Now you know why I'm crabby all the time

Sleep, slumber, 40 winks, visiting the Land of Nod; whatever you call it, I need it. I'm an 8-hour a night kind of girl. Oh, I'm not saying I get 8 hours... rather, that's the minimum requirement if I hope to even remotely resemble a human being the next day and not some quivering mass of cranky, useless goo.

But staying up too late, having troubles falling and staying asleep, and having a child that requires nighttime intervention a few nights a week have hugely diminished my sleeping abilities.

That is why when Elise's piercing shrieks awoke me at 5:45 this morning (totally not her fault, the poor girl is teething... at almost 19 months, she still has only 4 teeth and I think the rest of them are erupting simultaneously), I was utterly dismayed to remember that I had been dreaming about grocery shopping before I woke up.

Seriously, subconscious? Even when I'm asleep, I still have to do drudge work? It's supposed to be a time for rest! There was one interesting part where I was talking about the band KLF to another shopper, mentioning that they had done a duet with Tammy Wynette. Why my brain decided to dig up this nugget of information, I'll never know.

I woke up as I was meandering towards the bread section with a coupon in hand. Hah... I'm cheap even in my dreams.

Hopefully tonight I won't be dreaming of doing something like scrubbing the toilets, folding laundry or vacuuming; I work hard enough during the day to avoid those tasks, I shouldn't have to do it at night too.

Listen to the Music

My daughter is now at the age where she considers herself to be quite the connoisseur of music. The girl adores any and all audio entertainment, and loves to groove. Especially in the car where she's become very vocal about it. As soon as I get into the car, after putting her in her car seat, she says, "more, more, more, more." Which means, "Dear Mother, would you be so kind as to depress the button that starts the melodious harmonies that entertain me so? I would be ever so grateful." Like Fred, my daughter also has a British accent in my head.

I've tried to trick her, and play my Ipod from time to time. For some reason, she likes my tunes at home, but if I try this in the car, her response is, "Nooooooo.... more, more, more, more?" If I try to ignore her, she just gets louder and more whiny.

So we've stocked up on CDs of (very annoying) children's songs. I did buy the Barenaked Ladies "Snacktime" CD, and she'll tolerate it to a degree, but nothing resonates with her like "Down By the Bay", or "B-I-N-G-O". I've also thought about buying the "They Might be Giants" children's CDs, but I'm a little unsure of how they differ from regular TMBG stuff. Having said that, I don't think you can ever go wrong with They Might Be Giants.

Elise is especially fond of a CD of Portuguese songs that was sent to us by a friend of Fred's. There's one song about an owl that she loves and asks for it by hooting. I now know pretty much all the lyrics to these songs, but have nary an idea what I'm singing about.

The songs I do understand the lyrics to, well... have you ever noticed that children's songs are a bit weird? Have you ever really listened to them? Take "Frog went A-Courtin'". According to this song, Mr. Frog, packing a firearm and a sword, went riding over to Miss Mouse's house (where he had often been before - hmmm, what does THAT mean?). The frog, wants to marry the mouse, but she can't until she asks her Uncle Rat (what kind of screwed up family tree is this?) for permission.

Apparently, Uncle Rat is down with this and goes off to by his niece a wedding dress. I'm not sure what woman in her right mind would trust a guy with this task, but whatever. The happy couple decide to wed in a hollow tree (who needs a beach in Hawaii when you've got a decaying stump, am I right?), and the guest list includes; a moth, a jig-dancing flea, a fiddle-playing bumble bee, and a cow that can't dance. Anyone else wonder why this last guest is about 100 times bigger than everybody else?

So the frog decides to get married naked, because the song tells us he was dressed in green. That would be like Fred waiting at the alter to marry me in a flesh-coloured tuxedo. Just... weird. The odd couple get married by a bird, there's singing and dancing and then they jet off to France to honeymoon. I guess frogs and mice aren't on the no-fly list.

