The Life and Times of Poopwa Foley

Archive for the ‘relaxing’ Category

For a while, I wasn’t sleeping at all at night.  Total insomnia.  To the point that I started worrying a little bit after oh, say 9:00 p.m.  I built it up in my head.  I know I won’t be able to sleep.  I know it.  I’ll get into bed and lay there for hours.  I was tired, exhausted even; but the minute my head hit the pillow I laid there, wide awake. 

here’s me.  not sleeping.

Things got better for a while, thanks to my good friend Southern Comfort.  I was able to break through whatever it was keeping me awake and actually get some real rest at night.  Whatever cycle I had been experiencing was over, apparently.  
 
At least, that’s what I thought. 
 
It was a Sunday like many other Sundays.  The cars started. It rained but we didn’t get water in our basement.  The dog didn’t run away.  Dinner was good.  Nothing earth shattering.   
 
However, Sunday night around 10:30 p.m., my husband and I kissed each other good night, as we always do, cuddled for approximately 10.7 seconds until it got wayyyy too hot, and then turned over to our respective spots.  I hadn’t even given my sleeplessness a thought.  I burrowed further into the covers.   

And laid there.  A half hour went by.  I knew my husband was awake.  He knew I was awake too because he says my eyes make a sound when I blink.   

We laid there some more.  And laid there.  Another half hour went by and…  

…we’re still awake.  And I’m thinking, what the hell?  

I get up and pee to break the monotony.  I am quiet and careful, reluctant to jostle my husband or bounce the bed.  I know where the squeaky floorboards are and avoid them, drawing on years of experience with fretful babies and a father who worked midnights.  I don’t use any lights, even in the bathroom.  I climb back into bed with the stealth of a ninja. 

Having taken care of that, I snuggle back down.  I think, any time now I’ll fall fast asleep.  I close my eyes and try to count sheep but end up mentally composing a story about them instead. 

I hear my son come in at midnight.  He doesn’t wake me up because I’m not asleep.  He knows after years of sneaking in how to hold the bells on the door so they don’t make a noise when he opens it.  He too is familiar with the floorboards and is able to avoid the squeaky ones.  He pees and goes to bed.   

Now my husbandgets up to pee.  He is not silent and careful like I am.  He was a bachelor for 45 years and never had to be quiet for a sleeping wife or child.  Everyone knows he’s up because he uses every light he can on the endless ten foot trip to the bathroom.  He has owned the home longer than my children have drawn breath and yet doesn’t know the path to take on the wooden boards to avoid making excess noise. 

He stomps back to our room and swings himself back into bed like an orangutan, then proceeds to thrash around on the bed trying to get comfortable.  Good God, I think.  He moves more than a kid in a bouncy house. 

Unbelievable.  I wait until he is settled and I blink several times in a row, loudly, in retaliation. 

Shortly after he gets back to bed, my daughter is up.  She has inherited her mother’s ability to walk catlike in a sleeping household.  She also has inherited her mother’s sneakiness and I know she’s going outside to have a cigarette.  She is fooling no one.    She too knows to hold the bells on the door as she comes back in and creeps back to her room, stopping in the bathroom, also to pee. 

Ok, I think.  Now that we’ve all ensured there would be no bedwetting, we’ll all get to sleep. 

Husband whispers to me.  “Are you awake?”
 
I whisper back. “Yes, what’s the deal with this?  I’m so tired and I just can’t fall asleep!  Is there some giant geometry test I didn’t study for?  A project I didn’t turn in?  Because the only time I can’t sleep is when I’m fretting.  And for the life of me, I don’t have anything to really fret about.”
Husband whispers again. “I can’t sleep either!  And I think Annie is smoking!”
No shit, Sherlock, I think.  Only for like six months now.  Out loud, I say, “Gosh, I hope not.”  And then I think, why are we whispering, anyway?  We’re all awake.
During the course of the sleepless night from hell, husband ends up sleeping in the living room on his chair.  I must be experiencing some sort of menopausal symptoms, as I am either freezing or too hot, and eventually make my own way out to the living room as well where I lay wide eyed on the couch for two hours, with a floor fan three inches from my face.
4:41 a.m.  I haven’t slept at all.  I briefly drift off and dream I’m in a wind tunnel.
4:42 a.m.  Husband turns on a new age music channel on cable.  It reminds me of the nightmare that was his deviated septum surgical recovery and I fight the urge to throw up.
5:00 a.m.  We should probably just stay up.  However, I don’t come from a family of quitters.  I get up and stumble down the hallway to the much more comfortable bed and that’s all I remember, because I sink into the most blissful sleep anyone has ever experienced. 
For about one hour.  It’s not enough.  I’m so tired and frustrated I want to punch someone.  However, it is at this time I smell fresh coffee. 
One thing my husband manages to do quite well is the coffee.  And I firmly believe that today, it’s probably saving his life.

