Does this look good?

It was.
Oh my goodness.
Homemade pie crust.
Cream cheese and whip cream.
Raspberries.
Blueberries.
This, people, is a summer dessert masterpiece.
.
.
It's late.
Again.
On days that I work, I try to get to bed by midnight because my working days? Are long. 7.5 hours of pure thinking.
Exhausting.
.
But on Monday night, Max was unable to sleep. So we looked for a herbal sleep aid for him. And then Drew? Came into my room at 3:00, convinced he had a tick burrowing into his head. And only because I had just read this, did I make an effort to see what his problem was.
Turned out he had a small pimple. So I popped it.
He was not impressed.
And then? I had a restless night of dreaming. I woke up every hour and checked the clock and tried not to think about Hump at the Pump.
Yes, you read that right.
Hey. I'm not proud of my dreams. And quit being so judgemental.
A couple months ago there was this gas give-away on the radio. Two random persons, one male, one female were to volunteer to go into the back of some make-out mobile supplied by the radio station and the radio guy would fill up their vehicle's tanks with gas as long as they made out. When they stopped kissing (or whatever), he'd stop filling.
Oh, and he did a play by play of their make out session on air.
And for some reason, I dreamt about humping while gas was pumping. Either I was the announcer, or the participant. Sometimes it was love. Sometimes it was hormones.
So, yeah. It wasn't a restful night. I slept, I would guess, maybe 2 hours.
.
I spent all day Tuesday thinking and thinking while at work and came home with under-eye bags so big, I needed a little face bra to support them. But rather than nap, which my body was pleading with me to do, I met Sandra for a walk and gelato.
.
Come hell or high water I was going to sleep well on Tuesday night.
I got to bed at 1.
And started dreaming again.
This time it was about animals ripping each other apart. A more violent dream I have not had. Carnage everywhere. Every sort of animal ever invented and some not even invented yet.
Then at 3:30, Drew came in. He was dying with some undiagnosed stomach ailment.
I told him to take a TUMS and go away.
He chose to climb into bed beside me and groan.
Eventually I fell back asleep only to be immersed in some animal kingdom gone wild. Lizards on the window sills, cat parts strewn all over the lawn, oh, it was like the opposite of a kind and fuzzy Disney movie.
Everytime I forced myself to wake up, I got a few minutes of relief and then I was right back in it.
What, pray tell was that all about?
At 6:00 am (1.5 hours before I get up) there was a knock at my front door. Max had slept in AGAIN and missed his carpool ride. They were giving him 30 seconds to get out of bed and into the car.
That little flurry of negative energy took awhile to dissipate, but I eventually fell asleep again.
.
When my alarm went off, my body got up by my face has remained horizontal all day. How tired can one person's head look?
.
I worked all day, just thinking and doing and planning and writing and fighting off the urge to take a little nap next to the toilet in the bathroom. I made it through the day, came home, cleaned up messes that were left by no one, made supper for Max and me, used safety pins to keep my eyelids open and went over to Carolyn's for dessert. And to talk.
.
Can't beat a good talk.
.
Even after everyone left, I stayed in their driveway and kept on talking. Good thing Gail stayed and talked too or it would have been embarassing - just me and those trees, conversing about life, fallow seasons, churches, friends and God.
.
I got home just before midnight. Max was already in bed. Drew was at his dad's. And Clint is 21 so if I need to know where he is, he'll let me know. Otherwise, hello? He's 21.
.
At 1:00 the phone rang.
"Dear God? Please let him be OK. Please let him not to have gotten into an accident. Please help him to be safe. Please let him be calling to say he's staying overnight at my mom's...."
"Mom?" Drew whispers into the phone. "I'm really sick."
He quietly lists all his symptons and concludes that he must have diabetes.
I suggest he take some Pepto, pray with him over the phone, and try again to go to bed.
.
Clint comes home at 1:30 and feels like talking. And at 2 he shows me a YouTube clip of Jon Stewart on Crossfire, which we watch together.
.
It's now 2:09 and tomorrow? My eyebags? Will succumb to the effects of gravity and will have fallen off my face. I'll just tuck them into my regular push up bra along with my boobs and go to work where I'll think and think and think for 7.5 hours.
.
Three things I'm thankful for:
1. Tomorrow is Thursday. And after I finish work, I get 4 days off. Will any of my children wake me up during the next 4 days? No. They will not. Will I have dreams at night? No I will not.
2. That dessert? Pretty awesome. Thankful that friends bake. And then invite friends over to talk and eat.
3. Those Murrayville friends? Lifers. Glad to have em in my life.

Shalom,