Sleep Interrupted - The Price of Catching Your Beauty Zz's

One of the most lavishly comfortable feelings in the world is settling into a cozy, inviting bed after a long day and slipping under a soft blanket over crisp sheets. We dream about this moment as we push through ghastly rush-hour traffic, when we arrive at work and attempt to awaken with tall cups of black coffee, and when we struggle to get our second wind in the mid-afternoon lull. Few people I've met in my lifetime prefer to bolt out of bed and tackle the day ahead. The vast majority of humans -- and for that matter, animals -- would like nothing more than to linger lazily in bed and have the day brought to them, preferaby on a platter with a fresh croissant and their morning coffee.

Whether your bed is an heirloom antique, minimalistically modern, fit for a queen, or a spare mattress on someone elses's living room floor, it harbors your most peaceful self along with your subconcious nocturnal thoughts (including the dirty ones). Therefore, it is always with the greatest hope that I settle into bed each night, determined to drift off to a peaceful rest unfettered by life's worries and completely unaware of my physical surroundings -- except of course for my Egyptian cotton sheets.

We all know how refreshing a good night's sleep is: it restores the body, mind, and spirit. Some say that life's problems are solved in one's dreams. When asked what is the secret of their youthfulness and longevity, countless people have credited abundant sleep. Did you know that, prior to the invention of the lightbulb, our ancestors averaged a lazy 9-plus hours of slumber? And yet, the majority of us today manage a meager 6 hours of precious, live-prolonging sleep, being forced out of their slumber by the jarring blare of an alarm or (in my case) a hungry crying cat. Dog owners everywhere can testify to the insistent panting and slobbery wake-up smooches of Fido when he needs his early-morning walk. My husband keeps reminding me that it's all good practice for having a baby. No, I tell him, that's what the nanny will be for.

Regardless of the human and animal population of your household though, you're going to have to get up sooner or later if you hope to maintain a productive paying job. I grudgingly accepted that when I turned a mature 30. But I never agreed to give up a good night's sleep entirely, which is why I'm positively furious at all the external forces that are determined to whittle away at my God-given right to sleep, hour by hour, week by week.

Truth be told, I'm not a very sound sleeper. Between the perpetual snoring of my irritatingly unaware bedmate, the nocturnal pouncing and scuffing of sharp cat claws against my impressively accoustic wood floors, the erratic chirping of the obnoxious crickets and who knows what other wild creatures, the maddeningly constant ticking of the sole non-digital clock in the house, the military aircraft that conduct mysterious nightly flights overhead, and a plethora of other assorted nighttime distractions -- it's a wonder I sleep at all. Mind you, I sleep muffled by thick earplugs. In a quiet neighborhood. On a wooded cul-de-sac. Shielded by heavy wood window treatments and a black satin blind over my eyes. Despite this, I accumulate a weak 5 to 7 hours per night, much of it devoted to tossing and turning every twenty minutes.

Yes, I've tried taking a hot shower before bedtime. Unwinding with a cup of chamomile tea. Spraying lavender on my pillow. Sleeping in the nude. Canoodling in the nude. Swallowing a spoonful of NyQuil. Counting sheep. Visualizing myself floating along a river in a canoe (my husband's suggestion -- which baffles me, because I've never known him to actually commune with nature, let alone leave the comforts of urban living long enough to master the navigation of so much as a paddle boat. But that's another story). Sleeping on a firm mattress. Sleeping high up. Sleeping low to the ground. Sleeping with music. Sleeping with "white noise" in the background. Short of the success of NyQuil and the occasional blissful slumber that follows a wild drunken night of debauchery, none of the conventional cures offer long-term relief. Surely there is something else out there waiting to be discovered. And when it is, I'm willing to bet a hefty sum that people around the world will pay just about anything for it.

Rest is just not in the cards for me, I'm afraid. It seems no matter how many hours I try to doze, I never quite feel (or look) well rested. I still yawn in mid-conversation, leading many to believe that I'm bored (which is usually not the case, except with a few ill-fated people). There are actual reported cases of my having left the house without certain undergarments or with mismatched shoes. I mean, they all look dark to me in the dim light of early morning. Watching long movies on the couch usually makes me nod-off, forcing my husband to poke me repeatedly until I wake up and pay attention. This leads to frequent future conversations that go something like this: Me: "I don't think we've seen this episode/movie yet. Shouldn't we watch it first before we get the new one?" Him: "Yes, we have. Or to be exact, I have. You fell asleep shortly after the beginning again." I'm sure there are countless other ill effects that the prolonged lack of sleep has caused which remain to be found.

Hence every single hour -- natch, every single second -- of potential sleep is worth gold to me. Can you really blame me, then, for trying to squeeze every last second from my scarce sleeping opportunities? I get positively hostile when people suggest that we meet before 9:00 am -- and that's weekdays! After just barely dragging myself in by 9:15, huffing and puffing with inflated bags under my eyes and a complete inability to remember my name, people usually get the idea and wise up to my schedule. I don't know what scares them more: my pre-caffienated bloodshot eyes paired with perma-creased cheeks staring blankly at them, or, my preponderance for wiping the drool from the side of my mouth with the back of my hand before shaking theirs. Whatever it is, it usually has the desired effect, because most of my meetings end up being moved closer to the ripe hour of 11:00 am. Score one for me and my rumpled morning self.

Even on those rare days when I am allowed to sleep relatively undisturbed for a whopping 7.5 to 8 hours, I still feel violated when friends or family have the nerve to expect me to meet them for a weekend morning social function. For God's sake, it's the only day of the week when I can sleep in. C'mon people, is it really necessary to schedule brunch at 10:00? There's a reason it runs till 2:00 or 3:00, geniuses. Do you actually expect me to get up at 8:30 on a Sunday -- especially after having stayed up till 3:00 in the morning the night before because it's the one night of the week I can -- then take an hour to get ready, and make it on time? I was tickled pink when a friend recently invited me to the White House garden tour -- until I found out I'd have to get up at 7:30 on a Saturday morning. It's just not gonna happen, people.

