Every single night I’m dead-dog tired by 8:30 but push through until I get a second wind. The second wind usually lasts until 11:30 or 12, and then I sleep for five or six hours and wake up and start the whole process over again. I would never presume to claim that this behavior is “wise” or “healthy” or “recommended by experts,” but the start of a new school year combined with a new work schedule combined with a whole bunch of deadlines combined with a complete inability to resist new episodes of “House Hunters” and “The Best Thing I Ever Ate” means that I’ve spent the last couple of weeks teetering on the edge of annoyingly overtired.

Honestly, the only thing that’s been keeping me going has been Chuy’s.

Well, Chuy’s and the Lord.

But last night? Do you know what I did?

I will tell you.

I went to sleep at 9 o’clock. Not to bed. To sleep. And when I woke up of my own volition at 5:11 this morning, I felt like a new woman. A new, very rested woman. WHAT A NOVELTY.

All of last night’s sleeping meant that I was feeling very productive this morning, and at some point I clicked over to Pandora so that I could listen to worship music while I was getting some work done. After a few minutes I noticed that a lot of the songs were old school – “Open The Eyes of My Heart,” “Awesome in This Place,” “Above All,” “The Heart of Worship,” etc. – and before long I decided that I had to hear Sandi Patty and Wayne Watson’s “Another Time, Another Place” RIGHT THAT SECOND. Now granted, it’s not really a congregational worship song, but oh my goodness – it was my absolute favorite Christian song in the early 90s.

And do you know why it was my favorite?

Because I wanted to sing it in a pageant.

Deeply spiritual. I was deeply spiritual.

But no kidding: I really did love the whole “Another Time, Another Place” album. I was at the front end of what would be five pretty rocky years in terms of my faith, so the fact that the songs on that album resonated with me so deeply is sort of a wonder to me. I remember thinking when I first heard the album that it was like Sandi Patty got tangled up with the Beverly Hills Cop soundtrack, and do you know what? THAT SUITED ME JUST FINE. It was the early 90s, after all.

I especially loved the video for “Another Time, Another Place” because Sandi stood on a cliff overlooking the ocean while she was wearing this billowy jacket thing that was part-Stevie Nicks and part-Suzanne Sugarbaker. Her hair was at an all-time high in terms of volume, and her voice was perfection. The only thing that would have made it any better is if there had been some choreographed dance moves scattered throughout, but that would have probably been too scandalous for the early 90s. Plus, Sandi’s hand gestures are in a league of their own, and why mess with perfection?

So this morning I decided that I desperately wanted to find the “Another Time, Another Place” video on YouTube, but it was nowhere to be found during the .34 seconds that I searched diligently for it. However, I believe that I found something that may have delighted me even more. For so many reasons.

For so many, many reasons.

Now there’s no question that the song is beautiful. BEAUTIFUL.

But I’ll tell you what: I was mentally and emotionally unprepared for the sight of all that early 90s hair. SWEET MERCY. And I’m not throwing hairstyle and/or fashion stones, mind you. After all, I once wore a formal dress with such ginormous shoulder pads that my date spent a good portion of the night introducing me to people by saying, “This is my date, Sophie. And these are her sleeves.”

WE ALL HAVE OUR FASHION BAGGAGE.

After I watched the video I made a comment on Twitter that I didn’t know whose hair delighted me more, and I spent a chunk of time this afternoon laughing my head off at people’s responses. I didn’t know how to get all of them in one screen shot, and I have even less of an idea how to link to them, so here’s a sampling.

For the sake of clarity, you should know that Jennifer is referring to the fact that her ex-boyfriend ended up owning the very jacket that Wayne Watson is wearing in the video. THE WORLD IS A PEANUT, Y’ALL.

And then, to top it all off, there was this response from Dori:

So I clicked through Dori’s link, and here is what I found.

Do you know what that is? THAT IS A BLESSING.

And thus concludes the story of how I woke up rested and then the internet made my day.

You’d better believe that I’m going to have an early bedtime again tonight.

There’s no telling what bits of 1990s treasure will be waiting on me in the morning.

- Remember these shoes? The ones I wanted earlier in this summer but felt some strange hesitation about buying?

Well, I bought them on sale Saturday.

FOR TWELVE DOLLARS.

Afterwards I told Melanie that I believed that the reason I experienced such unwavering patience for these shoes is because the Lord knew that I was going to have a wedge-prohibitive foot injury in mid-July and wouldn’t be back in wedge-wearing shape until late-August.

He’s the God of second shoe chances.

- We went to our first high school football game of the season this past Friday night. Fall is coming, and summer can’t stop it.

