God Grant Me The Serenity

I distinctly remember people in my childhood repeating the phrase "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change."

I don't remember who said it. Or what they couldn't change. But I know why I said it this morning. And who I said it about.

(If you haven't read my previous two blog posts, please do. It will give you all of the background information that you need to understand what I am talking about in this one. Of course, I have received enough emails from blog followers sharing similar stories, that most of you might be able to just follow along. )

All of last night, I found it impossible to sleep. I saw every hour on the clock. I blame the toddler who I heard shuffling towards my bed in feety pyjamas at 1am. This child likes to sleep diagonally. This leaves very little room for Mommy since Daddy sleeps like he is encased in concrete.

So this morning, when I heard the alarm clock, I couldn't wait for Jamie to turn it off. But it kept going. It's funny about alarm clocks. The longer they alarm, the louder they seem. It's purely psychological I am sure, but it is darn annoying. So I had to get up to turn it off.

I got back in bed, happy that Bridget hadn't been disturbed and I could get back to sleep, since Jamie was in the bathroom getting ready for work.

I had just fallen back to sleep when the alarm clock started going again. I had only hit the sleep button. Well now I am mad at Jamie for not turning it off in the first place. And at me, for not being smart enough to work an alarm clock.

I get up, unplug it to avoid another mistake and get back in bed.

I had just fallen back to sleep when I am being shaken awake.

"Aim, where are the frozen dinners?" asks Jamie. I open one eye, look him in the face. He isn't kidding. He really did just ask me that. We don't have a deep freeze. We only have the tiny freezer on top of the fridge.

"In the freezer," I say, doing my very best not to hiss.

"I can't find them," he says. Did you eat them?

He is now wondering if I at 13 frozen dinners- Yesterday.

"Move the bread," I say. No sorry, that's a lie. I growled.

He disappears.

With all of the whispering about bread and frozen dinners, Bridget is now awake and racing down the hall to follow her father downstairs.

As I navigate the stairs with sleep in my eyes, I am thinking, "God grant me the serenity. Surely, they don't do it on purpose. "

Still very tired, I get juice and cereal for Bridget, and then I park myself on the couch. Everyone is getting ready to leave for school and work. So they are going through the list of things they need to remember. Hat, gloves, key, agenda,

"Wait Aim, I can't find my hat!" Daniels says. "Where did you put it?"

I didn't put it anywhere. It's a red toque; it has a hole from too much wear and tear, and says UFC in huge letters. I would much rather a cold head than wear it. I suggest the closet, his book bag, his bedroom. None of which are good suggestions.

He finally settles on a black toque with the ever trendy General Electric symbol on it as his only option. Clearly he didn't 'see the red toque on his dresser when he went to check his room. Or it magically appeared when I looked after he was gone.

While Daniel waited in the car, I got to listen to Jamie. Who couldn't find his keys (in his pocket) or his IPod. I hate IPods-just because there is a constant dialog in my house about them. Where they are, who has whose, who forgot who's at whose house, who borrowed which sibling's headset, and the all too frequent, who broke whose. It's ridiculous. I don't even listen to music, though I should, to block out talk of IPods.

So as I am sitting on the couch, furious that I am out of bed because Jamie couldn't think to move the bread to find his microwavable lunches, I hear it. His grown man self said, "Hey Aim, did you see my Ipod?"

"No."

"Are you sure?" he asks; amazed that I wasn't offering up suggestions as to possible hiding places for tiny music playing devices.

"Yes."

"Well I can't find it." Of course he can't find it. He hasn't moved from where he was standing when he first realized he wanted to look for it.

I know exactly where the darn thing is. It's plugged into my laptop. My laptop, that is right in front of him- on the couch, where he left it, after plugging in his Ipod to charge it, right before he went to bed.

I realize I am not getting peace and quiet until this mystery is solved.

"When did you last have it?" I query.

"Last night, before I went to bed," he says.

"Where did you have it?" I press.

He answers me seriously, "I plugged it into your computer."

"Did you check the computer?" I ask. This is incredible.

"It's not there," he informs me.

Do you remember that I said I was sitting on the couch? Yes. I was sitting on the couch, next to the computer. And sitting on top of the black computer, is a lime green Ipod. In plain site of where he is standing.

'Oh?' I ask, unplugging it and tossing it at him.

He swears it wasn't there when he looked.

The only explanation I can offer was that the Ipod must have been in the freezer, looking for the frozen dinners at the exact moment he was looking at the computer. At the rate he is going lately with finding things, he is going to lose his bed in the old age home after I drop him off next week.