It astounds me that entirely too much of the world's population can get through life on a mere 4 hours of sleep. Even more impressive is that people can actually accomplish physical activities that require hand-eye coordination. Me, I can barely stand up straight in the shower, not to mention drive in a straight line, after tumbling out of bed in the morning. Usually, I can't even get out of bed unassisted. My husband, who also enlists the help of the aforementioned cat, has to literally peel me upright limb by limb, while my cat proceeds to nip at my neck and circle my ankles like a shark to prevent me from falling back in bed. Woe to me when my husband has an especially early day... I am liable to sleep right through the alarm. Funny, it takes a Herculean effort for me to drift off to sleep, but once I finally do -- around 4:00 am -- I can sleep with direct sunlight pouring into every window and a fully open bathroom door emiting sounds of crashing water.

Then there are the truly strong among us -- those who sacrifice sleep in order to maintain a stringent exercise regime. They're the crazy fools you see jogging at ungodly hours of the morning (well, I personally don't see them since I'm not up at those hours), even on weekends after they're been out drinking the previous night. In fact, they feel better after running 5 miles than sleeping an extra 3 hours. You've seen them: the arrogant jocks who don't bother to wear a shirt as they sprint through their daily 10 miles. The power moms who march to the gym and yoga studio for a little morning muscle building. They're the ones who get to the coffeeshop nice and early before all the good bagels run out, leaving you with a paltry choice of onion, Everything, or the occasional flattened honey wheat bagel. They snatch up all the good muffins too, those greedy wenches.

How about the high strung folks who can party all night then work all day? Yes, Europe, I'm talking to you. They lead a very active life of holding down plum office jobs, taking 2-hour wine-filled lunches, indulging in daily after-work cocktails, lingering for a late dinner at 9:00 or 10:00 pm and culminating with an energetic night of dancing. Then, they spring right back up like wind-up dolls and go to work, humming along in cheerful productivity while sipping their cappucinos and taking lengthy drags of their Parliament Lights. Unless you take speed or have a healthy supply of cocaine, my logic tells me it's physically impossible to maintain a schedule like that for long.

On the other end of that extreme are the over-achiever moms, my cousin being one of them. These drill seargents are shameless: they not only bravely give up hours of precious sleep on Saturday and Sunday mornings, they force their helpless children to do the same. After rousing their bleary-eyed offspring at the crack of dawn, they fully expect them to perform like champions at early morning swim practice, mid-morning soccer games, lunchtime gymnastics, and afternoon piano lessons. This breed of supermom subsists on Campbell's portable soup cups and large thermoses of coffee, while they sustain their children with sugar-saturated sports drinks, cereal bars, and go-gurt tubes. When the above activities have been successfully accomplished, they bring their exhausted children home, only to pump them full of more saccharine snacks so the poor fellows can stay up long enough to finish their schoolwork and maybe have time for an educational game or two. It breaks my heart to see this.

Thankfully, there are the poor, the tired, the weary among us -- and I count myself in this last group -- who cannot bear the thought of arising bright and early on a weekend morning, even if it is for a good cause. For us, Sunday brunch has been generously extended till 3:00 pm. I just heard from my friend Anna that one of our favorite German bakeries/delis also serves breakfast -- or so I thought. Turns out it's been going on for quite a while and it's actually called lunch, only my friend wisely sold it to me as "breakfast" knowing that I can't resist sausage products when I wake up.

I was filled with joy when I read that the annual Race for the Cure had the good sense to dream up a "Sleep In for the Cure." The truth is, Anna has been pleading with me to run with her team for the last 10 years. Yet somehow, I just couldn't bring myself to join her. Before you brand me as a heartless grinch, consider this: I'm obviously not alone in my hesitation to wake up at 6:00 or 7:00 am on a Saturday morning and sprint under the hot sun through the hazy polluted air of the swampland that is D.C. Sleeping in for the Cure is much simpler, and I would argue just as charitable as running. You buy the shirt, support the cause, then sleep in the shirt to be a part of the cause. Plus, you give yourself 3-4 healthy hours of sleep, thereby contributing to a healthier day around the world. What could be better? There are plenty of others 'fessing up to sleeping in for the cure (or whatever they're sleeping in for). In fact, when I told Anna that I planned to Sleep In for the Cure this year, she responded that her folks were doing exactly the same. See, I told you so!

If we're aware that we desperately need sleep, yet we just can't get enough, then what's the answer to the six million-dollar question? Well, you can either get the best 5-6 hours imaginable, or, you can pay to get away somewhere where you might actually be allowed (even encouraged) to sleep lazily through the day. Indeed, sleep has become the ultimate luxury.

Hotels have capitalized on our dire lack of rest by offering "in-town retreats," specially designed for those who simply can't get enough snooze time (or just alone time). My colleague just celebrated her 1st wedding anniversary at the Courtyard Marriott near her home. She used to live with her in-laws, but even now, in a private condo, private time is still scarce. Apparently, the Courtyard Marriott was one of the few hotels that boasted a whirlpool tub plus a king-sized bed inside the suite. Why not a trip to Paris or an extravagent moonlight cruise? Well, who knows what kind of accommodations those less-than-hygienic little inns offer -- certainly not luxurious down comforters and hypo-allergenic pillows in air-purified rooms.

"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest," they beckon with their silk duvets and delicately scented lavender sachets. Removed from the sounds of nagging kids, slobbering pets, ambitious neighbors' early morning hedge trimming, towering piles of unfolded laundry next to the bed, the persistent leaky faucet, and a slew of other potential sleep hazards -- you will find rest for your soul. What, you may wonder, will the luxury of a refreshed spirit cost you, in earthly value?

The Hilton offers a Romance Package which includes sparkling wine (or cider) upon your arrival, breakfast in bed, and access to all the hotel's amenities such as the health club and sauna (where available). The ever-posh Ritz-Carlton invites Northen Virginia's well-heeled suburbanites to enjoy a "Reconnect Package - Luxury in your Backyard." For a surprisingly low starting price of $239 per night, you and your guest can savor a Friday night wine-and-cheese reception, breakfast for two at the in-house restaurant, a complimentary bottle of champagne with the purchase of dinner for two at said in-house restaurant, 10% off spa treatments, and ample nearby shopping at one of the nation's most opulent retail galleries.