- Yesterday after church we decided to go to Chuy’s for lunch. We knew that TIME WAS OF THE ESSENCE because there’s a big Presbyterian church that’s closer to Chuy’s than our big Baptist church, and everybody knows that the whole point of Sunday lunch is to squeal into a restaurant parking lot on two wheels so that you can beat the crowd from a neighboring congregation.

No kidding: at the Methodist church where D and I grew up, people would look at their watches and clear their throats if the sermon ran past 11:55, especially if they started hearing car doors slam at the Baptist church across the street.

Anyway, we went to Chuy’s – even made it there before a few of the Presbyterians – and while it seemed to take awhile for someone to get our drink orders, we figured maybe the sudden onslaught of hungry churchgoers had thrown the waiters and waitresses off of their serving game.

Finally a waitress took our order – and we waited. And waited. And waited. Our waitress couldn’t seem to explain what was taking so long. FORTY MINUTES LATER we still didn’t have food. So I found a manager and told him what was going on. He was very kind and accommodating, solved the problem for us, and when we got our check at the end of the meal, it looked like this.

They charged us a penny so that we’d have an open ticket if we wanted to leave a tip. Which we did because I felt badly for our waitress even though it was her fault that we hadn’t gotten our food. But she was young. And it was really crowded. And I’m deeply co-dependent when it comes to these sorts of things.

By the way, I got the chile rellenos with chicken and cheese. They were spectacular. Our child got chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese AGAIN, but he vows and declares that the mac and cheese is delicious. And D and I split the tres leches cake and died.

- After lunch we ran over to Old Navy because there’s a certain seven year-old in this house who needs some pants that don’t put his ankles on display (GROWING LIKE A WEED, HE IS). I found what I was looking for in about two minutes, and as I was walking toward the cash register, something very, very special caught my eye.

An MSU t-shirt. Youth medium. Right here in the land of the Tigers and the Tide. It’s an SEC pre-season miracle.

- I adored the “Born To Run” opening number at the Emmys. And then I fast-forwarded through the rest of the show and felt a deep and lasting gratitude to the inventor of the DVR.

- SEC football starts in five days. College football starts in three.

MY JOY KNOWS NO BOUNDS.

And I believe it’s time to consult the DipTacular so that I can solidify my gameday dip options.

Go ‘Dogs.

First.

These will change your life forever.

And do you know what? I don’t think I’m alone in my assessment. Because this past weekend we wanted to buy a bag of them, but they were all gone at our Walmart. Then we tried Target. But still: SOLD OUT. We finally found some at Walgreens, and I grabbed the bag and clutched it to my chest and TROTTED to the cash register before someone ripped them out of my arms.

Because that would totally happen.

Second.

I’ve had to say goodbye to a significant member of my summer wardrobe.

We’ve had two good summers together. We’ve frolicked in the Gulf, and we’ve spent untold hours at the pool. But a couple of weeks ago, when we were at the beach with our family, I kept looking around when we were sitting beside the pool because something just smelled, I don’t know, SOUR. And after about an hour and a half of turning up my nose and wondering what the weird odor was, I suddenly realized that OH MY WORD IT’S MY HAT.

I thought about Febrezing it, but then I thought, “No. It’s time.” Odds are that a Crocodile Dundee-ish hat that cost $10 at Walmart probably wasn’t meant to last more than a year anyway. But OH, I did enjoy it. We shared some precious memories. Except for that whole smelling-like-a-neglected-damp-washcloth thing. But other than that we were golden.

Third.

You’ve probably seen this – especially if you live around an SEC school – but I thought I’d share it in case it hasn’t made it to your part of the country yet.

The University of Alabama mailed out season tickets last week.

Here’s the ticket for the November 13th game against Mississippi State.

I have a hunch that Bulldogs everywhere will be sporting some special game day t-shirts on November 13th.

“Go ‘Dogs- Beat ‘Bamma!”

Or we may even come up with one that our friends in Tuscaloosa can wear:

“Rol Tid Rol.”

ALL IN GOOD FUN, OF COURSE. Because when you’re going up against the defending National Champion, sometimes your only line of defense is to give them a hard time about a spelling error.

Happy Tuesday, y’all!

My brother is what you might call a character. He’s just as mischievous now as he was when he was 14, and he has never ever in his whole life met a stranger. In fact, if he met you right now, he would ask you question after question until he figured out a person the two of you might have in common. And then, when he discovered the common friend, he would say, “Don’t you remember when she lived in that house on Oak Street? You know, the one that the So-And-Sos lived in before they moved to Illinois in 1975 when their grandmother passed away and they inherited that baby grand piano that they donated to the church and then Miss Burnett played “Standing On The Promises” at the piano dedication service and forgot the notes when she got to the chorus and we all got REAL tickled? Yeah. I loved that house.”

