Nick likes to call it a jab well done

I've become kind of like a reformed smoker.

And by that I mean this: After months and months of not sleeping, or sleeping poorly, of waking up at 4 am, of having random night sweats...I started getting acupuncture. She also has me drinking an herbal concoction, which tastes like carpet backing, or anyway, what I imagine carpet backing to taste like.

Anyway.

So I spent all those months exhausted and dragging and just scraping through each and every day, waiting to sleep. And waking unrefreshed and starting over.

I contacted my OB and an acupuncturist, and started the acupuncture just before going in for blood tests. All of which came back normal.

And if I'd not already started feeling better from the acupuncture treatment, I'd have railed against the "normal" diagnosis, because nothing was normal. Something was clearly off.

Which leads to my reformed smokerness. Because now, now I want everyone to get acupuncture.

I am like this, I know. I love it! Here, have some! You'll love it too!

But really, when you don't sleep for a long time and then you suddenly start sleeping, all night, for nights in a row, it is seriously like Kansas to Oz. It's like unicorns and puppies and magic dipped in chocolate and slathered on rainbows.

Or maybe not exactly, because they might drown in the chocolate plus you'd have to smoosh them to get them to stick to the rainbow, which sounds rather violent and brutal. But you know what I'm saying.

My world improved immensely in a matter of weeks.

And then last night, J woke up sobbing at 4:30 am. Nick is gone, so I wasn't sleeping all that well anyway. So I got up to comfort him, and then went back to bed, but I was awake. Awakey awake.

You know that terrible little awakey dance you do in those early dark hours? When you want to be asleep, but you're awake, but hopeful that if you lie very still you'll soon be asleep?

I don't know about you, but I'm all:

I'm hot under the covers. But I can't kick them off because the air in the room is really chilly. But I could just stick one leg out. That'll cool me down. But what if I get too cold and then I have to wait to warm up before I go to sleep?

I'll just lie very still and hope to cool down.

I have to pee. But not terribly. But I'd be more likely to fall back asleep with an empty bladder. But if I get up to pee, I have to walk down the hall. I might step on a bug, so I'll have to turn on a light. And then if I turn on a light, it'll wake me up more.

I'll stay in bed.

I'm thirsty. But if I have another sip of water, it'll make me have to pee more. But I hate being thirsty. I can't fall asleep thirsty. But if I finish the water, then I won't fall asleep because I'll worry that I'll wake up thirsty again and then I'll definitely have to go downstairs to get more.

Also, my friend Jennifer in junior high, did she like Stacy more than me?

And is that a normal noise? Or a not-normal noise?

Shit like this. It goes on for about an hour.

And then you finally get up, turn on the light against bugs and noises, pee, get water, cool yourself down in the process, get back in bed, and sleep. You should've just gotten up a damn hour ago.

See why I'm all out proselytizing about the acupuncture and the magic and the non-smoking unicorns?

I am an American aquarium drinker

Hi. My name is Lisa, and I fell into a hole for a few days.

And then all these nice hands reached in and helped me climb out.

It wasn't one of those deep deep holes where the sides are worn down from years of sliding and you can't get a finger hold to scratch your way up towards daylight without some serious help. And everything is all crazy and swirly and awful. No, it wasn't one of those.

Thankfully.

It was, if I have to be honest, more of a grump-hole.

I turn out to be kind of a delicate flower, despite my good Viking ancestry and hearty prairie farmer genes. And sometimes I just fall into a hole. Or dig my own. And stomp around in it.

And so, after a wonderful weekend and a fancy-schmancy wedding and too much wine and not enough sleep, there was this hole, just waiting for me to stumble in.

So I sat around in this pit of meaningless pointlessness, and wallowed in how meaninglessly pointless my life is, and how it doesn't matter and I don't matter and who cares anyway and oh whatever.

I could go on like this (and I assure you, I did) but you get the gist.

It might have passed in a few days or so anyway, or it could've hung around for a week or two, like the meainglesspointlessness likes to do, but in the midst of my I'm-so-pointless and-nothing-I-do-is-remotely-important-and-who-cares...you all were like, um, WE care. YOU matter and we care.

