Less Than Intelligent

A loose screw.  Not the brightest bulb in the box.  Light's on, but nobody's home. A couple bricks short of a load.  A few deacons short of a quorum.  Dumber than a box of rocks.

All of these phrases reflect one's intelligence--or lack thereof.

These phrases, and a few more, zipped through my head a short while ago.  My toddler was taking a nap and my preschooler was quietly playing on the computer.  I thought it'd be a good idea to take advantage of the peace and quiet and go lie down myself (three of the my four children took turns last night disturbing my REM cycles).  I had a small headache from the exhaustion and I thought taking some ibuprofen before getting bed would be helpful.  I grabbed a bottle of pills from the bathroom counter, filled a glass with water, put a pill  in my mouth, and swallowed.  It wasn't until I was nestled, all snug in my bed when I realized I had taken melatonin and not ibuprofen.

It was a less than intelligent decision.  ('Less than intelligent' is one of my go-to phrases I mutter when I'm unhappy about something.  I choose to say it instead of 'stupid' or 'dumb' because I don't want my children walking around saying those words about themselves.  However, I've never caught any of them accusing themselves of being less than intelligent.)

Melatonin is a little something we keep around the house, primarily for Maren.  A year ago, Maren's bedtime routine consisted of the typical stories and tucking-in, which would then be followed by 2-3 hours of  her begging for snacks, one more story, playing loudly in her room, screaming, and slamming doors.  It drained us every single night.  Until some angel friend recommended melatonin to me.  It's a hormone created in the body when it's preparing to go to sleep.  Just a little half pill at bedtime helps her relax, calm down, and quiets the fight in her that resists the restorative sleep her parents desire her little body needs.

So I was already pretty tired, and I had also spent a big chunk of the morning standing while doing the ironing.  I had just ingested a pill that would make me ever more tired, and I didn't have the luxury of 8 hours of nighttime to sleep it off.  For a few seconds I even considered gagging myself to throw it up.  But that sounded less appealing than being sleepy all afternoon, so I decided to close my eyes.

Now I'm awake (physically) and I expect my children to be home from school any minute.  I'm experiencing this funky haze which reminds me of my drowsiness-induced days of junior high when my mom gave me daily doses of antihistamines to battle my allergies.  I never told her how tired I was every day, all day long.  I don't remember how old I was when I made the mental connection between my tired stupor at school and the allergy medicine administered to me.  But I hastily quit taking the pills and was amazed at the clarity of mind I experienced in class from that time forward.

The best news about spending the afternoon in this hangover-like-state (I've never had a genuine hangover, so I'm just taking a stab at the comparison) is the fact my husband won't be home until after ten o'clock tonight.  Hooray!  I think we'll have oatmeal for dinner and I'll put the kids to bed early.  I have some ice cream with chocolate sauce calling my name....