Looking for a truly spa-like experience that will leave you pampered, rested, and refreshed -- and maybe tanned and de-wrinkled to boot? Try The Greenbrier, a 5-diamond resort in White Sulphur Springs, West Virginia, recommended by the nation's creme-de-la-creme since 1798. Nestled in the breathtaking Allegheny Mountains and just over an hour's drive from the Washington D.C. suburbs, the scenery alone is sure to restore your inner peace. If that's not enough, the resort (which includes a stellar golf course and to-die-for spa) can spoil you with countless amenities and special packages. The Anniversary/Honeymoon package starts at $405 (that's for a one-night stay!) but thoughtfully includes fresh flowers, Greenbrier chocolates, a lovely keepsake photograph, and a room upgrade. Want to escape during the holiday hustle? The Christmas Comes Early package is a better deal, in my opinion. Starting at $329 for a one-night stay, it comes with a $100 gift certificate which can be used for retail or resort activities.

The Baby Me Babymoon is probably the best deal around, but there's one catch: it's for couples expecting a (you guessed it) baby. Go in April through October and it's a hefty $600 per room, but book in November or December and enjoy deluxe accomodations for just $300 per room. Mom gets a 50-minute pregnany massage, dad gets a 50-minute sports massage (both include taxes and gratuities), and both get one-hour of couples' fitness training with a personal instructor. On top of that, you get chocolates, sparkling cider, and rose petal turndown service on the first night.

Come for the sleep, stay for the legendary spa services. There's nothing like a good massage to kick off your weekend of relaxation. But why settle for an ordinary Swedish massage? Be a trend setter with the Traditional Thai Massage, an ancient form of therapeutic healing brought to Thailand from India over 2000 years ago. Combining acupressure, energy balancing, stretching and applies yoga exercises, as well as improving flexibility, relation and energy levels, it's quite an 80-minute experience for $275 ($370 for 110 minutes). And since you're here to sleep better, why not indulge in an Aromatherapy Rose Petal Wrap for $150? Your skin is first buffed with ground olive stones, then wrapped to seal in the essential oils of rose and jojoba. After topping off with a scalp massage, you're sure to sleep like a baby.

Got a few days to spare? Break the bank in style with the Greenbrier Signature Package. A starting price of $1520 will get you two nights’ room accommodations, the Greenbrier Signature Treatment (a soak in the White Sulphur Springs’ healing waters, steam or sauna, Swiss shower or Scotch spray, and full body massage), mineral body mask, mineral body polish, mineral manicure and pedicure, Swedish massage, daily hike, and unlimited fitness. Other packages offered are the Lap of Luxury and the Mother/Daughter Package, and all include spa gratuities and taxes. Each package does comes with a small "resort fee" of $25 per night, but what's that when you're spending $1500 or more for a luxury getaway?

And if money is really no object, book a jet to Fiji and rent an uber-exclusive Vale O ("House in the Clouds") villa from Melissa McCoy Fiji Escapes Travel. Heck, it's not even a villa -- it's a "12,000 square foot villa on a 16-acre hilltop estate with stunning panoramic ocean views." Claiming to be "the finest in the South Pacific," it offers complete privacy, king sized beds, plus your own swimming pool, jacuzzi, tennis and boules courts. Not only will a personal butler attend to your every need, you'll also receive a personal chef, daily laundry service, unlimited use of the fully stocked minibar, and your very own on-call driver (should you actually choose to leave the island paradise).

But why leave when you've got your fill of activities to choose from, including scuba diving, snorkeling, golf, wimbledon-tex tennis court, glass-bottom reef boat, archeological hikes, nature walks, fitness center, croquet, deep sea fishing and sport fishing. Rest assured that your $7600 per night (plus a 15% Fijan government tax) will get you the ultimate in private relaxation, not to mention out-of-this-world luxury.

Alas, if you just can't get away -- and even if you can, you're still bound to return eventually --take heart: there are plenty of people willing to sell you every product under the sun to help you maximize your few sleepable hours. And that's where the sleep industry really starts to cash in.

Starting with the mattresses themselves, you've got everything from your standard stuffed metal springs to fancy individually-wound polymer coils encased in multiple layers of resilient foam with hypo-allergenic featherbed pillowtops. And absolutely everything in between. The prices range from a fresh-out-of-college $199 at Ikea to over $2000 at your local mattress or department store.

Ye Olde Mattress not customized enough for your needs? Consider an adjustable Select Comfort Sleep Number bed. The "unique air chamber design allows each sleeper to adjust the mattress to the firmness or softness they prefer." So if you're a back sleeper, you can revel in firmness while your stomach-snoozing spouse can snooze peacefully on a softer mattress. You can even adjust the position of your head or feet. The Sleep Number(R) 3000 twin mattress, the bottom of the barrel, starts at a comfortable $449.99, while the literal top of the heap -- a Precision Comfort(R) Adjustable Foundation mattress, complete with massage and wave features -- runs $1899 for a queen and a whopping $3098 for a king.

Got back problems or a turbulent bed partner? Invest in a NASA-certified memory-foam Tempur-Pedic. Much more than a mere mattress, it claims to be an entire "sleep system." With 8 systems to choose from, they undoubtedly have to answer to all your problems. The trouble is, you've got to first figure out which problems are bothering you. If you just need "Healing support, timeless comfort" you're in luck: the ClassicBed system will provide this for a small financial sacrifice of $1699 for a basic queen and up to $2598 for a dual-part split king. Need your "unforgettable comfort" with "sophisticated style"? You'll have to opt for a PrimaBed system, which starts at $2099 for a queen but caps off at $2399 for a regular king.

If you're a celebrity (if only in your own mind), nothing less than "indulgent, pillow-top comfort" will do. Enter the CelebrityBed system, which boasts a 5-inch taller mattress and pampers your delicate skin with a cashmere-blended cover. Surprisingly affordable (for a celebrity) at only $3499 for a queen and 3799 for a basic king (though you'll have to cough up $5398 for a split king), it's really the basic level of comfort required for a hard-working, hard-partying celebrity these days.

Will the RhapsodyBed system sing you lullabies and play the harp as your drift off to a peaceful slumber? Not quite, but for $2699-2999 for a basic queen/king, it will provide "soothing comfort, unrivaled support." Hey, it's not balcony seats, but it's a start. How about the SymphonyBed system? No private performance here either, but with a much more soothing price tag of $1399-1699 for a basic queen/king, you will enjoy "confort and support in complete harmony." And, with the money you save, you can easily afford a season's subscription to the opera. Plus, if you purchase a Tempur-Pedic pillow, you will receive a gift of Bedtime Beats, a 2-disc CD that is designed to help you fall asleep while listening to soothing, tranquil, and beautiful music. (It reminds me a lot of the Victoria's Secret Angels CD that my husband purchased for me several years ago, probably to glimpse the wholly angelic models enticing him to bed with feathery wings and not much else.)

