This morning while waiting for the girls' bus.
Most mornings start way too early, even when they are mornings that I can sit for a bit, until pain subsides and creaky joints loosen. Some mornings, though, require instant moving and complete responsibility for getting folks up, ready, and out (oh, how spoiled I've grown since Rick changed to a shift that has him home and up in the mornings!). This was one of those mornings; Rick was gone to work before we all stirred.
We get up here early enough to manage any issues, meltdowns, hissy fits, etc, and still get out to wait on the bus without a lot of tears, so all was well (as well as it gets here), and I stopped to grab this photo of the sky while we waited.
The girls gone happily off to school, I came in to check on the bright boy, who was just as happily watching cartoons, all his chores for the moment forgotten.Worked for me; it's my late morning at the college, so I wandered into the bedroom, intent upon curling back up and snoozing.
Mabel, my kitty of the five, was waiting for me, less than thrilled with the flash. I turned the lights off, curled up in bed, put the covers over my head, and rested there, waiting for sleep to find me. Instead of sleep, I listened to the house, to the sounds of the boy's feet as he anything but lightly moved from room to room, hollered at him where I was so he'd quit searching for me, and turned over, hoping for some sleep.
Well, crap. It found me, but it's a good reminder of why I don't go back to bed. Instead of nice dreams and sweet rest, I found myself in a multilayered nightmare with my frigging elevators (a frequent motif in my dreams), along with the ubiquitous dufflebags and boxes (I frequently move in my dreams, a constant stream of packing dreams, left over from all the military moves). That would have been fine, all in all, until it turned into monsters attacking me while I was in search of an elevator. I kicked, I fought, I screamed, and I realized I was asleep, so I screamed at myself to awaken. Which I then did, to find myself in my bed, wrapped in my lovely purple chenille bedspread complete with Mabel the itty-bitty kitty beside me, being attacked again, and I again kicked, screamed, fought, and hollered at myself to wake the hell up. Which I did, into another loop of dream. I finally woke up on the dream of where I was in bed, screaming for my son to help me. For whatever reason, that was the trick.
Screw naps. I'll stick to coffee.