I didn't sleep well last night for several reasons. I think I had worked myself into anxiety because I had Jacob overnight, had to get him to day camp and get myself out the door by 8:30 for a doctor's appointment. Then I had a small grocery store run to make, a luncheon appointment, and a happy hour scheduled. It all seemed overwhelming, but anticipation is the great ally of anxiety. When push came to shove, it all worked out fine.
Jacob was at day camp shortly after eight--teeth brushed, mouthwash used, breakfast eaten, lunch in a paper sack because they were going on a field trip. Never mind that he had on the same shorts he'd worn yesterday and refused to brush his hair--it's curly and looks a mess when he wakes up. He would wear a hat, he said. I suppose I would be more strict if I were the parent, but I'm not--I'm the grandmother. Jordan looks at me and demands, "What's wrong with you? You never would have let me do that!"
I also didn't sleep well because something has scared Jacob in the back room where his bed is, and he slept in my bed. Like sleeping with a churning furnace and occasionally realizing there was a hand poised over my face, sort of like a spider.
Not sleeping, I was up early--watered plants, fixed his lunch, was terribly efficient. Got him to day camp, went to my doctor apt. (I feel an opus on osteopathic manipulative medicine coming up! I feel so much better!), did my quick Central Market shopping--all with the company of my good friend Betty, who acted like Central Market was a foreign country. Got home in plenty of time for my lunch appointment--even got some work done.
Happy hour as really a chance for me to see Jacob one more time before he goes to camp--he was unimpressed by the sentimental occasion. And then I was home alone, did some work, and am so sleepy I'm going to bed much earlier than usual.
But anxiety is what intrigues me about the day, because about six in the morning I thought I needed to take an anti-anxiety pill. Was it Jacob? The schedule? The doctor appointment? One can never tell, but I sure worked myself into a state. Once I was up, moving, into my morning routine I was much better. Every time that happens to me, I tell myself I should recognize the signs and override them--but it ain't easy at three a.m. when you can't sleep and there's a whirling dervish next to you in the bed. Surely he'll realize soon that he's too old to sleep with his grandmother--on the other hand, as a friend said this afternoon, there's something sweet about it. Except now when I say, "Night, Jacob. Sweet dreams," he says, "Scoot over. And give me some covers." I think he's really growing up.
Jacob was at day camp shortly after eight--teeth brushed, mouthwash used, breakfast eaten, lunch in a paper sack because they were going on a field trip. Never mind that he had on the same shorts he'd worn yesterday and refused to brush his hair--it's curly and looks a mess when he wakes up. He would wear a hat, he said. I suppose I would be more strict if I were the parent, but I'm not--I'm the grandmother. Jordan looks at me and demands, "What's wrong with you? You never would have let me do that!"
I also didn't sleep well because something has scared Jacob in the back room where his bed is, and he slept in my bed. Like sleeping with a churning furnace and occasionally realizing there was a hand poised over my face, sort of like a spider.
Not sleeping, I was up early--watered plants, fixed his lunch, was terribly efficient. Got him to day camp, went to my doctor apt. (I feel an opus on osteopathic manipulative medicine coming up! I feel so much better!), did my quick Central Market shopping--all with the company of my good friend Betty, who acted like Central Market was a foreign country. Got home in plenty of time for my lunch appointment--even got some work done.
Happy hour as really a chance for me to see Jacob one more time before he goes to camp--he was unimpressed by the sentimental occasion. And then I was home alone, did some work, and am so sleepy I'm going to bed much earlier than usual.
But anxiety is what intrigues me about the day, because about six in the morning I thought I needed to take an anti-anxiety pill. Was it Jacob? The schedule? The doctor appointment? One can never tell, but I sure worked myself into a state. Once I was up, moving, into my morning routine I was much better. Every time that happens to me, I tell myself I should recognize the signs and override them--but it ain't easy at three a.m. when you can't sleep and there's a whirling dervish next to you in the bed. Surely he'll realize soon that he's too old to sleep with his grandmother--on the other hand, as a friend said this afternoon, there's something sweet about it. Except now when I say, "Night, Jacob. Sweet dreams," he says, "Scoot over. And give me some covers." I think he's really growing up.
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