Ticked Off

When I was about 8 years old my older sister checked out a book from the school library. She read it, loved it, and insisted I read it too, so naturally, I did. It had witches, warlocks, black magic, and an eponymous clock somewhere inside the walls of the house where it eternally ticks, attempting to pull the world into magical alignment and eventually destroy it. This book wasn’t like anything else I had ever read. Sure, all the Judy Blume and Beverly Cleary books lined my shelf, the spines worn from having read them over and over, but this book was different.  It was called, “The House With A Clock In Its Walls.” I think about this book from time to time and how it affected me. In fact, I still check it out from the library and re-read it every 5 years or so just for kicks.

A few weeks ago I was awakened to the sounds of Baby Olive whimpering in her crib. I got up, fed her, and got back in bed. Usually I can go right back to sleep, but this time I was wide awake. The house was dark and quiet, even my husband was sleeping silently next to me, and it occurred to me that I heard a clock ticking somewhere…
…tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock…

I tried to drown out the sound with my thoughts, but I swear it got louder and louder…
…tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock…

Finally, unable to take it anymore, I threw the blanket off my legs and sat up in bed. I have a cute, little white alarm clock I keep on my nightstand. I was sure I had never heard it ticking before, but grabbed it anyway to power it down. Holding the clock to my ear like a seashell, I heard nothing. How strange. I crept down the hallway, hoping to not disturb Olive and made my way to the living room. I have an old-fashioned avocado green school house clock near my front door. It had to be the culprit! Do you remember sitting in class, taking a test in near pure silence, and all you could hear was the kid next to you deeply sighing with every click of the second-hand from the big clock on the wall? That is what this sounded like. I took it off the wall to remove the AA battery, but weirdly, the battery was dead. The clock was stuck at 11:13 and wasn’t making a sound. Frustrated, I got back in bed and turned on the tv, eventually falling asleep.

That Sunday, we got up and headed to church (AKA The Flea Market.) Within minutes of our arrival, I found a fantastic square shaped bright yellow plastic clock with a large round face. It was $2 and I had to have it. Later that evening, Jose put a battery in it and hung it above the sink in the kitchen. It was lovely. A few nights later, Baby Olive woke me up for her usual 3:00 am feeding. We did our thing and I got back in bed. After laying there for a few minutes I heard the sound again…
…tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock…

One thing I have learned in life is that of you try to ignore something, there more apparent it will become. I swear, with each passing second, the louder the click became. Exasperated, I once again crept down the hallway in search of the nefarious clock. I turned on the little light above the stove and heaved myself up, my bare feet tip-toeing across the counter so I could reach my yellow clock. With one foot in the sink and the other on the drainboard, I reached up to silence. The clock read 3:35 am, the second hand was moving, and not a peep was heard. The Flea Market clock was not the culprit. Ugghhhh. Not knowing what else it could be, I got back in bed, but not before turning on the tv. I fell asleep to an infomercial about a nearly indestructible copper pan and if you ordered in the next 15 minutes you would get the most amazing potato peeler ever created as a bonus gift! (Just pay additional shipping and handling.)

Last night, right on cue, Baby Olive woke up for her middle-of-the-night feeding. After getting her taken care of, I climbed back in bed and cuddled up next to my sleeping husband, me being the big spoon and him being the little spoon. Just as I got myself comfy, I heard it again…
…tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock…

Not knowing where any other clock in the house was, I grabbed my phone to light the way. I searched the whole house, even inspecting the digital clocks on the oven, microwave, and coffee pot to no avail. Where could this be coming from? After an exhaustive effort, I gave up, put my phone on the charger, got back in bed, and squeezed my eyes shut. Gradually, I began to hear it again and as the time passed, it got louder and louder…
…tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock…

Suddenly, it occurred to me that I was living the book! Was there a mysterious clock hidden somewhere in the walls of my house, counting down to the end of times? Was I a good witch tasked with the burden of finding the clock and destroying it before mankind ceases to exist? Or was I just going insane, hearing something that was never there in the first place? Maybe I was just an exhausted 41 year-old mother of an 8 month baby, but yet, the clock kept clicking…
…tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock…

I woke up earlier than usual this morning, just before 6:00 am. Luckily, last night me prepped the coffee so that today me could just press the start button. Once the sugar was added and stirred, I grabbed my mug and snuck into the master bathroom to survey my closet. I stood there trying to match a skirt to my new blouse (another awesome Flea Market find) and I heard it again!
…tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock…

Now, I know there are no clocks in my bathroom and I had the door closed. Looking around, I tried to figure out where it was coming from and there, right in front of my face was the answer I had been searching for for weeks! It turned out, the clock I was hearing wasn’t a clock at all and the tick-tock wasn’t a second hand ticking. There wasn’t a clock hidden in the walls of my house, the end of the world wasn’t nigh, and I wasn’t a good witch tasked with facing the forces of evil trying to end the world…

…It was a drip… From my shower… Little droplets of water coming down in perfect one second intervals, hitting the plastic top of my Oil of Olay body wash just right so that it sounded like a clock.
…drip-drop, drip-drop, drip-drop, drip-drop…

I am, in fact, an exhausted 41 year old mother of an 8 month baby that also happens to have a very active imagination. Plus, I need my shower looked at.

