My daughter’s headed to winter camp soon, which she adores. This morning, over an increasingly plain-looking Greek yogurt parfait, she gushed about camp’s breakfast buffet. She loves the free time, the reconnecting with old friends.
But in light of her anxiety issues, and apparently a night last year when she laid awake till 2, she’s already nervous about getting to sleep.
(All those suggestions in the Help! My Kid Can’t Sleep post? Those are hard-won, peeps.)
So something very cool happened to me this week.
But to get there, allow me to tell you about the journey of a champagne bottle. (No scanning ahead, cheater.) This one, here.
I could tell you my son has energy. But that would be kind of like me telling you Bill Gates is kind of good at computers.
We’re on a sports rotation at my house. It is not because we love to be busy (we try not to be?), or love getting up on Saturdays for games (nope), or think he’ll be a star someday (odds are pretty slim).
This week I’ve been noodling a lot on 5’2″ powerhouse Rachel Hollis. So you would have find me nestled in a (digital) pile of articles, photos, and from an author’s standpoint, a bit of healthy intimidation. This woman’s a machine.
Hollis is a brand manager, social media maven, and owner of several companies. Her book, Girl, Wash Your Face, sold over 800,000 copies in 2018, plopping it in the top ten books sold in America last year…and she just released another.
Recently I noticed something curious as a friend described talking to herself.
She leaned forward. Her eyebrows turned down into arrows. She jabbed a pointer finger repeatedly, thumb held up like a pistol.
It was the second time in a week I’d misread her texts. GAH.
We’d been trying to go on a walk together, but if I wanted it to rain? I should just schedule a walk.
Maybe you know all too well that awkward, disappointing moment. When a spouse doesn’t step up.
When the person you’re married isn’t the spiritual hero. And then? Your kids ask about it.
It was the kind of article that makes you mentally cover your face with your hands. And then, bite your nails with the grimace still on your face.
And her words still rattle me. (They should.)
People think of sleep as one of the easiest things in the world. Babies can do it! (Though as one woman wrote, “I don’t want to sleep like a baby. I want to sleep like my husband.” Hear, hear.)
But I’ve noticed a weird amount of people around me now who have serious issues getting to sleep and staying asleep.
My thirteen-year-old and I sat across a sticky table from each other at the local donut shop. If I remember right, he had this maple-frosted thing that was the size of a small planet, totally at my permission (unusual for my Sugar Nazi tendencies). His tears had dried by now, leaving a whisper of salt on his cheeks.
“I just feel like I have more setbacks than wins,” he shrugged, so clearly in pain.
![Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language](https://www.janelbreitenstein.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/love-languages-text-1.jpg "Now You're Speaking My [Love] Language")
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