Will the DeluxeBed rouse you in the wee hours of the morning with the heavenly aroma of bacon and eggs? Probably not -- you'll have to make do with "therapy and comfort, perfectly balanced." No thanks then, I'll take the bacon, and extra cream with my coffee, please. Look, I'm not denying that some people have cured their insomnia with these magical sleep systems, it's just that $2000-4000 is an awful lot of money to shell out for fancy foam, even if it is developed for astronauts. So here's my recommendation: order the 3 month in-home tryout for a minimal financial outlay of $175 for shipping. If your life is truly transformed and you start to hear angels sing, then you can decide whether you're prepared to part with your left arm (and your spouse's right leg, depending on which system you keep) for unparalleled sleep comfort.

Personally, I'm much more interested in the trappings of a royal den than with space-age mattress technology. That makes me a sucker for luxury bedding, particularly varieties manufactured at Italian mills and woven with exceptional skill out of the finest materials grown. I'm not the least bit high maintenance or anything....

If your price range is under $200, then Macy's Hotel Collection is your dream come true. This upscale house brand contains some of the closest bedding I've touched to real luxury hotel bedding -- for the money, of course. Smart Bargains and Amazon are also great sources of discounted luxury bedding, with thread counts ranging from 200 to over 1000. But before you scramble to scoop up all the high thread count sheets you can find for under $150, be forewarned: thread count is not the holy grail of bed textiles that the marketing gods would have you believe. Furthermore, all sheets are definitely not created equal.

First and foremost, know your fabrics. Egyptian cotton is world-renowned for its softness, so if you need to be caressed nightly by your sheets, this is your cup of tea. Egyptian cotton contains long fibers and can be made into stronger, finer yarns. Turkish cotton is a worthy substitute that is also known for its sheen, so if you can't afford Egyptian, this may be the way to go.

Secondly, know your finishes. If you like your linens crisp, substantial, and shiny, opt for a sateen finish. A lot of hotels use sateen sheets. Be forewarned, however, that since sateen sheets are woven with a denser thread concentration on the top layer, they can wear down more quickly and lose some of their sheen -- particularly those of inferior quality. Also, a lot of hotels actually iron their sheets, which I doubt the average American (without the convenience of a live-in housekeeper) has time to do. If you're willing to commit the time to care properly for your sheets, then they'll return the favor by maintaining their thickness, luster, and shade longer.

Likewise, if you literally run your linens through the ringer on a regular basis, you definitely need percale. Before you scoff at the horror of buying percale sheets, hear this. Contrary to popular belief, percale does not refer to a blend of cotton and polyester, nor is it synonymous with bad quality. Percale is nothing more than a tighter, closely woven of fabric which can be made of cotton or a blend of other materials. It's a firm, medium weight and offers a smooth but not glossy finish. It's designed to be highly resistent to warping, fading, and shrinking. When a piece of fabric (usually cotton or polyester) reaches a thread count of over 200, it is technically named percale and is very commonly used in higher quality, more expensive bed sheets.

So then, what is the significance of thread count, exactly? Thread count refers to the number of threads packed into a square inch of fabric. Another term you'll come across is "construction," which refers to how the threads are woven. Yarn size is also important; namely, finer yarns produce lighter fabrics. Higher thread counts are often made of finer yarns, since more of them can be woven into a square inch. Super-fine yarns can be twisted together, creating 2 ply yarns that can then be woven into sheeting. However, in the highly enlightening explanation of the sheet weaving process from Linen Place, we learn that "weaving with 2 ply yarns that do not have a high enough yarn size so the end product feels heavy and blanket-like." For this reason, some retailers have put the emphasis on marketing single-ply sheets by insisting that these contain the only "true" high-thread counts. However, single-ply yarns don't necessarily make for comfortable weaves, either.

When you're choosing the best for your bed, choose quality over thread count. Yes, princess brides, you heard me. A cheap manufacturer will not turn out heavenly bed linens just by increasing the thread count. By the same token, a highly reputable house can produce excellent lower-thread-count sheets that are extremely durable. I mean, if you don't start with good cotton, you're not going to end up with a good sheet. And if you don't have a good weaver, you're going to end up with a poorly-made, overpriced product. I guarantee that 200-thread count Egyptian cotton percale woven by a high-end manufacturer will wrap your skin in sumptuous softness for years, while even 1000-thread count sheets of poor quality rushed through an inferior operation will only disappoint in the long run.

Still not convinced? According to Linen Place, "In a quality product, the incremental comfort value of increasing thread count over 300 is very little. A 300 thread count can feel far superior to a 1000 thread count." Finally, remember the golden rule of shopping: if it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. So when in doubt, go with a good maker.

Besides the prolific sheet options available to the average consumer, there's no shortage of other bedding categories to choose from. From pillows, to mattress pads, to comforters, to duvet covers, there is an endless online marketplace devoted to helping you create the boudoir of your dreams.

Nowadays, it's common to find thick down comforters in most bedding departments to warm your tootsies on a frosty night. Fortunately for us allergy sufferers, it's also now possible to enjoy all that downy softness without the sneeze-inducing duck or goose feathers. Pillows too are available in all types of hypoallergenic varieties. Even better, pillows cater to just about anyone's sleeping styles. My husband, a stomach sleeper, needs a softer filling and prefers large body pillows. I tend to snooze on my side and occasionally on my back, so I need a slightly firmer pillow. However, I also require either silk or tightly woven sateen cotton cases so as not to perspire excessively or impress too many wrinkles into my delicate face. That's after I spritz the entire bed (cat and husband included) with a lavender blend I purchased from the Bed and Body Works Aromatherapy line some years ago. Does it help me relax and whisk me away to a field in Provence? No, not really. But it does smell better than the cat's dander and the dirty socks that inevitably pile up over the side of the laundry bin.

If you really want to indulge your fantasies, investigate a canopy. From sheer round tendrils of mosquito netting descending from the ceiling to to ornate velvet draping a four poster bed, you've got your pick of materials and shades. I favor the tropical ivory cotton and contemporary Asian-inspired box canopies for that private vacation feel without feeling like the bed is trying to swallow you whole. You can even pack a travel mosquito net if you suddenly find yourself with a strong desire to take up shelter under the stars.

