When I first started attending Shippensburg University, located in scenic Shippensburg, Pennsylvania, I noticed an interesting grammatical phenomenon. People tended to leave off the "to be" in their sentences that include the word "need". I will never forget the first time I heard (or rather didn't hear) it, a girl in my Eng 111 class stated her dorm room wall "needed painted". I'm pretty sure my head cocked to the side like a dog who wasn't sure they heard you right the first time. Is this really an acceptable turn of phrase? Would one use this type of phrase in a term paper?
Since then I have been acutely aware that there are people all over who just don't use the "to be" in their sentences. The dog needs walked. The lawn needs mowed. The trash needs taken out. Old people, young people, educated people, not so educated people, doesn't matter. I married someone who uses these types of phrases about half the time and this morning Madeline told me her "backpack needs washed".
Awesome.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Monday, May 2, 2011
Good night, sleep tight, don't let the flesh eating aliens bite.
Last night I finally turned off the tv sometime around midnight and as I rolled over to get comfortable I wondered what tonight's night terror would consist of. Would there be small aliens inside me trying to kill me (Joe is usually in on this plot by the way, what a dick)? Would one of our children be in grave danger? Would there be a litter of newborn kittens tangled in my bed covers, suffocating? Would the ceiling fan be preparing to descend on me in one sinister spin? Is my brother in grave danger again?
One never knows with night terrors.
Sure enough, at 12:48 I leaped out of bed, panicked that something had burrowed under my skin and was heading toward my heart valves. (Too much Anatomy class, perhaps?) I scrambled to the bathroom, turning on all of the lights in the process. Once I assessed the situation I realized it was just a night terror. Crawled back into bed, exhausted and embarrassed, apologizing to Madeline who was sleeping in my bed and was wondering what the hell was going on.
The first time I had an episode I was 8 years old and my father was sure someone had broken into our home and was killing me. He raced into my room, settled me down (this is surprisingly easy to do) and I feel back to sleep. He didn't sleep a wink for the rest of the night due to the adrenaline surging through his body. Forward through the next 25 years, ruined sleepovers, waking up in hotel lobbies as a teen, racing out of strange homes at breakneck speed, locking myself out of our apartment, stark naked. Just some highlights! My "freakouts" are legendary among our family and friends.
At 8 they said puberty should cure it. At 15 it would be adulthood. At 25 they would certainly be gone by 30 (according to Johns Hopkins sleep specialists). And yet here we are. My husband is infinitely patient, but even he has had enough of me shaking him awake screaming bloody murder. Lightweight sleeping pills don't help, I think we are staring down the barrel of something along the line of Ambien or even stronger. These give me pause as I am currently the only adult in the house and would like to be functional in the event of an emergency.
Also, I wait for the night one of my children wakes with their first night terror. I hope and pray that this crappy affliction passes all of them by, but I'm fully aware that there is a chance one or more could be seeing the spiders come out of their walls too. At least I will be able to offer a sympathetic (albeit possibly crazy) ear...
One never knows with night terrors.
Sure enough, at 12:48 I leaped out of bed, panicked that something had burrowed under my skin and was heading toward my heart valves. (Too much Anatomy class, perhaps?) I scrambled to the bathroom, turning on all of the lights in the process. Once I assessed the situation I realized it was just a night terror. Crawled back into bed, exhausted and embarrassed, apologizing to Madeline who was sleeping in my bed and was wondering what the hell was going on.
The first time I had an episode I was 8 years old and my father was sure someone had broken into our home and was killing me. He raced into my room, settled me down (this is surprisingly easy to do) and I feel back to sleep. He didn't sleep a wink for the rest of the night due to the adrenaline surging through his body. Forward through the next 25 years, ruined sleepovers, waking up in hotel lobbies as a teen, racing out of strange homes at breakneck speed, locking myself out of our apartment, stark naked. Just some highlights! My "freakouts" are legendary among our family and friends.
At 8 they said puberty should cure it. At 15 it would be adulthood. At 25 they would certainly be gone by 30 (according to Johns Hopkins sleep specialists). And yet here we are. My husband is infinitely patient, but even he has had enough of me shaking him awake screaming bloody murder. Lightweight sleeping pills don't help, I think we are staring down the barrel of something along the line of Ambien or even stronger. These give me pause as I am currently the only adult in the house and would like to be functional in the event of an emergency.
Also, I wait for the night one of my children wakes with their first night terror. I hope and pray that this crappy affliction passes all of them by, but I'm fully aware that there is a chance one or more could be seeing the spiders come out of their walls too. At least I will be able to offer a sympathetic (albeit possibly crazy) ear...
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