Tuesday, February 7

A good laugh and a long sleep are the best cures in the doctor's book. [Irish Proverb]

Enough of these grumbling, Debbie Downer posts. I feel like a new woman. As Anne would say, tomorrow (today?) is always fresh, with no mistakes in it. Yet.

Our dogs were quiet last night, yinz!

Well, quiet might be an exaggeration. They play-wrestled and romped, and Teddy yanked the lamp's electrical cord out with his sharp little teeth (I know, I know). But there was very, very minimal whining in the crate.

We made basic spaghetti with basic marina sauce for dinner, and it was delicious. Almost as delicious as our planned shrimp fra diavolo feast would have been, had I not accidentally roasted all the garlic over the past few weeks, leaving a measly two cloves for our cooking purposes last night. And for our diavolo recipe, we need twelve cloves. Vampires, beware.

I also discovered a delectable sparkling white wine, and Kyle found his very own pear-vodka nirvana. Both of which, clearly, have absolut-ly nothing to do with our our respective good moods.

(Probably. Wait, no.  Possibly.)

And then, yea and verily, both Bailey and Teddy slept downstairs. For a solid 8 hours.

In the shower this morning, I couldn't believe how awake I felt. For the first time in a week, my head was clear. What a beautiful thing.

I've never been one of those "I'll sleep when I'm dead" types. The ones who feel like naps are a waste of time, like they should be doing something productive rather than turning in early or sleeping in late. No, thank you. Sleep is the nectar of the gods for this girl, and heaven help the people who must live with me when I haven't had enough of it, especially for several days in a row.

Something tells me that, when we have children, I will be a big believer in Ferberizing. Like with Teddy.

Cry it out, my darling. Cry it out.

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