A character.

Well.

Saturday morning after breakfast the little man and I walked down to Brother and Janie’s condo because we were all going swimming together. We were sitting around waiting for everybody to gather their stuff when my brother said, “I think I’ll run to the grocery store real quick and pick up some turkey for lunch.” Janie and I looked at each other and grinned because, well, my brother LOVES to grocery shop. LOVES IT. Maybe it’s the 21st century equivalent of hunting and gathering. Maybe it’s the side of him that likes to take care of people. But for all of our adult lives, if anybody needs anything from the store, Brother is the first one to jump in the car and go. In fact, I am firmly convinced that one day when the Good Lord calls him home, Brother is going to ask if he can have just a few more minutes so that he can run by Fresh Market. And then he will tell God that Fresh Market’s meat REALLY IS THE BEST.

So Brother set off for Publix in search of turkey, and Janie and I speculated about what else he might pick up while he was there since it’s never just one thing with him at the grocery store. He’s always going to find a new kind of barbecue sauce or stock up on his favorite mustard or see some special kind of seasoning that looks like it would be really good on steaks. The whole thing just fascinates me. My personal theory is that because Brother is a successful businessman whose work tends to fall on the extreme side of MIND-NUMBING PRESSURE COOKER, the grocery store relaxes him. Transactions are simple there. Nobody wants to negotiate.

Janie and I took the boys to the pool, and after about an hour and a half, Brother joined us. And he brought a bag of gifts with him.

As he was opening the bag, he told us how he’d gone to the grocery store and gotten turkey. And, well, some bread and Cokes and a tomato and a head of lettuce and some mayonnaise and Provolone cheese and Pringles. And then he saw a store in the same shopping center that specialized in SEC spirit wear, and they were having a sale, and it was sales tax-free weekend, and he thought they might have some Ole Miss shirts for his boys.

Yes. You read correctly. Ole Miss shirts. Because he and Janie both went to Ole Miss. And Sister and I, if you remember, both went to Mississippi State. As did D and my daddy. The Bulldog / Rebel divide can make for some tense Thanksgivings, but by and large we all try to be (relatively) good-natured about it. Janie is actually the best-natured of us all and will actually send congratulatory texts when State has a big win in football or basketball. EVEN AFTER THE EGG BOWL.

I’m just not that big of a person, y’all. Keep in mind that I still haven’t seen The Blind Side.

Anyway, Brother told us all about the store with the SEC merchandise and how the owner said business had really been tough this year. He thought he’d look around and see if he could find a few things, and while he was buying for Janie and the boys, he picked up some stuff for Alex and me, too.

Doesn’t that just warm your heart? The Rebel season ticket holder of 20-plus years bought MSU merchandise for his Bulldog-loving sister and nephew. AND SOMEHOW THE WORLD CONTINUED TO SPIN ON ITS AXIS.

Alex is crazy about his hat, and I have to tell you that those flip-flops made my whole day. I’m going to WEAR THEM OUT this football season. And maybe – hopefully – I’ll be wearing them out while I’m receiving congratulatory end-of-game texts from my sweet sister-in-law because the Bulldogs are at the top of the Western division and headed to the SEC Championship game.

Remember: football season hasn’t started yet. All forms of championship-related optimism are still perfectly permissible.

It’s good to have a dream.

I don’t know if it was the steamed shrimp or too much sun or an excess amount of chlorine, but last night I had the weirdest assortment of dreams I can ever recall. They ran the gamut, including but not limited to:

- a denominational debate with my cousin Benji
- winning a free meal from a restaurant in Hattiesburg, MS that also sold iPods and iPod accessories
- watching my Aunt C teach swimming to pre-schoolers at an indoor lap pool
- researching the original meaning of my cousin’s girlfriend’s name (only her name was “Gina” in my dream, which isn’t her real name at all)
- getting my dorm room ready for school (HELLO, 18 again)

So needless to say I was worn slap out when I got out of bed this morning.

We’re heading home in a couple of days, and we’ll hit the ground running in terms of getting back into the school time swing of things. Last night I made a long to-do list that made me want to cry a little bit, but we’ll get ‘er done. At least we can rest in the peace of knowing that we’ve had a great time relaxing this week with our family.

We can also rest in the peace of knowing that we’ve reached some unanticipated new snack food heights. We’ve gone from this -

to this –

over the course of just a precious few days.

It’s a memory that will sustain us in the days and weeks to come.

Amen.