I was such a nerd

When I was growing up, I was such a nerd. The oldest of four kids, and born to a nerdy (but lovable) mother, I didn't have anyone to show me how the cool kids did things. But I wasn't really aware of how nerdy I was. It's only now that I look back on myself as a child that I can see that I was probably the definition of square.

1. I walked to the library every week and brought home a dozen or so books to read.
2. I dressed up as a dictionary for Halloween one year.
3. When the local talk radio station switched to a Top 40 format, I called to complain.
4. I fell in love with the song "Jack and Diane" by John Mellencamp in 1984 -- two years after it was released. 
5. Along with two other friends, I started an "exclusive" vocabulary club. We were the only members.

This past Thursday night I went out with some girlfriends to a local Mexican restaurant. The booths each had this chicken head carved into them:

It immediately reminded me of Famous Recipe Fried Chicken. My family only ate Famous Recipe a few times a year. It was our go-to food for family reunions. Seeing the chicken reminded me of the last time I set foot in a Famous Recipe. I was probably about 12 years old.

We were on our way to the reunion. We stopped to get the chicken and I got out of the car to go into the restaurant with my mom. 

I was wearing this way cool shirt that I'd gotten out of a hand-me-down bag from some relatives. It was polyester and looked like it was a quilted pattern of reds, yellows, blues. I remember plaid and some white flowers on it, I think. It buttoned down the front. I think I wore it with denim shorts. I LOVED that shirt. 

That is, until we walked into the restaurant and walked up to the counter. The high schoolers working behind the counter were all trying very hard to stifle their laughter as they took our order. I didn't immediately see what they were laughing out. But then I saw it:

My new-to-me, colorful, patterned favorite shirt was really a Famous Recipe Chicken uniform!

Awake and unmedicated

Thanks to everyone for your suggestions and commiserations regarding my insomniac ways. Several of you suggested pharmaceutical intervention, which reminded me of the one and only time I've ever taken drugs to help me sleep. It seemed like a good story to share here.

The year was 1999. Annie was a little over 2-1/2 years old. Charlie was a baby, about 2 months old. I had wicked and severe postpartum depression. Postpartum OCD, to be exact. It was, without exaggeration, the worst time of my life.

My ob-gyn had referred me to a post-partum depression counselor, a woman named Birdie to whom I will forever be indebted. Anyway, Birdie and the ob-gyn decided that I should see a psychiatrist who could prescribe me some medication. He turned out to be the worst psychiatrist ever to be given a license. I asked him what kind of experience he had working with postpartum depression. His answer? His wife had given birth to 4 kids. Jerk.

Then he tried to tell me that everything I was experiencing was just a fabrication because I'm a writer and so I was just concocting these scenarios in my head. A-hole. Fine. Whatever buddy, just give me the prescriptions and I'll be on my pitiful way.

He prescribed me an antidepressant and Ambien, a drug that would help me sleep. I had been barely surviving on about 1 to 2 hours of sleep each night (even though Charlie was sleeping in 5 or 6 hours stretches at that point) and he felt, and Birdie agreed, that getting more sleep would go a long way in helping my psyche.

That same day, we went to my in-laws for the weekend. We hadn't told them anything about the struggles I was having, but planned to let them know I wasn't feeling well and would be spending most of the weekend resting. That evening, I took out the bottle of Ambien. The instructions said "take one tablet one hour before bedtime." Perfect. I could take one, read Annie a story, say prayers and tuck her into bed and get in bed myself while I waited for the Ambien to kick in.

Well it would have been perfect. Except that within five minutes of taking the Ambien, I was slurring my words and stumbling in the hallway. Mike freaked out, thinking that I had overdosed. He called Birdie, convinced that I was trying to off myself with Ambien. Apparently -- because I don't remember anything after the hallway -- I got on the phone with Birdie and assured her that I had only taken one Ambien and I wasn't trying to kill myself.

And that, my friends, is the first and last time I've ever taken drugs to help me sleep.