This morning my children informed me that I should go back to bed because I looked shitty terrible. Charming way to wake up isn’t it? This is what a parent gets when they encourage their off spring to be open and honest. Critical reviews based on appearance while I’m serving them their daily nutritional requirements. (Fruitloops are considered nutritional, right?)

While the vain part of me would like to deny that I looked anything but a fresh faced daisy, I realized perhaps my kids had a point when I went to let the dog out and caught a glimpse of my image while walking past a mirror. I jumped at the sight of my hair sticking up in all directions and the purple luggage under my eyes. The best part was the pillow creases all down the side of my face which high lighted the path of dry spittle trailing down from the corner of my mouth.

Oh ya. Who’s a sexy momma now?

Between my damn dog engaging in a repeat performance as the most incredibly annoying and small bladdered dog ever, and my lumpy mattress aggravating me into tossing and turning all night long to find an elusive comfortable spot, I didn’t get a lot of sleep.

To make matters worse, I had nightmares whenever I did manage to drift off to the land of Nod. I kept reliving events that happened hours prior to me finally laying my head on my pillow.

Events, which included a porcupine, my friend’s dog Kona and a pair of needle nose pliers. This was not my first run in with the neighbourhood association of porcupines. Before Fric arrived in our lives, Boo and I adopted a stray dog that developed a fondness for the sweet underbelly of porcupine (re: he was too stupid to stay away from the prickly beasts) and would often wander home with a mitt full of quills.

This was however, the first time I had ever had the nightmare pleasure of watching quills being removed from a dog’s face. While explaining the process to my bloodthirsty curious children. Who didn’t seem at all queasy or bothered in the way their mother was.

Thankfully, for Kona (and my queasy stomach,) the dog was in capable hands. With all the manly farmers I like to surround myself with there was no end of painkillers, sedatives, antibiotics and skilled hands to remove the sharp quills.

After over an hour of quill removal, Kona was prickle-free and ready for his next battle with his pointy opponents. I was in need of a stiff drink.

While I wish poor Kona had never encountered his little buddy, it did provide me with the opportunity to teach my children a valuable lesson of why we don’t hug prickly animals. Who am I to pass up valuable teaching moments?

Yet, every time I closed my eyes last night, I saw blood and quills. Except the quills were in me. Being tugged out rather gleefully by my evil-eyed children. Just as they happily tugged on a quill located in my nose or my boob, I would wake up in a panic. It made for a really restful sleep.

Serves me right for acting like a paparazzi chasing Ms. Spears down a Hollywood freeway and taking pictures of the mangled mutt.

At one point (pun intended) I woke up calling Boo’s name and tried to bury my face in his armpit like I normally do when I have a nightmare. Except when I opened my eyes I discovered my nose firmly planted in the nether regions of my damned dog. Not quite as comforting as the arms of a big strong man.

So I called my husband. Like any big baby rational wife would do. At 2:35 a.m.

“Hey darlin’. Why aren’t you sleeping?” he asked in between barking out orders to somebody.

“I had a bad dream,” I whined in a groggy, er, sexy husky voice.

“Was it about Bug?” he asked sympathetically.

“No. It was about a porcupine.” I yawned while Nixon tried to bury his butt back into my nose.

“Oh.” Suddenly his sympathy vanished. I proceeded to tell him what happened earlier and then told him my wild imaginings of his children and a porcupine all chasing me around while each wielding a pair of needle nose pliers to use on me.

“So you’re telling me you miss me,” he crooned.

“No. I’m telling you that tomorrow I’m tossing out any pliers I find in my house. And I moving to the city.”

“You know, there is a sure-fire cure for nightmares,” he offered.

“Really? What’s that?”

“Well, you need to come on up and get some of my peckercillin . Served special just for you. Cures all that ails you.”

Oddly enough, I passed on his thoughtful offer.

I’d already been poked enough in my dreams. I didn’t need to be bothered by another prick.

***Kona is happily licking his nut sack this morning, and will make a complete recovery. Unlike myself, who will be scarred for life.***