Besides the sights, and smells, and touches, my husband can only drift into slumber against the symphony of his favorite classical music (which goes against everything you would expect him to like if you actually saw him in person). I, on the other hand, pray for complete and utter silence, which of course never comes. It's one of the reasons I actually sleep better in the mountains or in a remote country cabin, where airplanes don't fly and trucks don't careen loudly along the high-speed roads nightly. Can't agree on the background ambience in your bedroom? Try one of the many CDs that are allegedly designed to "hypnotize" your brain into a state of slumber.

Some people swear that white noise does the trick. If nature is your thing, you'll love Pure White Noise's sounds of "Restful Rain", a "Babbling Brook", or a "Sea of Serenity." I'm a little skeptical of "Baby's Vacuum Cleaner," "Calming Electric Fan," and "Smooth Radio Static" though. Maybe it's just me, but those are generally the things that keep me up in the first place. New Age or Meditation music is another option. Think Enya, only more calming and specially manipulated to trigger brainwave patterns. Choose from such synthesized zen-inducing pleasures as as Serenity Suite, Sleep Soundly, or Inner Peace. With titles like that, how can you achieve anything less than pure nirvana?

There you go, insomniacs of the world. It's a (yawn) modest start. Next time, I'll devote time to exploring the mechanics of sleep, how to feng shui your surroundings to invite the forces of sleep into your bedroom, and maybe test some chemical sleep remedies. But now, since I've managed to accrue just 5 hours of rest in the past 2 nights, it's time for me to go catch up on some. Good night, and sleep tight!

Party Like a Queen with Mikasa Platinum Crown Expanded Set at Macy's

I am overcome with giddiness as I finish drying and putting away my still-twinkling platinum-banded china that I just acquired on clearance (stole was more like it). Can you believe I purchased a 45-piece fine china collection for only $169.99? It's gleaming white with a beautiful silver band rimming the edge, engraved with a delicate scroll design, and finished with a second thinner silver band. The cups have an old-school ladylike-ness to them which makes me want to lift my pinky as I sip my tea. Anyway, the reason this is such excellent news is that I recently returned from my honeymoon to find that almost no one had gifted us any china settings.

Now, between you and me, this wasn't a catastrophe, as I wasn't going to register for china in the first place. I've always been content with my Target Home collection yellow and blue banded dinnerware, which routinely gets mistaken for the Crate & Barrel Capri Collection (after which I can't resist quipping, "Thank you dear, it's from Target.") So why did I even register for 12 place settings of Kate Spade's June Lane silver china, you ask? Because my mother developed ulcers upon hearing that I had not gone china pattern shopping with my betrothed, and this wasn't going to do. I must have fine china to pass on to my children, she insisted. She called me every day to inquire about which pattern we had finally settled on until I caved in. And also, my friend and bridesmaid Patty -- who had been right about so many other aspects of wedding planning and married life -- told me it was necessary. What would relatives give me if, heaven forbid, I didn't register for 12 place settings of china and all the expensive accoutrements that crowned the dinner table?

So register I did. But receive I didn't. Except for a lovely creamer that arrived in the mail, 2 types of bowls (each of which I registered for separately as for some reason Kate Spade doesn't believe in providing soup, cereal, or fruit bowls in her place settings) that were a present from Patty, and finally, 2 very generous place settings from my childhood friend Candice and her parents. So this was the extent of my fine china kingdom? Two china settings, 2 random bowls, and a creamer? And this was supposed to help me become a proper hostess how, exactly? Normally, I wouldn't have fretted, but recently we had been volunteered for quite a few holiday parties and family dinners. I had the in-laws coming over for dinner in a week. We had been promising to have our friends over for a big wine & cheese party to share our honeymoon photos and treats we had brought back from Italy. Plus, Christmas dinner for the whole gang just 6 short weeks away. My paltry collection -- however pretty it looked sitting on top of my buffet -- simply wasn't going to work.

So how fortunate was it that Macy's decided to have their biggest one-day-sale of the season exactly when I was looking to grow my china collection? It couldn't have been timed more auspiciously. After all, I was registered at Macy's, so all I had to do was take back the china I had received and exchange it for something I could actually use. So, I proceeded to pack everything up, carry it into my car, and make a trip to the Macy's return counter. And how much do you think 2 place settings, 2 little bowls, and a creamer earned me? $457! Wow!! Those were some pricey pieces. The saleswoman asked if I wanted to exchange it for anything? As a matter of fact... I whipped out my folded-up Macy's flyer, turned to the dog-eared housewares page, and asked if I could please see the Mikasa Extra Values china sets.

There were 2 expanded sets on clearance: Mikasa Platinum Crown (top photo) and Mikasa Cameo Platinum (right). I followed the saleswoman to the china table and inspected both patterns. The two were equally elegant and thus worthy in my kitchen, though the Platinum Crown had just a little more bling. That made it the obvious choice for moi. The 45-piece expanded set, which consisted of 8 plate settings (including actual soup bowls), a creamer, sugar bowl, round platter, and large serving bowl, was on sale for only $199! But my luck was unstoppable that day, because the $199.99 set -- which normally retails for $380 -- was reduced to $169.99. Now that's an unbeatable value! You can't even buy a 20-piece set to serve 4 people for less than $137.10 (at least that's the lowest price I found, at Rudi's Pottery). Even Macy's was pawning each place setting for $39.99, which would total $159.96 to serve 4. So imagine what an absolute giveaway 8 place settings + a sugar bowl + a creamer + a serving bowl + a platter is at $169.99!

Without hesitating, I snatched up a 45-piece set and rushed home to unpack it. No broken pieces, no missing plates, just perfect. Immediately I loaded up the dishwasher with my new set to make sure it could take the heat. No problems whatsoever, not a scratch on the platinum band. Finally, I made room for my 45-piece set in the upper tiers of my cabinets. It all fit, somehow. Fabulous!

Now I'm ready to entertain like a proper queen! And I paid sheer pennies.

Postscript:

I just went back to try and get another 45-piece set (you never know when you'll have more than 8 for dinner) and saw that Macy's price was now back up to $199. Rats! Oh well, you can't win them all. But it's still a fantastic value at $199, so maybe I'll get it anyway...

Post Post Script:

Well, what do you know? I eschewed the post-Thanksgiving Black Friday insanity and bided my time. As luck would have it (again), Macy's sent me a friends & family coupon for 20% off. So I went back and purchased another 45-piece Mikasa set -- which was still priced at $199 -- for $167 with my discount. The 3-Penny Princess strikes again!

