CPAP Hell…o

“Beauty is pain,” Mom once told me. The opposite can also be true: Feeling good sometimes requires a gal to endure a few humiliating moments. So when I got tired of listening to my husband complain about (a) my snoring and (b) my tendency to hold my breath in my sleep,  I went in to the sleep lab to get tested for sleep apnea. Never in my life have I felt so beautiful. See?

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The doctor confirmed my husband’s suspicion that I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in years, and so I agreed to get the CPAP machine to complement the appliance I already wear on my teeth each night. The med tech informed me that this Philips Dream Station Auto model is top-of-the line, with a built-in monitor that can tell if and how long I am wearing my gear, and whether I had any more gasping episodes. Not at all creepy!

“You’ll feel so much better!” the doctor assured me.

“You’ll have more energy!” my husband added. (This was less than convincing. He’s had a CPAP for years, and he has the sleep habits of a giraffe.)

“Mommy, you look weird!” This last one, from the mouth of teenaged babes, was in retrospect the closest to the truth. At the sight of me in my new CPAP, the dogs jumped off the bed and hid in their crates. Well, if I had to wear this contraption on my face, at least I could move my legs.

Last night was my first night with the headgear. I felt like an astronaut, with all the tubes and air blowing up my nose. I couldn’t talk (thanks to the mouth gear), and couldn’t find a comfortable spot on my side that wouldn’t crush the tube. So I laid on my back, closed my eyes . . . and soon it was morning.

I couldn’t move. My back muscles were rioting, and it felt like someone had punched me in the nose. I’d had wild dreams (and not the good kind) in riotous Technicolor all night. In short, I felt 100x worse than the night before.

Craig was sympathetic. “You haven’t had enough REM sleep for years, honey. Your body is just getting used to it. Don’t give up!”  He hauled me out of bed, maneuvered me to the bathroom, and went to get the kids off to school. Bless him.

I took a long, hot shower and after awhile I could move enough to get dressed. The dogs now circled me in full-blown panic over the groans that had escaped from me during the Battle of the Bath. One of them is sitting on my feet as I type this, the other just beside my chair, on full alert. Me, I’m still on the fence about the machine. I don’t think I’m thinking any more clearly than I was two days ago. Then again, maybe brain fuzz is just a symptom of middle age, and I should get used to it.

At least the machine keeps the dogs off the bed . . . and inspires my husband to get up with the kids! Maybe that’s worth a little of my dignity, too.

31 Days of De-Stressed Living, Day 9: Decide to Laugh

Today we turn to “The Bloggess” for a much-needed dose of relationship humor. (Warning: Contains some PG-13 language.)

Who knew that the fifteenth anniversary gift was “Big Metal Chicken”?

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Here’s one for all you good Catholic moms out there.

OK, now put down your computer and head out for the day just looking for something to make you laugh!

Perhaps an “America’s Funniest Outfit” contest?

Sarah 2005

What’s the funniest thing you’ve read online recently? Share the link below.

 

Advent(ures) of the Fuzzy Kind

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This weekend we welcomed a new member to the family … a six-week-old Australian Shepherd Christopher named Maddy. (This is the picture that induced Craig and Chris to drive halfway across the state to get her!)

Like all babies, Maddy is both a lot of work and a lot of fun. Her blue eyes will turn one day, we’re told. The biggest challenge is persuading her to piddle in the snow at 3 a.m. (I can hardly blame her; I wouldn’t want to plant my delicates in the frost, either.)

At 5 a.m., when I get up with her again, I sometimes encourage the process along a bit with a little song sung a tune from “The Music Man.” (Remember the “Pick-a-little, talk-a-little” number that is sung with “Good Night Ladies?) In case you ever find yourself walking the floor in the wee hours with a puppy, I thought I’d share it with you here:

First the slow part (Good night ladies)

“Good-night, Maddy. Good-night, Maddy.
Good-night Maddy. It’s time to go to SLEEP!”

(Now the fast “Pick-a-little” part):

“Eat a little, poop a little, eat a little, poop a little,
SLEEP, SLEEP, SLEEP, poop a lot, eat a little more.
Eat a little, poop a little, eat a little, poop a little,
SLEEP, SLEEP, SLEEP, eat a lot, poop a little more.
Eat a little, poop a little, eat a little, poop a little,
SLEEP, SLEEP, SLEEP, poop a lot, eat a little more.
Eat a little, poop a little, eat a little, poop a little,
Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep,

“Good-night Maddy…” (repeat).

Okay, I’ll admit it’s a lot funnier at 3 a.m. … I imagine it would work with insomniac babies, too!

Oh… If you’re still reading this, be sure to tune in to Al Kresta’s show today at 3:00 … Yours truly will be in the studio, talking about EMN!

Mighty Mom Monday: “Eek! Mom, Not the Eyebrows!”

Happy Monday!  Every Monday is a happy Monday at EMN … thanks to Sarah (A.K.A. “Mighty Mom.”) Check out her blog at “My Wonderful Life”

No MOM!!! Not my EYEBROWS!!

So, Subvet was gone providing parkinglot security for the Saturday night Mass and as per the instructions he left, I fed the hooligans&hooliganette pizza for supper.

Now, the boys performed their usual magic trick flawlessly, not a bit of pizza left to be found after 2.4 seconds.

Sugars’ pizza, however, put up a fight. Apparently it did NOT want to be disappeared and, from the looks of things, fought tooth and nail against such treatment.

Once I pronounced the fight over. There was pizza sauce from stem to stern on that girl. Which left her with a slightly orange/yellow skin tone.

So, Mightymom takes rag in hand and proceeds to start at the bottom and work my way up.

My kids have long since decided that my name stands for Mean Old Mommy…especially when it comes to cleanup time. I mean to tell you I CLEAN the kids! I get between the toes….between the fingers….between all 4 chins….and yes, even between the eyes!!

So here I am scrubbing away trying to get all that orangeness/yellowness off of her. I’m scrubbing and scrubbing…she’s screaming for Child Protective Services to save her…or at least for Daddy to come home! and I finally have all the yelloworange stuff gone…except her eyebrows. I just can’t get them to come clean. No matter WHAT I do they still look a bit yellow-y.

As I sit and ponder what I can use that’ll get her clean and not require a full bath it dawns on me…..

SHE’S BLOND!
Her eyebrows are SUPPOSED TO BE YELLOW!!!

Uh, oops.

Sorry, babe.