Narcoleptic comment

I am butt-stuck to my chair in front of the computer today...3 dresses to digitize. That means I am also here when comments and emails come in which is fun.

I have enjoyed the comments on the Narcoleptic post. Caroline's just came in:

Caroline said...
I've never had it as bad as you, but I do always fall asleep during afternoon classes at the university. It can be the most interesting class ever, but at one point I will bang with my forehead into the desk because apparently...I've dozed off. Very embarrassing and impolite, but I really cannot help it! I have not to this day found a way to prevent this. And I have been a student for ...well...a long time :-)

I started chuckling, then laughing, then snorting! It reminded me of my teaching days.

For quite awhile, I was teaching a course called "Dance & Society." It was a lecture course, in a big auditorium filled with students...and it was a night class. It started at 5:15 pm and was 2 1/2 hours long...and the students ate dinner right before class.

Guess how many students' foreheads slapped the desktop in every class!?! I tried to make the class as interesting as possible, I really did! We even had class in the dance studio when I had guests to teach them different ethnic dance forms...but even there the foreheads still hit the floor when they sat down!!

Some of my colleagues were so irritated by that and would call the students out on falling asleep. I always figured that the red mark on their foreheads and the snickers from the other students was punishment enough.

One young man even apologized to me once. He was embarrassed but relieved when I laughed.

Thanks for the memory retrieval, Caroline!

Narcoleptic Day

That's what yesterday was...narcoleptic. You would think that I had run a marathon the day before. But that's the thing about Emily's dress...there were no late nights, no marathon sewing because it got down to the wire. I actually managed my time well.

But I still slept all day. I had, in fact, gotten up at about 9:30 but had to move fast to get back to bed 'cause sleep was coming fast!

Times like this I wonder about what I have actually inherited from my illness. For 2 years after that, sleep was in charge. When my body said it was time (2 or 3 times a day), it was to my benefit to make sure I was at least sitting down when I felt it coming because I did not have any choice in the matter...sleep happened. I was once standing just outside the front door, holding 1 month-old Meave, and it hit me, fast! I actually simply fell over into the bushes! I was so scared that Meave might get hurt that I stayed mostly conscious until my neighbor picked me up and I could get us into bed. So weird.

When Meave was 7 months-old, the Donahue clan all went to Disney World. I was awake for 12 straight hours (unheard of for me at the time), until we got to the hotel. Michael and the other parents took all of the kids swimming while I collapsed in bed. During the next few hours, Michael and my sisters-in-law were in and out of the room. I could hear them, and even see them through slits in my eyes...but I could not move. One sil thought I was awake so asked me a question and was completely freaked out when I just laid there like a mummy. I got an earful about how freaky I was the next morning when I finally woke up for breakfast!

So anyway, yesterday was one of those. I am better now.

Thinking about names...and my Divas

I have thinking about names lately as some beautiful and very unusual Irish names have been batted around on the boards.

I do not have an unusual name. It is short and plain and being a family name, it was common in our clan. Growing up, I always wanted a more exotic name. I decided I would change my name to "Elizabeth." It had lots of letters, several nickname variations, sounded so grown up, and it did not rhyme with "banana!" I clung to "Elizabeth" until the day my grandmother told me that she thought it was a horrible name because it sounded English and was not proper for a good Irish girl! Shot me down!

When I was pregnant for the first time, my husband and I spent much time researching names. At first, I wanted to continue my Irish family tradition and give my children family names, but Michael was adamant that they should have their own unique names. I came around, but that only made things harder. At least with family names there was a limit to the number of names to consider!

My father came to visit when I was about six months pregnant. He got quite an earful when he asked us what names we were considering. Michael and I could not agree on a single name! Dad listened, nodded that sage nod of his, and in a lull he said quietly, "It's Molly."

Shut us right up. He was right.

Now, the name Molly is not that unusual, but it meant something to Dad...and it clicked. In July, on Michael's birthday, Molly was born. She was perfect. Turns out her name means "the perfect one."

My second daughter was born 4 years, 4 months, and 25 days later. This time, though, I knew her name: Maggie. But I did not want her "real" name to be Margaret. We had several relatives named Margaret in our family, and even though I loved them all, I did not like the name. It sounded harsh to me. And by this time, I understood Michael's feelings about our children owning their own names and not being someone else's namesake. So I searched for an Irish name that could serve as the "real" name. Not long before she was born, I found it: Maighdlin . An Irish variant of Madeleine. Our Irish relatives told me it was pronounced as "My-uh- lin." No "g" sound, but I thought it was beautiful and it meant "the magnificent one."

On the way to the hospital to have baby #2, Michael and I realized that we had never even come close to choosing a boy's name. I just knew this new baby was "Maggie."

I remember more about this labor and delivery than I do about the first one. It was a revelation in so many ways. And as she was being born, my new daughter gave me one last parting kick deep inside my belly. Made me laugh. And there she was, my magnificent daughter, the one who still makes me laugh.

4 years, 4 months, and 28 days later, daughter #3 showed up. This time since I was an "elderly gravid" (translation: old mom at 39 years old), we had to go through all the genetic tests. We decided we wanted to know what sex this baby was: another girl! I was thrilled but thought Michael would be disappointed that there would be no boys since this was the LAST baby. Instead, he sighed in relief and said, "Oh thank goodness! I know what to do with girls!"

Choosing the name for this baby became a family affair. I was determined that this name would not start with an "M." Young Molly had pointed out that "we are all M's! Michael, Molly, Maggie and Mama!" Do you see my problem? My real name did not count! Maybe if the new baby were named Aine (ahn-ya) or Fiona or Ciaomhe (kee-va), then the world would hear my real name every once in a while! But, Michael came home one day, announced, "Maeve," and I was out-voted. Molly and Maggie were thrilled.

"See, Mama! All our names start the same!"

When I told my mother, she reminded me of a relative that I had met when I went with her to Ireland in 1985. She spelled her name "Meave" and it meant "joy." I insisted on that spelling. My relative was born the same month as our Meave would be, 100 years before...and she was still alive. She lived long enough to know there was another Meave Halligan in this world. Michael did not object to this family name.

Ten days after my Meave was born, I almost died of a massive infection. When I woke up in ICU a week later, all I wanted was to see my divas. It has taken several years to recover, to come back to a place of strength. And I could not have done it without my perfect one, my magnificent one, and my joy.

(When I moved this post here from Taoknitter, I left behind some lovely comments. They can be read here: Thinking about names...and my Divas )

So much for wordless Wednesday

There has been interesting feedback from folks about "Oh, Eliza...". A popcorn thought (you know, the ones that keep jumping in your head until you let it out) needs to be fleshed out, so...

Here are some comments:

Dulcinea: "...I've often thought how weird it is that, had I been born a century ago, knitting would almost certainly have been something for me to escape from rather than to escape to."

SinKnitty: "So that was the beginning of where my mother got the idea that knitting was something that made you less of a powerful woman and why I had to teach myself to knit from books because the art had become lost to my mother's generation. And sadly some women still think it's something that lowers them and wastes their time rather than seeing it as a useful art. If only they knew how much Math I have to do! lol! Knitting is what I have had to use all that algebra for."

And Femminista: "Wow! Ditto sinkitty and dulcinea! My mom is a powerful feminist role model for me--but she didn't want to sit down and teach me "domestic arts" although I was desperate to learn them! I learned from books and good old Home Ec!"

Read the rest here: So much for Wordless Wednesday...