 
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I woke up this morning with a terrible guilty conscience.  I actually smoked a cigarette while laying in bed right next to my husband, and when I was done with it, I put it out in a plastic cup with half an old beer in it.  Sooooo sexy.

because I’m pretty sure I was wearing this in my dream. 

Other people dream about winning the lottery, or playing baseball, or having sex with Brad Pitt.  (for the record, Brad Pitt is not anywhere on my to-do list.)

But what do I dream about?  Smoking and putting it out in a nasty, warm cup of beer?  What is THAT all about? 

I looked it up in my dream journal and there were several blatherings on about what it could mean to smoke in your dream.  The biggest one was that “to use it warns you against enemies and extravagance.”   Well, that really made me laugh because those who know me know that I am not close to extravagant.  That is unless you count bringing two cheese sticks to work instead of one extravagant.  Then hell yes, I am.  I like cheese, all right?

And enemies?   I don’t have any.  Well, there was that lady at the grocery store who eyed my typed grocery list enviously.

What did catch my attention was the part where they discuss what it means to dream about liquor

“For a woman to dream about drinking or handling liquor foretells for her a happy Bohemian kind of existence.  (yes, that’s true.) She will be good natured but shallow minded.  (shallow minded, yes, yes, also true.)  To treat others, she will be generous to rivals, and the indifference of lovers or husbands will not seriously offset her pleasures or contentment.”  (How do they KNOW ME like this?)

I was surprised that the book says nothing about laying next to your husband smoking a cigarette on the sly and then putting out a cigarette in a plastic cup of beer.  Hm.  It would seem to me that this type of dream would be had by a great many people and an entire chapter should be devoted to it.  Surely I can’t be the ONLY ONE.

However, I think sometimes the interpretive dream books sometimes miss the point altogether.  Sometimes your dreams are as simple as you saw something on TV, or a certain conversation you had, or what you saw on line or heard at work.  For instance, I dream about writing a lot.  Makes sense, since I write a lot.  I dream about babies because I have a new granddaughter.  I dreamed about smoking because sometimes I miss it, even though I quit back in 1999.

As for the beer, I think they nailed it. 

I’m a good natured Bohemian-like, laid back kind of gal, and I like to drink.

Welcome to my world!

spoiler alert…(don’t read if you don’t want to know who was voted off.)

Joe and I have been looking forward to this day for quite some time.

It’s the day the 25th season of Survivor starts!!!

We look forward to a lot of other shows, but those are a post for another day, because tonight was all about one show.  Survivor.

We had beer–Michelob Ultra, 95 calories, 2.6 carbs.  We got two pizzas from Papa Murphy’s–cowboy pizza, it was delicious, so don’t ask about the calories or carbs.  It’s the night Survivor starts, dammit.   We did skip the cookies, however.  Only because there aren’t any.  We’re not saints.

We selected the exact place on the couch we should park ourselves for maximum viewing pleasure…and then of course the dog had to go out, three times.  The pizza was delicious, the beer refreshing, the dog aggravating, the show interesting.

We marveled over how well you get to know the players now as opposed to other seasons, where the players were all nameless rabble until the final 10 or so.  Then you got to know them really well.

Not this season.  We got to see the good, the bad, and the ugly tonight, right off the bat.  I discovered that Jonathan, one of the medical evacuees who was allowed to return, sounds exactly like Alan Alda.  We like the petite brunette with the short hair who is a sex therapist.  We did not like the blond in the yellow bikini (a student, who ran track, and was miss former teen whatsit) or the brunette in the yellow bikini (a know-it-all investment banker, lying that she’s an executive assistant.)   They’re too giggly and have no idea what this show Survivor is all about…and didn’t even recognize Lisa Welchel, who played Blair on Facts of Life. 

They probably weren’t even born when that show was on.

Russell, another evacuee bought back, said he refused to take the leadership role, all the while forcing himself down the throat of his fellow campmates as…their leader.

No one else really stuck out, except for Zane, whom I we pretty much hated on sight. 



Jeff, welcome back to our humble living room.  Where you belong.

He was an idiot from the beginning, making alliances within the first 40 seconds with every single girl on the island.  Then making other alliances with other people.  And telling everyone everything.  Every time he got a shot at being on camera alone, he crowed about how he owned the game.  Apparently he’s never seen Survivor, because everyone who’s ever said he “owned the game” in fact did NOT own the game and were quickly sent home.

Zane was no different.  Bye Bye, Zane! 

