Jelly Rolling Around In Bed

I'm preforming self experiments on natural selection. For example, I learned that when I went off hormonal birth control last September and started ovulating for real, my 15-year-old skin issues disappeared completely, as if to tell the male tribe "open, and ready for business." It also seems as though I need to be ready to spring into action for a crying infant, even in a dead sleep at 4 am. Ahhh, 30 is a grand ole age, complete with biological metronome to remind me that, although financially and emotionally my husband and I are not ready to take on the task of populating the next generation, our bodies are subverting our efforts and sending mixed messages to our poor, confused brains.

Enter, 4 am last night, when my poor, drunken husband slunk into our bedroom only to be met by my wrath. To give credit where credit is due, he probably made less noise than a church mouse, tensed on his tiptoes to glide across the carpet, not daring to breathe in a manner that might stir the air. And to discredit myself, I woke up anyway, tossed and turned, and shouted out commands between rolls across the mattress. "Shut the window; the rain is coming in." "Let the cat in." "Let the cat out." "Get rid of this blanket, I'm hot." "Where is the blanket, I'm cold?" I rolled around in bed for almost three hours, when I knew I'd laid in bed too long and past the time to get up to go to work.


It reminded me of the conversation I had with a good friend this weekend. My best friend and her husband had a baby about 3 weeks ago. I've been visiting with them at least once a week, lending a hand where I can, providing sanity and "adult conversation" to my girlfriend, and providing a sympathetic ear to her husband when he needs one but knows better to complain to the lady who just squeezed a person out of her vagina. This weekend, in hushed tones, he told me that he's not waking up in the night to the crying baby (she is, of course) and it's making her irritated at him and making him feel guilty about not doing his "share." She refuses to wake him up when she should because he should "hear the baby and wake up and want to help." He tells me that he does want to help for these night time cries, very badly in fact, so he can counteract the uselessness of his nipples during the day, but just doesn't hear the baby. I just listened and told him not to take it personally, as I've noticed myself that men will sleep through an earthquake while women notice a barometric change of two millimeters or less and wake instantaneously. I suggested that he talk with her and explain the need for her to just push him right out of bed if she needs him to get up. I asked her if she wanted to borrow my parents' dog's shock collar.


I also made a Jelly Roll this weekend. I enjoy baking immensely, but often forget that, when baking as opposed to cooking, measurements are paramount to the perfect result. Even when you're talking jelly. It came out very well for my first time rolling a cake--it stayed together quite nicely and didn't even crack. The jelly, however, oozed out of both ends and, when cut, soaked right through the spongy cake part. Hmm. I guess when they mean 1/2 cup for the roll, they mean 1/2 cup. Silly me thought, I like jelly. No, wait. I love jelly. Two cups of jelly, then! Oh well. Next time, I'll remember this lesson and follow the recipe directions.