Alarm clock woes

Do you ever struggle with your alarm clock?

My older son, David, does incredibly weird things with his.  For one thing, his clock is set one hour and ten minutes ahead of regular time.

(I cannot imagine what he is going to do this weekend when we "spring ahead" for Daylight Savings.)

There are times when David wakes up in the middle of the night and resets his clock, or his alarm.  Sometimes he does this in his sleep and is unaware.

Surprisingly, I think I've only had to rescue him in the morning twice all year.

This morning it was me that messed up, though.

Two nights ago, going to bed after the momentous occasion of David's Junior Saxophone Recital, I turned off my alarm because I was so shot.  Also because I knew that I would panic and be completely unable to sleep if I was anticipating an alarm at 6:30 a.m.  By a decision made in advance, we slept in until we woke naturally, and I drove my younger son to school late.

That was two nights ago.  And that night I did not get a good rest.  So last night I was again exhausted when I went to bed... exhausted, not overstimulated like the previous night, and having consumed the maximum recommended dose of Valerian capsules.

I forgot to turn my alarm back on.

So we overslept again.  This time it was not on purpose.  I woke up at 7:49 and delivered Jon to school (travel mug of coffee in hand) by 8:03.  Rather than feeling discouraged, I am pretty impressed with myself.

I came home and did a few things, mostly breakfasty ones.  Then my husband, who was upstairs getting ready to go to work, asked me if I wanted him to make the bed.  I said no.

I crawled in and took a nap until 11:21.  Taking a nap was on my to-do list yesterday, but it took until this morning to get around to it.

Dogs in the night

My dog sleeps under my bed.

Except, right now he looks like this:

Poor little guy.  He chewed off his dew claw last week.

Why???

I doubt that we will ever know.  But the vet had to surgically remove the remainder of the dangling claw, and now tiny, white Piper has to wear a cone for two weeks.

The upshot is that he does not fit under my bed with his cone on.  Well, he could... if he were brave enough to bear a bit of friction (the cone squeezing under the bed frame) followed by a little "pop" (the cone expanding back to its intended shape under the bed).  But he is not brave at all, and so he has not been sleeping under the bed.

And the upshot of that is that he sleeps by the side of the bed, and I keep stepping on him in the wee small hours.

There are very few sensations less pleasant than stepping on a decrepit 12-year-old dog in the middle of the night.  It is unpleasant when he growls and snaps (very small threat there, as most of his teeth are gone now).  It is even more unpleasant when he makes no sound at all; that's just plain disconcerting.

For a few more days, I'm going to need to concentrate on coming fully awake in the night, awake enough to be mindful to watch out for the little dog huddled forlornly by the side of my bed.

If you liked this post, you can read more about Piper here and here.

Do you have issues with pets and sleep?

A crazy night-time experience

I am going to tell you a story.

My friend Ann first told it to me.  It is a true story, but I'm sure I will get the details messed up  (confession: I love making up my own details).  So although I cannot claim that this story came from my imagination, neither can I claim it as solid fact.

Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it...

Once upon a time... when my friend Ann was in college, she shared an apartment with a group of other girls, and she shared a bedroom with one of them whom we shall call Barb.  These girls did all the things college girls do, like baking cookies and having pajama parties and staying up far too late, studying.

Although Ann and Barb often existed on completely different schedules, they sometimes did end up sleeping at the same time.

One such night, when thick nocturnal clouds hung between earth and the starry hosts (which would have lent some relief from the blackest darkness), both Ann and Barb lay in their respective beds in their bedroom, snoozing peacefully.

Suddenly a bloodcurdling scream tore Ann from her slumber.  She sat bolt upright in her bed as Barb howled the primordial shriek of death.

"What's the matter?"  Ann called out.

"My face!"   gasped Barb.  "He has his hand over my face!  He's trying to suffocate me!  AHHHHHH!!!  AHHHHHH!!!"

Ann leapt from her bed and flipped on the light switch, ready to face down and mangle the intruder (really; you have to know Ann).

She armed herself with a large, heavy textbook and strode to Barb's bedside.  "If I hit him hard with the book on the side of his head, I can probably take out his jaw and knock him unconscious," she thought quickly.

But as she looked down at Barb, Ann did not see an intruder.  All she saw was Barb's left arm, oddly twisted up behind her head, and Barb's left hand drooping down over her own face.

Barb continued to scream and thrash about, trying to get her face out from under the hand.

"Umm.  That's your own hand."  Ann informed her.  Dryly.

It was asleep, that hand.  Totally and completely numb.  As consciousness swept over Barb, she realized that she was unable to push the hand off her face because she was somehow missing one of her own arms.  It all started to come clear.

They spent some time massaging the immobilized limb, restoring blood-flow. 

The end