Stay tuned for next week, when there will be a different delicious dinner, a new episode of Survivor, perhaps a new and unique place to sit on the couch but most importantly, we’ll be one week closer to Halloween! 

And I’ll be waiting.  AAAaarrrgghh, Maytee!



Soooooo ready for Halloween.  11 more days til D-Day…Decoration Day.





Despite being wracked with grief over the impending divorce of Katie Holmes from Tom Cruise, we were able to have a lovely Fourth of July*.  Busy?  Yes.  Fun?  Yes.  Family?  Some.  Beer?  Yes.  Oh, yes, please.
Not only did we have today off, about a week ago, after work, Joe and I packed, got our routine “drive” coffees and some candy, and then drove to his sister’s house in Wisconsin, arriving around 7:30 pm.



Yes, we actually stayed here.  It was gorgeous.



There, we met up with two of my husband’s sisters, Anita and Carla, and Joe’s mother Mary.  Also present:  Anita’s boyfriend Ron and Carla’s hubby John.  (Missing:  the last sister Lisa, her three kids, and all three of mine.)  Sadly, work schedules are extremely prohibitive sometimes.  L


Hey, turn around.  I’m taking a picture here.



But I digress.
We were there Thursday through Sunday afternoon.  A typical day consisted of getting up and having coffee, then taking a nice hour long walk looking at the pretty scenery.  It was also very hot.  It is beautiful, too, as you can see.  



Woops, wrong picture.  But still pretty darn cute.


That’s better. 

Did I mention it was hot?  By the time we got back, it was almost beer: thirty.  Time to get on the bathing suits and head down to the refreshing water after packing up a cooler and some reading material.  I was able to finish the book “The Litigators” by John Grisham (it was good), and Carla worked on the last book by Stieg Larsson, which I believe is “The Girl with the Tattoo Who Played with the Fiery Hornet’s Nest”.   She recommends it highly. 

We read.  We walked.  We ate.  We laughed.  We floated on our backs, on rafts, on noodles.  We hogged the cookies.  We drank one or two beers.  (cough *an hour* cough)  We played games of Sequence every night before the sun, fresh air, and liquid beverages caught up with us…then woke up to do it all again the next day.

We were on lake time.



A very serene Sunday except for the Loch Ness Monster sighting.

In short, it was an awesome (if somewhat abbreviated) vacation.  Good for the body, good for the soul. 

Not so great for the waistline.  Those vacation calories waited until I was asleep before slapping themselves all over my sunburned self. 
Stay tuned for the next article, tentatively entitled “The Girl Who Lost Weight by Running Away From a Hornet’s Nest.”
*interesting note.  Tom Cruise also starred in the movie “Born on the Fourth of July.” 

Father’s Day can be absolutely delicious.
This morning we woke up at a leisurely 9:30 and read the paper together with some strong coffee to get our eyelids open.  Although sometimes it seems as though there’s hardly anything actually IN the Sunday paper, I still love it, with all of the colorful ads of things I like to look at, although not necessarily buy.
After reading and caffeining, we put on our walking shoes and headed over to Baumann Park for a couple of laps; we think it’s about 2.5 miles, maybe a little bit more.  My aching muscles tell me it’s the “maybe a little more” part.
Back to the house for showers.  Joe took some leftover pasta salad and a brat to mama’s house for her dinner, then off to have a beer with friend Steve.  (Hey, it IS Father’s Day.  Who am I to argue?)
Besides, I had some serious errands to run…picking up a prescription, exchanging a shirt at Kohl’s and picking up some serious T Bones at Logli, which I promptly marinated.
Here they are, cooking on the grill:
Here’s the Grillmaster on his special day…I’m sure he’s thinking about me…



(Steak. Steak. Steak. Steak.)



Shrooms, lovingly cooked in ½ a beer, 3 tbs of butter, and some garlic powder.  These are quite heavenly piled up high on your T-bone.  Or pretty much right out of the pan.
Of course I’m a fungus.  But I’m a delicious fungus.
And of course, Sunday libations. 



Big Carla, on the right, obvy.  Notice how much bigger mine is than Joe’s.



yes, this is “Big Carl.”



