I woke up this morning feeling out of sorts.
Rather, I finally gave up and rolled out of bed to start the day — feeling out of sorts.
I wonder why I’m tired all the time. Duh. A recap of last night: I fell asleep on the couch at 10. Crawled to bed at 11. Sophie came in at midnight (I sent her back to bed). I got up at 2 to pee. Ray got up at 2:30 to let the dog out. Sophie came in again at 5:30 (I sent her back to bed — again). Ray got up to take a shower at 6. Sophie came in at 6:01.
“It’s morning time!” she announced, and I wondered how she can be so perky with so little uninterrupted sleep. I coaxed her into bed and we rolled around for a while, as I tried to convince her it was still really early. When she popped up and ran out of the room, I finally swung my legs over the side of the bed, knowing this was it.
“I might be a little depressed,” I thought to myself, as I stared at the laundry baskets filled with toys and other girly accoutrement (notebooks, costume jewelry, sewing materials, purses) waiting to be organized neatly and put away in Annabelle’s room.
Ha. Like that will happen any time soon. I sit in my office surrounded by piles and swear that when I’m done with this blog post, I’ll close my door, light my pinot noir scented candle (the closest I’ll get to getting drunk any time soon, I’ll think grumpily), crank Pandora and do a little organizing.
Or I’ll continue to idly wander around Facebook, my several email accounts and other random sites, looking for news. Actually, I found some today: The Arizona Republic, the daily paper here, is having a second round of furloughs.
Whether I get to help break it or not, I think I need a break from bad news.
At the very least, I need to stop listening to NPR.
Or maybe, as the song goes, I need some of that old time religion.
I wish. Truly, I’d love to hand my cares (about my family’s health, Sophie’s services, first grade, Annabelle’s happiness with a special needs sister, the state of the journalism industry, let alone the economy) over to a higher authority. But it just ain’t happening — once you’ve embraced agnosticism (is that a word?) it’s pretty impossible to turn back.
What about the girls, though? Religious education: Something else to get depressed about — that I still haven’t done it, that when I do try to instigate it Ray will argue (rightfully) that we’re too busy to add another activity to the girls’ schedules.
Maybe we’re not.
On Friday night, Ray went to play guitar with a friend. The girls and I had an impromptu dinner party — Thai food and a trip to Yogurtini, our new fave — with Ms. X. It was a lovely night.
We got home, and out of nowhere, Sophie reached up and turned out the light in the dining room and held her hands over her eyes, like our friend Anna does when she’s lighting the Sabbath candles.
I’ve never seen Sophie do that so randomly. Yes, if someone lights a candle, she might put her hands up and pretend to say the prayer.
But this was completely out of the blue. Or was it?
It was a total coincidence that it happened to be Friday, not long after sunset, the beginning of the Jewish sabbath. Or was it?
I left the light out and grabbed a candle (forgive me if you’re up there, Lord, it was a kumquat-scented travel candle — at least it wasn’t the pinot noir one!) and lit it and the girls put their hands over their eyes and I said the prayer, stumbling when I got to the end and made it the prayer for Hanukkah, not Shabbat, only showing myself how long it had been.
Maybe we need some religion in our house. Or maybe I just need to get off my butt and clean up. Either, I think, would be a miracle.