It warmed the cockles of my grumpy little wallowing in pointlessness heart. (And what are heart cockles?)

So I stood up, climbed out, and reminded myself that I might not do anything that changes the world, but really, I'm not a huge fan of humanity anyway.

I mean, I like, love, and adore lots of people - you among them. And I don't wish people ill (or at any rate, not more than a handful). But when have I ever been out to save the world? OK, there was that stint in the Peace Corps, but I kind of sucked at it. Yes, there were unhelpful circumstances, like being in love with a gay boyfriend, and also probably being clinically depressed. But I did hate it.

Like I said, I'm not a world saver.

Also, I'm not a stick-to-the-point-er. What is my point?

Um. I'm pretty sure it was going to be this: I need to matter, and you make me feel like I do. I'm so pleased and flattered that you care about me and my little family and this space I've created.

I can't promise I won't fall in another hole, because I'm a physical and metaphorical faller. But you seem to really like me anyway.

So, once again, I need to thank you. Because you make me smile and you care about me and you're such a good part of my world.

Plus, while I'm on the falling topic, I'm also a dropper. Because to be very candid with you, just now, at lunchtime, I dropped my opened can of tuna, thus dousing myself in oil, getting it all over the floor, and cutting my hand in the process.

Bonus: I get to spend the afternoon smelling like tuna.

Hi.

Soooo, yah

So I was going to tell you how today Jordan is 14 months old. Hooray!

And how much I love Minneapolis, and how if I weren't such a weather wimp I could totally live there, because wow, it's beautiful and walkable and amazing and people are so friendly and also they have really good hamburgers and sticky buns.

And how I read Neil Gaiman's Graveyard Book, and how it is just such an wonderful, well written, charming tale.

And how as of last week I've been blogging for four years. Four! That's longer than I've held all but my current job.

But then I was like, what the fuck am I doing?

Does the world need one more I like to write and maybe I can be good enough to write a book that people want to read and I'm a mama and I'm so proud of my boy and I love my husband even though I put an imaginary heart attack on him and sometimes I fall down and draw pictures of it blog? Am I just barraging cyberspace with dull drivel? What is my point and does it even matter?

I mean really.

Is where I am.

Christopher Walken

OK, so it's only a few steps at a time. But still!

Happy weekend, all!

A semi-girlypants shoe post with a dash of there are children starving in Bangladesh

When I was in my 20s, and I quite jobs regularly, I wound up temping a lot.

Temping meant two things: One, I was paid hourly. And two, I was usually so bored.

And so I'd do things like calculate the hours I needed to work in order to buy that skirt I liked at Ann Taylor. Four more hours = one skirt. For example.

I haven't done that in years. For years, my budget has not been quite that tight. I've never been profligate, and so for a long time I've been able to pay my mortgage AND buy food AND things I want.

Our budget has been tight this last year, but really because we took on this big house project. So we've borrowed a shitload. We've spent a lot. But it's all practical, good debt. And we've both spent our lives spending so responsibly.

Now, what I've realized is that I have this huge amount of guilt buying frivolous stuff, and having things that others don't. I seriously have to justify up and down.

Honestly. It's weird, I think. Nick is so proud of our house. He's worked so hard, and he deserves a nice house. And me, I'm proud of it too. But I feel guilty. Because there are so many people without shelter, much less a nice house. Hell, without food or potable water, for that matter.

And yet I hated my time in the Peace Corps. Go figure.

So. I got those shoes above for the wedding. Black, pretty, and very practical. I needed nice black shoes. I could wear them to work.

But seriously. This was after a number of you said black shoes. Or said, oh, for Pete's sake, buy yourself some new shoes. You don't do this all the time.

And I don't. I really don't.

But then, it was like after a long diet when you've been thinking about chocolate for weeks and then you eat so much in one sittiong you're nauseous.

I just couldn't stand not to buy these. Justification: they're 30% off at Nine West, with free shipping. I need something trendy. I love leopard prints. And I AM going to wear them to work.

I cannot wait for them to arrive.