3-PENNY PRINCESS HOME

A Visit from the 3-Penny Queen

If there was anyone who could ever one-up the 3-Penny Princess in the quest to find a good bargain, it could only be the queen mother (whom we'll call the 3-Penny Queen). From my earliest days growing up, I can remember vivid memories of standing in line on Black Friday to catch the best deals, or sifting through the clearance racks at TJ Maxx in search of a rare marked-down designer shoe that no one else had.

To be fair, our tastes didn't exactly converge for many years. She had a penchant for the artsy, liberated, and off-the-beaten-path -- "Contemporary European" she called it -- while I was firmly planted in wholesome, American, girl-next-door classics. This was the source of endless teenage angst followed by adult loathing on my part for her complete refusal to fit into the Donna Reed housewife mold. And she was always into her career -- which wasn't a traditional female career, either. Watching her now as she manages important projects and helps get our country onto a better energy track is exciting. But as a child, I just wanted a mom who would bake cookies, make dinner for my friends, and pack lunchboxes with peanut butter sandwiches on Wonderbread with chips and applesauce. Hence, I spent more time in my dad's care than my mom's as his profession offered more flexibility (which was fortunate, as his cooking skills were always more amenable to my palate).

"Can't you be like all the other moms who wear smart sweater sets with pearls and neat polo shorts with cuffed shorts to kids' outings?" I would beg incessantly as an only child growing up in the Carolinas who just wanted to fit in.

"Why should I be like everybody else?" she would demand. "I get tons of compliments from friends and coworkers on my innovative sense of style."

"But why do you have to make me wear these weird clothes?" I would plead. "I don't want to stand out. I want to be just like the other girls in school who wear fun, casual sporty clothes and Keds. I don't want to be different."

"My dear," she would console me, "One day, you're going to realize that you're unique, and that being unique is a good thing. People try their whole lives to be different, to find that singular personality that makes them special. You're lucky -- you've already got that uniqueness. It's just waiting to come out."

"Aaargh!" I would march off into my room, hating everything that was "unique" and "special" and wanting to just be "normal" and "boring".

Which led naturally to a late high school and college wardrobe monopolized by clean-cut American classics, preppy basics from J.Crew and Gap, lots of khaki, and of course the requisite pearls that any Southern girl carries over, no matter where she moves. This took me pretty far in the Jackie-O inspired ambiance of the nation's capital and the nostalgically traditional Georgetown University, where some dorms were still single-sex and where priests still taught many classes (albeit Jesuit ones, thank God).

In the years after college, my ideal work ensembles came straight off the racks of the elegant Ann Taylor, then the epitome of grace in my limited world view. I also liked the clean lines and modern professionalism of The Limited and some timeless career classics from Banana Republic and Gap (when Gap still produced a line of refined work wear). This was supplemented by a sassy, cool evening vibe from such stores as Urban Outfitters, Express, Bebe, and Benetton -- all of which were easily accessible in the District without a car. For countless summer weekends spent largely on the Delaware beaches, I scoured the J.Crew and Banana Republic outlets (on the way to the beach) and the sale rack at Abercrombie & Fitch (before their pre-teen transformation).

Then I met my husband, which, among other changes, led to a ban of those countless summer weekends in the group beach houses. I also left my post-college stints on Capitol Hill to try my luck in the corporate world. This paid off financially, but it also changed my workwear needs. While the Hill was known for being a bastion of beige suits with medium heels and Kate Spade bags, along with knee-length dresses and pearls (no matter which party you worked for), the business sector had a little more variety. My husband also liked it when I wore girly pleated skirts, shades of (gasp) pink, and short dresses with heels.

During this period, I developed an insatiable appetite for shoes. Now, I should point out that this was not something I was born with. In fact, I never really understood my mother's overflowing shoe collection containing a most unsettling assortment of crazy platforms, killer stilettos, and a fetish-worthy stockpile of knee-high boots -- none of which were in style during the greater part of my youth. When would she ever wear those, and why on earth does one need a pair of fuchsia heels anyway? My shoe anthology, on the other hand, had been primarily composed of various specimens of brown, black, and the occasional tan sandal. For work I had usually subsisted on low pumps, slingbacks, and loafer heels. For play I chose beachy wedge flip-flops or ballet flats.

Thus it was with a fair amount of shock that I discovered that I was starting to enjoy shoe and handbag shopping more than I wanted to admit. It was even more disconcerting that I was beginning to appreciate styles that were not particularly practical. Worse, I had developed an unexplained tendency to buy shoes and bags in colors other than the aforementioned black, brown, or tan. All of a sudden I liked red, white, and silver shoes. I bought orange and pink bags. I even started to dabble in metalllics. It was disturbing that I was buying green shoes when I barely owned any green clothing. For some reason though, this trend continued, and I ended up with not only interesting shoes but higher and higher heels. All of which made me feel more like a woman than ever.

As shoes became a priority in my closet, accessories hit it big all over the retail spectrum. Over the years, pearls had remained the mainstay of my jewelry. I could experiment with big pearls, little pearls, single strands, and multiple rows, but pearls were always present. Gold was vehemently off limits for me, as I had long preferred silver and platinum as my more subdued metals of choice. But there was no denying that fine, delicate jewelry was becoming a bit passe and big costume jewels were hitting the scene with a force unseen in decades. Gold too made a huge comeback, as did beads and stones of all colors and sizes. Seeing the J.Crew models wrapped in rows of bright baubles undoubtedly ignited a need to re-decorate my wardrobe.

While this didn't exactly happen without some resistance on my husband's part -- he strongly objected to the sudden disappearance of his beloved pearls -- I continued to experiment with new looks. Don't get me wrong, I still loved my pearls -- but I felt that I needed to break out of the mold that I had been trapped in for so long and try something different, something bolder and more dramatic. I now wanted to wear colorful statement jewelry and unexpected combinations of accessories. Turquoise, coral, and quartzes that my mother had given to me years back now saw the light for the first time in ages. The pearls that did stay out on my dresser got an overhaul, being suddenly paired in never-before-seen ways, as necklaces became bracelets and single strand chokers were melded with longer, differently shaped beads. I even discovered that pearls came in all different colors, which led to a revelation that beigey, gray, and pinkish shades looked smashing on me.