Seriously, the whole song is like a really bad acid trip. Well, since I've never done drugs, it's what I think an acid trip would be like. But alas, my daughter likes it, so Frog will be a-courtin' in my car for many years to come. Uh-huh.

Speaking of Morrisey...

I'm not a huge football fan. I never grew up watching it and I prefer sports with less standing around and more action; like hockey. But Fred enjoys watching it, and has become a Cowboys fan since we moved to Dallas. So on Sundays I'll indulge him, and sit with him while he watches the game. Besides, I've found it a wonderful way to lull me into a Sunday afternoon nap.

This past Sunday I was cutting out coupons while the game was on. During one commercial break, there was a promo for the NFL on Fox with a very familiar song in the background. I turned to Fred, "was that Morrisey I just heard? Please tell me the NFL is not using a Morrisey song for their commercial!"

Well, it was... but not really. And they are... sort of. What I heard was some horrible, countrified version of The Moz's Everyday is Like Sunday. Yikes. It was... terrible. I couldn't believe that Morrisey would actually agree to such a thing, but it was actually a promo for the NFL on Fox, so Fred informed me that Fox doesn't need his permission.

My question is, who picked this song and why? I'm not really sure a song about depression and boredom with lyrics like:

In the seaside town

that they forgot to bomb

Come, come, come - nuclear bomb

is really a good fit. I picture some guy googling songs for his promo, "hmmm, the song's gotta have Sunday in it. So, let's just type in; songs, Sunday, lyrics... hit search. Let's see, Sunday Bloody Sunday? That sounds good. Tell Me on a Sunday? Nah. Ohhh, what's this one? Everyday is Like Sunday? Perfect!" I'm guessing he's never actually heard the song or read the rest of the lyrics.

As Fred said to me, "it would be like using Queen's 'I Want to Break Free' for a Prison Break promo." Heh. Fred. He makes me laugh.

Is the Economy Really THAT Bad?

Tough day today. Elise has been pretty sick this week, and it all came to a head today. My day consisted of:

• Holding a clingy, feverish baby most of the morning while trying to check her sugars, check for ketones, and juggle calls from the pedi's office and the endo's office. At some point I recall eating an apple.
• Taking said baby to the pedi's, and watching them inflict torturous exams on her while she screamed and struggled in my arms. Unfortunately her regular doc was off today so we had to see a doc that was a total stranger to Elise. This did not help matters.
• Return home, and hold a clingy, feverish baby the rest of the afternoon.

Didn't leave much time for the making of dinner. When Fred came home, I asked if he minded me running a few errands. As a thank you, I told him I'd pick up some Chick-fil-a (his absolute favourite - the man would eat it every day if possible) on my way back. My errands took me to Southlake, so I hit up the Chick-fil-a there.

Because their drive-thru is always packed, I parked and went inside to order. As I was placing my order, the guy interrupted me to tell me he could give me the chicken, but no fries. Pardon? Because English was totally not his first language, I thought something might have been lost in translation. What I asked him to repeat himself, he told me the same thing and then looked at me like this was totally normal.

I looked around, and a customer at another register was receiving fries. And I could see fries stacked up in the little fry container holder-thingy. I even saw an employee dumping fresh fries into the fry bin. So I pointed and asked, "Um, aren't those fries?"

At this point he gets the manager who explains to me that those fries are already spoken for. He then walks away. At this point I'm starting to wonder if I'm on some hidden camera show, because it all seems so weird. The cashier looks at me expectantly, and I try once more. "You really have no fries?"

Another employee walking by tells me that they've run out. All the fries are gone. No fries for you (okay I added that last part myself)!

Is there some sort of fry shortage because of the bad economy? Should I start hoarding fries? Is the price of fries going to soar so only people like Paris Hilton (who probably wouldn't be caught dead eating a french fry) can afford them? I'm a little bit worried.

So what do I do? I grab a handful (or five) of their mints, leave, and drive to the Grapevine location; where the fries flow like rainfall in Vancouver.