Insomnia

So. It's 2am. Dillon and Mackenzie are snug in their beds upstairs, Tater came home about 11 and promptly passed out from sheer exhaustion, and here I am, wandering the ugly beige tile floors of our government-issue cinder-block castle.

I'm wondering if my insomnia has anything to do with the 5 chocolate-chip cookies I ate for dinner.

(Speaking of which...)

So I got my Martha Stewart mag for October and she has this article in there about the best chocolate chip cookies ever. Well, I can't take her at her WORD, for Christ's sake - her ass is headed to the big house for lying! I actually made the cookies out of spite. Just to prove that she doesn't know everything - Mrs. Smartypants. Well, I think she's going to have the last word when I gain about 5 pounds. I bow down to her expertise and kiss the ground on which she walks (with perfectly pedicured toes and loofaed heels, I'm sure). She wins this round.

Never take your 8 year-old to yoga. School was out today so I thought it'd be a good idea to take her along. After all she likes ballet. But after about 10 minutes of gentle stretching she was bored almost into a coma and dragged out her bag-o-goodies (she obviously had less faith in herself than I did and came prepared) and spent the next 45 minutes fidgeting around with a puzzle book. I could not relax for fear that she was disrupting the other ladies and I was going to be chased from the yoga room and banned from future classes. Of course, things are so casual here that that didn't happen, and I'm sure no one even really cared, but the point here, (is all about me)...oh, darn. I forgot the point. It IS 2:19 am.

The point: If you take your 8 year old to your free yoga class then you won't get anything out of it and you might as well have stayed at home in your PJ's drinking coffee and watching "The Today Show". That's the point.

Now I'm going to read a bit. With any luck I won't finish a whole page and wake up on the couch tomorrow morning refreshed and without a sore back...