 

I AM TIRED

I haven’t been sleeping very well lately. I have the most uncomfortable mattress. It is so firm, sometimes I’m convinced that I’m sleeping on concrete. I want to buy a pillow-top mattress pad, but I haven’t yet. I’ll add that to my already long to-do list. Being pregnant isn’t helping the sleeping situation. I wake up periodically through the night for no apparent reason and I never used to do that. Plus, I have to keep reminding myself that I must only sleep on my left side and that doesn’t do any favors for my neck and left shoulder.
When I finally give up, usually around 6:30 am, I get out of bed tired. I make the coffee, even though I rarely drink it (due to the baby) and even though I could really use it because I am so tired. I put away the clean dishes in the drying rack from the night before, get myself dressed, and go to work.
Once I get to work, I dive into all the emails and voicemails that came in over night. It’s our busy season so I try to do these before the phones start going berserk. I may sit all day, but my job is mentally exhausting, which, in turn, becomes physically exhausting. Sometimes I feel like it sucks the life from my soul.
After a nearly 10 hour work day, I clock out and head to the grocery store. Yes, I go shopping every day. For some it’s a chore, but I enjoy it. Generally, it is the only time of the day I get to myself and I’m the type of person that needs a little bit of “me-time.” I like to plan interesting meals for my family.
I struggle through the door, grocery bags in hand, cutting off the circulation to my brain, set the bags on the table, and take a look around. I am tired of finding a sink full of dirty dishes when the kitchen was spotless when I left for work. I am tired of seeing half full (or half empty) water bottles strewn about the place. I am tired of dishes not at least being rinsed. I am tired of trying to put the groceries away only to find the fridge and pantry in disarray, even though last nights leftovers were placed away in an organized manner.
Once I get the dishes washed and re-clean the kitchen, I get started on dinner. I review my recipes, make sure I have all my ingredients, and follow the directions. While that is going, I head to my room to make the bed. I know it seems silly to make your bed at 6:30 in the evening, but I feel better when it’s put together. I have a new bed set and I love it so much. As I arrange the pillows and comforter just perfectly so, everything looks so inviting, I want to climb in and make “sheet angels” before I drift off to slumber because I am so tired…
but I am not fooled. I know that bed won’t provide the comfort I am after.
Dinner is looking good, the house is smelling delicious, things are coming together, and I make the table. I start to look around, satisfied. Chaos replaced with normalcy.
My legs are sore and my feet are throbbing. I want to sit on the sofa and stare into space, but I know I’ll just notice the dust bunnies rapidly reproducing on the TV and stand. I’ll notice the floors need to be swept and mopped and that the chair needs my dogs slobber cleaned from the upholstery. I’ll add that to my to-do list. I keep pushing myself, but damn, I am tired.
Jose gets home from work and we all sit to eat. All my careful menu planning, selecting the perfect groceries, meticulously following the recipe directions, and carefully setting the table sometimes seems all for naught. In less than 15 minutes, the meal has been devoured, the table a mess, and a pile of dirty dishes await my washing. I desperately want to leave it all for tomorrow because I am oh-so-tired, but I know I’ll regret it if I don’t, so I do.
Once everything is done, the clean dishes drying on the rack, the leftovers carefully put away in the fridge and pantry, the counters wiped down, and the kitchen spotless, I realize I need to breathe. Just as I am about to give up for the night, throw in the towel, put on my nightgown, settle in for some downtime, and hopefully get some rest, I’m caught off-guard. Maybe it’s a call from my daughter asking for a ride home from work, or a text from my son asking me to take him to Hastings, or my husband telling me about a concert in the park that night and that all our friends will be there.
Honestly, I don’t want to do any of these things. I am tired. I want to lay down, I want to relax. I want to not do anything, but I do. I fluff my hair, slap on my lipstick, hop in the car and go do what I need to do.
I know what you’re thinking. You think I should take some time for myself. You think I should learn to say “no.” You think I should sometimes let those dirty dishes wait until morning or that it’s not so bad to get into an unmade bed.
The thing is, at the end of the day, after I’ve done all these things, my reward isn’t sleep. My reward is the self-satisfaction of knowing what I’ve accomplished. My reward is the hug I get from my child, and the words, “Thank you so much, Mom! I love you.” My reward is laying my head in my husbands lap on the sofa while he massages the knot from my shoulder, even after I’ve drifted off to sleep. My reward is crawling under the covers of my recently made concrete bed, lying down (on my left side only,) me being the little spoon, my husband kissing the back of my neck, his arm around me, caressing my pregnant belly. And you know what?

…I’ll never get tired of that.

**UPDATE**
I wrote this Saturday and didn’t post it to social media. When I got home, I was exhausted. I did notice the dirty dishes in the sink and I did notice the empty water bottles strewn about the place. I knew I needed to go to the grocery store and I was aware dinner needed to be made. I sat on the bed for a moment and the next thing I knew, it was almost 8pm! Jose had come home, decided to let me nap (said he figured I needed the rest) gone to the store, washed the dishes, cleaned the fridge, made dinner, and handled business. I swear that man knows what goes on inside my head and that is something else I will never get tired of.