Late in the Evening

They’ve gone baaaa-aaaaack. Let the classroom bells ring like a song across the land. Or like a Ricola commercial.

My son started second grade yesterday and my daughter began Kindergarten today — sort of. It seems that we will endure a two-week transition process to slowly ramp up her class — seemingly in 7-minute increments —  to a full day. Yes, over two weeks. She’s not going into the Army, for God’s sake. So, we’ll get her in a full-day schooling situation by mid-ish September.

But anyway. The start of a new school year. Ahhhh. Full of fresh promise like a blank PTA sign-up sheet.

I treat this time of year sort of like New Year’s Day and try to take the opportunity to try something new or drop some bad habits (hi, summer french fry and ice cream addictions ). This time, I’m going to make a real and honest effort to try and join the Land of the Semi-Rested.

You see, I have a terrible habit of staying up way too late at night.

I’m not an insomniac. I stay awake by choice. And I think it’s slowly killing me.

I’ve always been a night owl. But now, with three young kids (one of whom does not yet sleep through the night — that’s a story for another day), I should really consider the 10:00 news to be my cue for lights out instead of dusk.

I’m sure that many of you can relate to the fact that, by the time the kids go to bed and I eat dinner with my husband, the echoes of “Mommymommymommymommy” slowly begin to fade. And then I have time to begin the 1,565 things I didn’t accomplish all day long. They are usually transactional at first — bills, emails, etc. And then, for better or worse, I just want time that belongs only to me.

I really wish I could tell you I use this time, late at night, writing a novel, mapping out my meal plan for the month or devising a long-term investment strategy. But, no. Hell, no. Last night, for example, I fell down an Internet rabbit hole of car seat research until 1:22am.

(Please, try to contain your envy of my sexy late-night pursuits.)

When not writing a novel, one of two things happens next. Usually, I just lose track of time and press on with my mindless pursuits until about 1 or 2:00. But, more often than I tend to admit, I fall dead asleep on the couch, remote in hand, laptop perched on my legs (is it supposed to get that hot or have I been radiating myself unnecessarily?) —  and I wake up at some ungodly hour, with every light in the house on and my contact lenses singed into the back of my eyeballs. Then I head upstairs to my bedroom and, in an evil twist, the baby senses the precise moment my head hits the pillow and inevitably wakes up. That’s ok, because, hey, I can totally sleep in until 6:30. Sounds dreamy, doesn’t it?

Why can’t I just go to bed before midnight?



It’s a problem.

Clearly, I have been in denial by assuming I could still get by on the little amount of sleep that didn’t bother me for years. Now, the coffee I seek like a moth to the flame is no longer seeing me through. I am off my game and — OK, fine — I’m exhausted. There. It has been said. In writing.

All for what? Some bad Facebook updates (because, come on, nothing good can come of social media after midnight) and an extensive ability to compare the Late Night hosts on all three networks (Team Fallon here).

I need to make a change and go to bed at a decent hour. This is my school year mission.

Starting tomorrow.

<Finishes blog post. Time stamp: 1:44am.>



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