Don't Rock the Boat.

From time to time, I'll get a migraine. Mostly they come in the summer when the sun is bright and I am working outside. They begin with a burning in my neck and shoulders and culminate with nausea and light/sound sensitivity. Good times, I tell ya.

Generally, I can catch the burning sensation, take a couple of Excedrin (my personal favorite) and stem the problem before it gets to the point that I have to hole up in a dark room with my head under a pillow for an hour or two. Occasionally, though, one will sneak up on me and BLAMMO! I'm down for the count.

There's no denying that headaches are a part of motherhood. When you are pregnant, you get them about every 12 hours or so. Okay, not literally, but it feels like that. And after the baby is born, they are brought on by sleep deprivation and the ever-lovely bio-physical changes while your body attempts to return to normal.

When the kids get older, they keep 'em coming. Ohyesindeedy they do! Take your pick of triggers there: constant questions, screaming, fighting with siblings (Boy am I glad my sisters and I never did that. Right, Mom? Right???), running through the house, you name it. It begins with a futile deep breath, then you rub your temples and before you know it, you're under a pillow somewhere like an ostrich with his head in the ground.

My newest motherhood headache is a fan-tab-u-lous game called Rock Band. I really love playing the game, I rock on the guitar (ahem) and just ask anyone that knows me personally what happens when I have a microphone in my hand. Their first response may be something like, "Are you sure you want to do that? You'll never get it back."

I've come to realize, though, that playing the game and listening to the game down the hallway are two totally different things.

All I've heard since he bought the thing is the tapping and pounding and thumping sounds Matthew makes while playing the drums. The best part is that he loves to have his doors and windows wide open while playing. A few times, I've had to shut the door so I can hear to talk on the phone or, you know, think clearly and he gets offended. As if his drum playing skills are something everyone should relish. I think he secretly hopes an exec from Epic is going to be driving by and be drawn in by his siren songs.

We've had a talk about the drumming. He has since kept the playing down to a minimum and won't throw a fit if I need to shut his door. At least it's nice out right now and he can play outside. My plan for the winter is to keep plenty of Excedrin on hand and close MY bedroom door when I need to.

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