Stomach Irritation. Bowel Elimination. Sleep Deprivation.

There's a reason that sleep deprivation is used as a form of torture. It is terrible, truly terrible, at least for me.

I am a sleep Nazi. Ideally I require at least 7 to 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep. Eight hours spread throughout the night doesn't "count" for me. I need dreams, REM, and sleep so deep that restoration happens. I get up extremely early; I go to bed moderately early. Those who know me best don't dare call after 9:00 p.m., but also know that a 7:00 a.m. phone call will not only be answered, but in all likelihood I will have already worked out, showered, and eaten breakfast. I used Babywise on both my children because I wanted them to sleep all night: not so they would feel rested, not so they might gain a few IQ points, not because it's developmentally appropriate, but because I love a good night's sleep.

Lovely sleep hasn't been in the cards for me the last few days. Kiki woke me in the wee hours of Sunday morning with first, sobbing, then those horrible words, "I think I might throw up." On the sliding scale of ways I like to be woken up, with "Delicate sunlight awakes me naturally after 10 hours of happy dreams in a perfectly temperate room" at the top, and "House Fire" at the bottom, the barf-alarm is indeed above "House Fire" but still below "Air Raid." I only hope that in the event of an actual air raid or house fire that I can react with the lightning speed and clarity of thought that I can muster when racing to get my kid to the toilet before they puke in their beds or on me. The remainder of the morning was a haze of half-sleep and 20 yard dashes to the bathroom, right up until my church meetings started and Bruce took over.

(Sidebar: Every night I ask the girls what the "Rose" and "Thorn" were for the day, essentially the best and worst part of their day. Kiki said, "My thorn was when I frowed up. My rose was when I stopped frowing up.")

Sunday night was not much better: Bruce had an early flight for work Monday morning. He likes to sleep in a cold (not cool) room, and his idea of a temperature compromise is to not run the ceiling fan when he leaves the back door open and it is 40 degrees out. I was trying to sacrifice so that HE could have a good night's sleep before his early flight, but I don't know that he slept any better and I froze my can off all night.

Then last night, Kate woke me saying, "I think I have diarrhea because when I pee the water is brown." So today has been a repeat of Sunday only it's the other end of the other kid.

A word of warning: Perhaps you shouldn't call after SEVEN o'clock tonight.