Looking back at what my mom used to wear, I realize that she was years ahead of her time (or was it years behind?). Flipping through the old photographs and seeing her in the belted suit jackets, shirtdresses, chunky necklaces, tall boots, platform shoes, bug-sized glasses and turtlenecks with wide-leg trousers that are all the rage now, I find myself wondering if maybe she wasn't onto something. Even crazier, I am astonished to discover that I actually wear many of those things now -- with alarmingly similar results. Will my kids look back on my photographs one day and wonder why mommy dressed so weird? Probably. What goes around always comes around.

Fast forward to the present. When my mother came to visit last weekend, I actually looked forward to showing off my newfound style. While rooted in classics and wrapped with a colorful, feminine flair, my look was undeniably different than before. I wanted to show her how I had infused the flavors of the exotic, hints of the artsy, and essences of Parisian chic into my American, J.Crew-dominated wardrobe.

My efforts did not go unappreciated, as mom not only took notice but even complimented my style and my new accessories. And for her part, the recent years of sunbathing (bad!) and enthusiastic enjoyment of the easygoing Florida lifestyle had imparted her with a decidedly more laid-back, tanned, and carefree vibe. This in turn took some of the edge off her take-charge persona and gave her wardrobe an airier, less accessorized, and more feminine aura -- which both my father and I found pleasing.

For the first time, I felt like we could walk down the street together in harmony instead of me dreading her attention-grabbing ways and her complaining about my dreadfully boring ways. She even let me accessorize her for a change, and I actually took note of some of her ideas for some upcoming outfits I wanted to try. And she is warming up to J.Crew better than I expected....

Here she is in a J.Crew navy Corinne sweater jacket, white jeans, yellow tank, and pewter Cole Haan wedge sandals (left).

I took the opportunity to debut my Crisp Cotton Shorts in Shocking Pink with a navy Jackie cardigan and older navy polka-dot top. I accessorized with the Cherry Blossom Necklace in Deep Rose, worn here as a bracelet, and pink multi-colored sandals from Target bought last year (below).

I foresee a beautiful future for us, one where we can finally shop together in the same stores and find common ground. And shopping there will be, because one thing hasn't changed: this women still loves to shop! After 3 days of touring the area and visiting just about everyone she knew, she dragged my tired feet all over the discount stores in search of those must-have bargains. Some of her scores included Cole Haan sandals, Vera Wang Lavender Label jackets, and a new Italian-made handbag.

I took home a gossamer-thin (yet surprisingly warm) Theory ivory cashmere henley for pennies and a fetching Tory Burch shift in a most bewitching pattern that was on clearance. They will go nicely with my J.Crew pieces and fun new accessories.

Today, on this chilly and rainy day, I decided to bring out my Theory cashmere henley to road-test it. I paired it with a tea rose tank, dark bootcut Calvin Klein jeans, and my Frenchie trench in khaki (not shown). I accessorized with the Cherry Blossom Necklace in Deep Rose, a pink-orange multicolored cuff bangle from the Talbot's outlet that I picked up for $8, and a pair of Delman peep-toe slingback heels in tea rose that I plucked from the clearance rack at Marshall's for a mere $15 while shopping with my mom in Florida this winter (left).

While we no doubt still have our disagreements about style (and which hair color looks best on me), it makes me happy that we are finally learning to appreciate various elements that make up our own unique styles. Especially now that I no longer shudder at the very thought of being "unique". I am also grateful to her for conveying to me at least part of the artistic whimsy that she embraces. I hope that she is finally able to see some of my more classic ensembles as timeless rather than boring.

I have always dreamed about having little girls one day so I can dress them up and go shopping with them. I hope that they will like to play in my closet and borrow my clothes and shoes in ways that I never really wanted to in my mother's. Although, if they're anything like me, they'll be just as obstinate as I was and hate everything that I like. Oh well, at least they can play in my mother's closet.

Singin' the Post-Holiday Blues (Shopping When Broke)

Post-holiday bank account giving you the blues? Join the club! I'm so broke, I feel guilty about buying excess household items at Target. Normally, I save big bucks by buying in bulk. A 15-roll pack of paper towels is usually priced cheaper than a 6-pack. But lately, I've had to scale down to economize. I have to think as I stand in front of the tissues, do we need a 3-box set now, or can I redivide the current tissue stock to replenish the box that just finished? Will the fabric softener last another 2 weeks until I get paid? I mean, the stupid Downey is ridiculously expensive these days, but I refuse to shop uneconomically and get the smaller bottle which costs more per ounce and won't last as long. Can the cat just eat tuna and will he eat the chili that we just made (probably not), or do I absolutely have to go out and get him a 12-can pack of cat food? You see that absurdity in which I now find myself.

Despite this depressing situation, I can't fathom the thought of not shopping for a whole month (or more!). Some people have a shopping habit. I have a fiendish shopping addiciton. I simply can't not shop. If I don't feed the monster, I might just claw some rude clerk's eyes out or run over someone who insists on crossing the road when my light is a clear shade of green and an armada of cars is speeding ahead. Or hunt down a telemarketer at dinnertime, break into his house, and hang him by his toes. Depriving my shopping habit isn't a good thing, not for me, and not for society. I get restless, I get grumpy, I get desperate, and people suffer. So it's rather untimely that I'm hit with a dangerously low checking balance just when all the winter sales are going on and spring fashions are starting to bloom. But I've twice now paid off all my credit cards, and I vowed never to buy anything on credit that wasn't an emergency again. And no, finding that the diamond-emblazoned watch of my dreams just went on sale for half-price isn't an emergency, as much as I would like it to be. Thus, I spent the first five days of the new year resolute to not shop until I had the money.

Needless to say, I almost went nuts. I tried experimenting with some new baking recipes. But whom are you going to stuff with indulgent food right after the dreadful holiday overeating? Particularly when your significant other insists on returning to phase 1 of the South Beach Diet (no carbs, no sugars, no nothing -- no kidding!). Baking went out the door, as did most of our bread and comfort food. Okay, maybe I should visit my mother. Still lounging on the beach in Florida. My uncle -- still skiing in Utah. My neighbor (the only one I know by name since I bought this house 2 years ago) -- in Mexico. Darn. It seems like everyone escapes during the first week of January. My hubby and I did take advantage of the extended tropical heat wave that appears to have found a new geographic home to take care of some home improvement projects. It rechanneled some of my energy. However, there's only so much home improvement you can do without spending significant money on new parts or supplies. And we've pretty much reached that threshold for the time being. Well, I guess there's always writing. I can always write about, uh, not shopping? In a blog about shopping, that's hardly exciting. How can I brag about scoring fab deals if I don't score anything? And besides, my brooding behavior was starting to concern by better half. So he let me out for a night.

