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Last night I took Nyquil because I have this cough that starts up occasionally at night and it keeps Greg and I awake.  I think it’s allergies following a bad cold last fall that keeps a low-level of upper respiratory irritation that’s always ready to flair.  I don’t think it’s lung cancer because I would have started to lose weight by now.

As I said in my last post, the full moon is waxing and the fodder for blogging has already begun.  Pierce had a nap yesterday after hurting his finger on something.  All I know is that I saw him turn around into the chair behind him; I heard what I thought was a knuckle pop and the tears exploded from his eyes.  I’m still not sure what happened, but there was no evidence of blood or an appendage sticking out in the wrong direction.  The nice thing about these injuries is that I get a lot of snuggle time (note to self:  setting mouse traps all over the house will probably get me more hugs.) 

All the soothing and snuggling put someone to sleep on my chest like the good old days of yesteryear—truly– last year.  I put him on his bed, so he probably got a longer snooze than he would have.  I knew that this would make bed time later, but I forgot about the full moon and its effect on nervous energy.  Pierce would not stay in bed!  I finally told him I was going to bed at 9:55pm.  Dad was still watching TV so the little squirt went back and forth, finally falling asleep on our bedroom floor shortly after 10pm!  I was already just below the surface when Daddy put him in his bed.  Ahhhh sleep!  Glorious-over-the-counter-cold-medicine-induced-sleep!

2am:  Something is climbing up the side of my bed.  Seriously?  Four hours of sleep?  In my drugged stupor I put him between us, planning to put us back in his bed shortly after he was back sound asleep.  Well, although I didn’t sleep well, I could never bring myself around enough to do this.  Then at 5:30am there is someone else standing at the side of my bed, again.  This time it’s Michael asking if we can go eat.  He oughtta be thanking the stars that I was still too drugged to do more than slur an angry “Nooo!  Lie down and go to shleeeeeeppp!”  This went on an infinite number of times interspersed with a one-sided, whispered conversation, rattling the closet doors, tapping the bedrails on the side of my bed, until I couldn’t stand it any longer and roared out of bed a 6:10.  Needless-to-say, I was not June Cleaver this morning—more like Mommy Dearest.  In fact, I still feel like her as I type…good thing there are no wire hangers in my house…most assuredly they would make a great disciplinarian tool.  A plastic one would probably work to “strike” some fear into these sleep interrupters, too.

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