On Cougartown, Courtney Cox has a wine glass that is the size of a pitcher of Koolaid that she affectionately calls “Big Carl.”  (see above.)
I have my own version that I have affectionately named “Big Carla.”  (More often than not, she is my writing partner.)
Tummies full, we’re catching up on some Deadliest Catch.  Still on the agenda:  cherry cheesecake. 
See?  Father’s Day can be delicious.
Happy Father’s Day to all you dads!!
You can smell the heather and freshly cut grass in the air.  The sun is shining down; the wind is blowing the perfect breeze to ruffle your hair just the littlest bit.  There are ducks and geese in the lake, some with downy babies comically following behind them. 
There are families fishing, people reading on the shores of the lake or on one of the many picnic tables or gazebos.  Many, many people are walking, biking, or rollerblading on the bike path, some with leashed dogs.
Where is this magical place, you ask?
It’s Baumann Park. 
Baumann Park is located at 300 South Walnut in the quaint, charming village of Cherry Valley.  It’s where lots of people go to enjoy the beautiful setting it presents…pretty much any time except winter, although I’m sure you could take some gorgeous pictures and go for a brisk walk in January, too.



Cabin in the Woods.  haha
It’s only about 10 short minutes from Rockford, and actually accessible from a bike path that runs parallel to Harrison Street.
Although you can’t put a boat in the water there, you can fish; the lake is stocked with bluegill, bass, and northern pike.  Be sure to have a fishing license, as there are policemen who actually come by and check. *  There are limits posted here and there so you know what exactly you can take home and fry up.



The Kishwaukee River.  Where I will never be.



On the other side of the bike path is the Kishwaukee River, where throngs of people are found on warm weekends during the summer putting anything that floats in the water and having one heck of a good time.  (author’s note:  I’m not exaggerating about how many people do this…sometimes it’s hard to find a parking spot…and they sure do make it look fun!)
It’s also an extremely popular spot for wedding parties and prom goers alike, due to the picturesque setting. 
Close to the bike path is also a baseball diamond.  For those with small children, there’s also a little playground; sometimes people grill their lunch of hot dogs or hamburgers nearby under the pavilion (which is for rent).  It makes those walking pretty hungry sometimes!
The total picture is really something else.  It is the complete embodiment of summer.  People tubing, the smell of hot dogs on the grill, the sun reflecting on the lake, squawking or singing birds, walking alone, as a couple, or with their dogs, the unbelievably fresh smell in the air…it is so nice.  Visiting this park definitely charges up your batteries as it’s one of the most serene parks this author has ever visited.
Get your pedometer or rollerblades; put on your walking shoes and sun block.  Go shake loose the stress of the day.  Grab some water to bring with you and enjoy the amenities of Baumann Park.  You will be glad you did.
*the police checked on fishing licenses for my daughters once.  They really do check.




It’s probably much, much greener now…2 months later.
It’s scarier than Insidious, more terrifying than Paranormal Activity, and far, far worse than the Exorcist.
It’s…bathing suit season. 
It’s February, I know.  Why should anyone be thinking of bathing suit season?  And with Girl Scout Cookie season in full swing, no less.  What are we, masochists?
Knowing hot weather is on the horizon is bad enough, but knowing that you don’t have three months left to diet, you only have one…that will slap the taste of Thin Mints right out of your mouth.
Here’s another thing that will turn that cookie taste to sawdust—actually taking two or three suits in your size into a tiny, yet horrifyingly bright fitting room with an excessive (I feel) number of mirrors.  
Oh wait, you just THINK they’re your size.  After squeezing, pouring, and contorting your body into one of them, you stare into the mirror, out of breath, and think to yourself, did the cottage cheese miss my mouth and stick to my thighs?  Did I misread the size on the tag?
Perhaps if I had eaten more cottage cheese, I wouldn’t be so scared of being alone in the fitting room with spandex.
Today my oldest daughter and I went to Plato’s Closet knowing they had scads of beautiful sundresses…just perfect for the warm weather and sunny beaches of the Riviera Maya…at prices just perfect for the budget.
This is actually Puerta Vallarta, but you get the idea.
I carefully chose 9 different swirly sundresses, certain that they would be perfect.  I tried on each one of them and, as a kindness to you, my friends; I will spare you the sordid details…suffice to say that out of the 9, I bought one.  And even that one is iffy…I kept the receipt. 
Let’s not even talk about the bathing suits.  I need one more week of dieting and perhaps some sort of sedative before I will even think of trying on bathing suits.
Before I do, though, I will grab a fresh cup of coffee study the floor plans of different department stores and figure out who’s got the fitting rooms with the fewest mirrors and the dimmest lights.
And nothing goes better with a fresh cup of coffee than a shortbread cookie. 

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  • Mary Fran Says: Thank you for contributing to Sweeps Week! We make a great team. Maybe we'll collaborate in our next lives? SISTERS! lol :)
  • Mary Fran Says: What's better than a Baby Shower aka Early Baby Birthday Party? Baby's FIRST Birthday Party! (Although it's hard to call them "baby" by one! They grow
  • Ann Jones: I'll have to check it out, thanks for the heads up!

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