So out I went. I would like to say with a foreboding feeling of doom, but actualy, it was more like unleashing a killer shark into a reef filled with little schools of fish. My, where to start? All the fish look so tasty.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
and sorry I could not travel both
and be one traveller, long I stood
and looked down one as far as I could
to where it bent into the undergrowth.

Then took the other as equally fair,
but having perhaps the better claim,
because it was grassy and wanted wear
but as for that the passing there had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay in leaves no steps had trodden black.
Oh, I took the first for another day...

First, I hit the mall, which is packed with terrible temptations. What was I thinking? With all the Lord & Taylor coupons and Macy's sales, I couldn't not go crazy. Understanding the full risk before me, I expertly guided myself out through an auxiliary exit so I wouldn't have to walk through the rows of fashion that beckoned me at the department stores. Next, I hit DSW to try to use the two coupons that were burning a hole through my pocketbook. One never really has too many shoes. There's always a color I need, a style I lack. I'm happy to report that I didn't need to work hard to find deserving shoes to rescue with my coupons. With two worthy specimens, I made is safely home. Happy with my finds, I looked forward to an occasion to showcase my quilted chocolate BCBG ballerina flats ($50 with coupon) and my Nicole cognac bow-trimmed contrast-stiched ballet kitten heels ($40 with coupon). Not bad!

Oh, I took the first for another day,
but knowing how way leads onto way...

Shopping inevitably leads to a desire to do more shopping. Once you see something that you like, you start to get other ideas about what else you might like. Pretty soon, you just have to have it, and you can't imagine how your life will go on until you get it. Making up some poorly-constructed excuse about having to run some errands, I slipped out again, this time headed to the Talbots outlet. I had heard from my mother-in-law (the queen of cheap -- in a good way, of course) that the outlet was good source of cheap finds. After circling around the confusing Springfield Interchange trying to find the entrance to the obscure strip mall, I finally stumbled into the correct parking lot.

Now, Talbots has a paltry selection of clothing to offfer a girl of my tastes (youthful, sophisticated, and well-fitted). I don't know why, but every article of clothing I've bought from Talbots just can't seem to hug my body in the right way -- either the pants are too baggy in the leg and too narrow in the waist and ankles, or the button-down shirts hang too low and drapery-like past my ribcage. The gorgeous silk dresses look like sackcloths on my hourglass figure, choosing to bulge in the midsection and squeeze the upper and lower sections like a bloated watermelon. This includes the petite sizes, which are not cut for any petites I know. Even the t-shirts are shaped like squares rather than curving to conform to certain areas that women prefer to accentuate (i.e. cleavage), instead highlighting the not-so-sexy stomach.

But the accessories -- ah, those are a different story. I ogle the catalogs when each season's shoes come out. Sumptuous suedes in ripe colors, rich leathers in supple yet sharp designs, all the right embellishments without too much silly or grungy stuff. Of course, I wait for the sales. I mean, who wants to buy $98 jeweled croc slingbacks when you can buy them 4-6 weeks later for $60, or 12 weeks later for $39? Well let me tell you, the Talbots outlet is a shoe lover's dream! Shelves and shelves of shoes sorted by size, all out of their boxes and stacked on display. The prices are from heaven. Those $49 croc slingbacks? Take an additional 30% off. Those juicy sherbert colored ballet slippers that finally made it down to $39? Slash an extra 40% off of those. But wait, there's more: a clearance section which holds unwanted and "as-is" shoes for 50-70% off. I totally hit the jackpot! Snatching up 2 pairs in the "as is" section and a pair in the "past season" section (but soon to be back in season?), I took home the coveted jeweled croc slingbacks, baby pink dress skimmers (which I'm sure will be perfect for spring), and suede bow-trimmed ballet flats in a mouthwatering shade of coral. My total for the day's efforts? $29 for the slingbacks, $8 for the pink skimmers, and a whopping $4.75 for the coral ballet flats. Score 3-Penny Princess! And kudos to my mother-in-law for the tip.

As luck would have it, the temperature rose an unexpected 25 degrees, ushering in a widespread hope for an early spring. I had the perfect opportunity to test one of my new prizes during an impromtu social get-together. Maybe I'll take the baby pink skimmers out for a spin. After a few attempts to squeeze into the supple leather flats, I was faced with an unpalatable truth -- the shoes, being AA width, were much too narrow for my chunky toes. I felt like Cinderalla's stepsister trying to squeeze into the delicate glass slipper. Ouch! They were going to need professional stretching if they were ever going to encase my feet. What a pity! I was feeling really pink that day and was hoping to kill two birds with one stone by parading my new pink silk Italian scarf. No such luck.

Instead, I opted for the coral ballet slippers and hastily changed my top to play up the fresh shade. Perfect! Comfortable, stylish, and spring-like, I skipped out to my lunch gathering. The shoes were a hit! They really perked up my outfit, not to mention my mood. A few hours later, however, as the sun started to fall (it was still January, after all), I noticed a small problem. One of the ballet slippers was a slightly different shade than the other. It hadn't been noticeable in the softly dimmed glow of my bedroom, nor the generic flourescent lighting at the outlet store. But now, in the unforgiving final hours of outdoor daylight, it was undeniable. No wonder the shoes cost only $4.75! Darn that flourescent lighting. Oh well, I'm keeping the shoes anyway, at least to run errands in.

But I learned my lesson. If you're going to buy shoes for $8 and $4.75, be ready to do a little surgery on them. The pink dress skimmers may never fit me at an AA narrow width, even with stretching. And I don't know where I can buy coral colored shoe dye to correct the mismatched suede ballet slippers, so they may have to remain house slippers or quick-errand shoes only. Be careful when buying outlet shoes, as some are non-returnable. Thankfully, Talbots has an outstanding return policy -- you can return any item to any store for any length of time. You can even return merchandise purchased at the outlet to a regular retail store. So for now, I'm keeping the pink skimmers. But if they don't stretch with the Chinese torture device I've fitten them into, I'm definitely taking them back!