So last night I made a berry crumble for Beloved because he’s been doing lots of work around the house and in the yard.
It turned out very nice, and I wasn’t sparing when I dished it into our bowls. Usually we don’t have late night snacks, but the crumble had taken a while to cool, so what the heck?
The heck was, we were buzzed all night long.
I could feel Beloved twitching next to me as he struggled to sleep. My legs were restless and my pillow didn’t feel right. We both got up and had water and came back to bed. My teeth were clenched, but that’s nothing new. Beloved got up three times to wander in the dark.
The moon was full, something else I’m adding into the equation.
This morning when we woke, we looked at each other and went,’Wow, what was in that dish?’
It reminded me of a few more things we’ve been gaffed by over the years.
Once, when we were facing the prospect of a 36 hour flight from New Zealand to France, I went to the local pharmacist and asked if he would give us some benadryl to knock the edge off, and help us sleep. I asked for 25mg tablets, but he gave me 50mg, something I failed to notice.
Beloved and I boarded our flight, and just after dinner, we took TWO of the tablets thinking they were a lower dosage. An hour later, we were both twitching like someone with St. Vitus disease. Ten hours into the flight, Beloved pulled the blanket from his head, and looked at me with tortured eyes. ‘What was in that medication,’ he whispered, desperate for sleep.
Another time we were gaffed was when we were on the ship. Our friends came by our cabin with good German coffee, and I provided the brownies. The next morning when all four of us met up in the dining room, we looked like we were coming down from an ecstasy party.
‘What the heck did you put in those brownies?’ our friend demanded.
‘I was about to ask you the same about the coffee,’ I moaned.
None of us had slept more than an hour.
And then there was the time we came home from a party and went to bed and Beloved wriggled like a three year old.
‘What’s the matter with you,’ I hissed. ‘Stop wriggling.’
‘I can’t,’ he retorted. ‘I’m restless.’
‘Well get up and do something,’ I said. ‘You’re bugging me.’
The next morning, Beloved said, ‘I hardly slept at all last night. I don’t know why. I didn’t drink any coffee at the party. All I had was three glasses of cola.’
The perfect insomnia recipe.
This blog doesn’t have a point, but to all those mothers out there that I secretly laughed at while their kids were spinning out on sugar and red food dye….my humblest apologies.