In yet another futile undertaking at organizing my life and the lives of those who live with under the same roof, I've put one of those massive "Mom" calendars on the fridge.
That it was magnetic was just the gravy.
Because Stephen is less than fond of putting holes in the wall.
If he were just as concerned about the gaping holes he's drilling into my ever shrinking sanity.
Boring and mundane our lives may be, there are things that are perpetually forgotten, wrong times assumed, showing up for things on the wrong days. . .
Stephen and I both possess day planners.
For our work lives.
Which provides us with a modicum of organization, but is by no means a fool proof methods.
My issue: remembering to actually write things down.
But our home activities have always been a mish mash of relying on our fading abilities to remember things, and our children's telling-us-once-as-they-rush-out-of-the-car thinking that such poor and hurried modes of communication are sufficient.
Not even close.
So, the giant Mom calendar it was.
September already looks like a train wreck.
Our teaching schedules, Keith's course schedule, three kids' work schedules, vet appts for six fur bearing creatures, hair appts, doctor's appts, high school open houses, meetings in Moncton. . . . .
Boring, yes.
Chaotic, definitely.
Organized. . .we're trying.
As a result of my most recent blood tests, my thyroid medication has been doubled.
Increases have been non existent in the last several years, so I was harbouring the delusion that the gland in my throat was FINALLY settling down, no longer interested in taking me on any further psychotic roller coaster rides that went from me having full blown Grave's Disease, to radiation treatments that virtually rendered by thyroid null and void, causing me to take thyroid replacements.
Tricky things, those thyroids.
Hearing that mon thyroid was slowing down even further was, to some extent, welcome news because it explains how come I've been feeling more tired than usual these past few months.
I thought my body was just trying to catch up on some much wanted rest and relaxation as I finished teaching at the end of May.
For some reason, I was needing to nap almost every afternoon.
And to be honest, I. LOVE. NAPPING.
With the under producing thyroid, I could nap in the afternoon and still be tired enough to head for bed at 9.00 pm.
As relaxing as this sleep enhanced routine may be, it seriously impinges on getting any productive accomplished.
I can't imagine any of my afternoon classes being thrilled with me cancelling because I need a nap.
The other explanation for my increased tiredness was that the depression that plagues the people in my family, coming primarily from my mother's side, was rearing it's ugly head.
Wanting to sleep all the time is one of the red flags for depression.
And with a bipolar mother, and other relatives who suffered from a host of mental illnesses, I do not play with depression.
I have in the past and the results have been less than enjoyable.
Something was up.
Obviously something had to be done.
Under producing thyroids are far more appealing than increasing depression.
Both require meds.
But only one requires therapy.
And I just don't think there's room on the giant Mom calendar for any therapy sessions.
At the beginning of the fall term, sleep is usually elusive as I come to grips with the end of summer and the busyness-bordering-on-psychotic-ness of the first semester.
Of course, sleep may be somewhat easier to come by if I wasn't awakened in the late hours of the day to Stephen trying to garner a peace treaty among the cats.
More specifically, between Goblet and the two new cats.
While she is now venturing downstairs in the wee hours of the morning for food and the litter box, our Goblet is still most reluctant, actually downright determined to not spend any time socializing with the Jazz and Dibbles.
Resulting in my being pulled from the warmth and comfort of fleeting slumber by my husband's voice, as he sits in our upstairs hallways attempting to broker a peace agreement with Goblet.
Holding her, he sits at the top of the stairs, outlining all the reasons why she should be more welcoming of our new residents.
Reasons that are good for her and good for Jazz and Dibs.
I listened him for about five minutes, before I asked him, in less than a loving wife tone of voice, to cease and desist his feline peacemaking activities because some of us were actually trying to sleep.
But it didn't take me that may words.
Believe me.
If you insist upon trying to reason with the unreasonable, at least do it on your own time, during daylight hours.
Title Lyric: Calendar Girl by Neil Sedaka
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