Top Ten Signs that you need to do something differently in the way you meet life's demands:

1. You routinely go to bed at 1:00am and get up at 5:30am, thinking that you're getting a night's sleep.

2. You open the fridge to scrounge up breakfast and wonder how seriously to take the term 'exp' stamped in blue ink by the date on the egg carton. Four hours later, you realize it probably should be taken seriously.

3. Though you consider going to the grocery store without children in tow to be 'personal time,' you still can't make it happen.

4. Though you've already registered for the Capitol 10K race in March and intend to start training seriously for it, you still can't make that happen either.

5. The laundry pile is literally taller than your smallest child.

6. You'd actually like to bury your smallest child under the laundry pile just to get some temporary relief from her constant whining and power struggles.

7. You consider taking a nap on the laundry pile instead.

8. You decide that watching "Arthur" after school with your kids is more entertaining and more important than just about anything else you should be doing, including going to the grocery store, blogging, jogging, cleaning up, or grading papers. Then you yell at your kids "MY GOD JUST LET ME SLEEP!!" when they try to wake you up before "Arthur" is officially over.  

9. You have so many newspapers piled up on the front lawn that the neighbors think you're on vacation.   

10. You wish desperately that they were right.

Something's gotta give. I just don't know what.

My personal fog seems to have cleared with the weather; with these gorgeous sunny skies and warm days, my spirits have lifted, and I'm feeling a little more capable of handling all that's on my plate. I may even feel like jogging again, and have mapped out a 10K training plan for myself.

My daughter once again drew me a nice visual interpretation of the improved mood around here on our little island:

Where have I been for the past couple of weeks, some of you may ask?

(And for those of you who don't care, please politely click back to wherever you just were in cyberspace.)

I'd like to say that I ran away to a warm tropical island to escape cold gray skies, cedar pollen, and sleepless toddlers.

But the truth is, I've just been a bit overwhelmed since I started teaching on January 14. And this blog fell victim to three daily triage questions I pose to tasks when things get hectic: 1) Does it absolutely have to get done today? 2) Is it more important than sleep? 3) Is somebody really depending on me to do it?

The good news is that my family has gotten my full attention, my daughters are doing great, and my students are getting their money's worth in my class. The bad news is that I'm not doing such a good job taking care of myself. I'm not making time for regular exercise; I'm not getting enough sleep; I'm not taking time for rejuvenating breaks. And I know from experience that I can't keep this up much longer.

My very intuitive 6-year old daughter also senses that I'm overwhelmed.  Yesterday, she made me a card at school. When she got home, we flopped down on the couch together, and she handed me her folded manila-paper creation, with the words "To Mom. I LOVE YOU!" written inside a giant crayon heart on the front. On the inside was a picture she had drawn just for me:

After thanking her for making me such a beautiful card, I took a more detailed look at the rolling black clouds, the lightning, the giant raindrops, and the swirling tidal waves crashing at the coconut tree on the little orange island. "Wow," I said, "There's a lot going on in this picture, isn't there!"

"Yeah," she said, leaning against me. "That storm is making a lot of lightning and tidal waves. But the rain is really good rain. And there's a big beautiful rainbow back there. And that coconut tree is really tall and strong."

I could feel her looking up at me as I studied this perfect interpretation of the current state of my life -- our life -- captured in crayon. I put my arm around her and kissed her head. "Yeah, that coconut tree looks like it's going to be OK."

Her picture now hangs on our fridge. And I'm checking the weather here on coconut island, looking for any sign of rainbows in the distance.

While I'm sneezing my way through my days, I'm sadly not snoozing my way through my nights.

My 3-year old, who had not long ago kicked her night-waking habit, is back at it again. She somehow knows when I'm in my deepest sleep, then comes in to wake me up by leaning her head against mine. Sometimes she misjudges the distance, and I just get a full-on head-butt. Now that's nice at 3am.

Last night, on her first visit, she said she was cold. So I carried her back to her room, put a second layer of PJ's on her, and tucked her back in bed. On her second visit, she said she couldn't sleep. So I carried her back into her room, turned on some quiet music, and tucked her back in bed. On her third visit, an hour later, she said she wanted a drink. So I carried her back into her room, pointed out the glass of water already beside her bed, and tucked her back in.

But on her fourth visit, she just walked into my room and stood beside my bed, leaning her forehead into the side of my neck.

"WHY DID YOU GET UP AND COME IN HERE AGAIN??!!" I whispered viciously and desperately, my patience long gone.

She paused, gauging the rising anger in my tone, and pulled an answer out of the dark. "Because I needed to exercise."

Well, of course. Gotta get in all those midnight walks across the house into mom & dad's room. Keeps a toddler in shape.

I stifled the laughter that had already dulled the sharp edge of my anger. "Night-time is for sleeping. Day-time is for exercising," I explained, getting out of bed for yet another walk back to her room.

As I tucked her back into bed, I wondered how many miles I've walked through my house during the middle of the night, back and forth between my girls' bedrooms and my own. I wondered how many of those miles I walked while holding a colicky baby or a sleepy toddler or a scared preschooler. I wondered how many of those miles I actually ran, racing toward the sound of a strange cough or a scared scream.

I think I may have actually accumulated a couple of midnight marathons over the last six years.

Maybe I've overlooked this night-time window of opportunity for working out. Imagine how quickly I'd get into shape if I weren't so attached to sleep. I could add a few laps around the kitchen island on the way back to my bedroom after tucking my daughter in, or do a few sit-ups as I get back in bed. Or maybe I'll just bench-press my 40-pound daughter before I carry her back into her room.

At the rate I'm going, that might be all the working out I do for a while anyway.

The cedar tree in our back yard is literally hanging heavy with ochre-collored pollen. Every branch tip is laden with the stuff, and I swear I can see visible yellow-orange dust wafting off in the wind.

I've sneezed more today than I can remember. My whole body feels drained. I don't know if this exhausted feeling is because of the run I did on Sunday, or the fact that my girls woke me up several times during the night last night, or if I'm just sneezing all my energy out one 'ah-choo' at a time. 

Of course, this was probably not the day to venture into the dusty attic to put the remaining Christmas decorations away, but it needed to be done. Nor was it a particularly good day to dust behind the TV. But the cable guy was coming to install our new Digital Video Recorder, and I didn't want him to unleash the colony of dust bunnies that lives in the wad of electronic equipment back there.

I know allergy season is bad, because I actually shared a laugh with the cable guy on the front porch as we both sneezed uncontrollably.

Now if I could only find a face mask, I'd like to get out for a walk tonight to loosen up my sore leg muscles. Then again, I think if I sneeze anymore today, my head would simply explode. And I'd really like to have my eyes intact to enjoy watching something newly digitally-recorded on TV.