just sorta be with her.  She’s eighteen and the years are moving her into adulthood faster than I can finagle.  FortheloveofGod, she’s talking about Africa next year. I just keep shaking my head.  And catching my breath some days.

 

Maybe, just maybe, she’ll go a little easy on the old lady and go with the curfew flow and pick up her room every few days.

 

Who knows.  It could happen.

 

Santa, you reading this?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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