Saturday, April 3, 2010

"Complications arose, ensued, were overcome."

On this fine Saturday morning, I woke up to a half-empty bed and realized that after my husband woke me up from a deep slumber absurdly early by whispering “I’m sorry” and I said “that’s fine, come to bed”, he did not in fact come-to-bed.

I knew this about him when I married him. His penchant for falling deeply asleep in the most uncomfortable of places. His mom used to regale me with stories about how his dad would awaken to find him sleeping on the floor in their office or in their living room, still in his jeans and sneakers. So, when my husband starts to fall asleep on the couch or on the floor, I always try to convince him to “just go to bed! You’ll feel so much better”. He almost always ignores my advice or he tells me he’ll “be right there” even though I know he won't be. (Hence the early morning “I’m sorry”.)

After years of being huffed at for waking me up by turning on the light to get ready for bed at 2 or 3 or 5 in the morning, he now just stays where he’s at and I, in turn, have learned to stop getting up at regular intervals to awaken him with “hey! Come to bed!” Honestly, who has time for that ritual when there’s an infant in the house?

Which is why on this particular Saturday morning, when I didn’t find him on the couch where I had left him, I did a quick check in each room, muttering something like “whereisthiscrazyman” along the way.

When I got to our back door of glass, I spied with my little eye a man, wearing the same jeans and shirt he fell asleep in the night before, working in his garden. I slid the door open and yelled out

“You Suck!”

then I closed the door and went back into our cave-room to try and get more than 6-ish hours of sleep. On the way, I imagined a bemused look crossing his handsome features before he went back to pruning and poking and planting.

“It’s not amusing!” I thought to myself, “not even funny!” Then, to prove it, I made a mental list of Very Serious Reasons:

1. He has overnight baby duty on the weekends, which he can’t do if he’s not in the same room as the baby!

2. I totally couldn’t watch the movie we have without him, so pseudo-new-parent-style date night was a bust because he was already doing his light little snoring on the couch by the time I laid the baby down at 9:30.

3. There will be the inevitable crash that happens when one is up too early on a Saturday morning. There’s always the crash. Which kind of messes with the rest of Saturday, for which he has Big Plans to study and do homework.

4. The biggest reason of all: he totally missed Saturday Sleep-In. It’s something we fantasize about all week – all 3 of us sleeping until 8 or 9, all together in our comfy queen size bed, intermittently waking and sleeping as a kicking baby uses his newly learned reaching and grabbing skills to touch our faces one by one before going back to sleep himself.

5. And in a few weeks when he goes to our ward’s fathers and sons overnight outing, he’ll miss Saturday Sleep-In again. I SO did not need a practice run.

See? Very Serious Reasons! I know too well that when I start forming arguments in my head, there’s no chance of getting back to my REMs. So, as I went sleepily about my morning, I contemplated ways to even the score.

When I changed the baby’s diaper, I considered looking out our bedroom window so he could catch me looking, then I would toss him a glare or two to show him I Mean Business. (then I remembered our window has foil on it to block out light and increase the cave-dwelling effect within.)

In the kitchen, I contemplated eating the last piece of his homemade bread just because it was his best yet and I was hungry and wouldn’t that just serve him right? (then I decided that would not be nice. And also? Pretty inefficient at the getting him back thing.)

In the bathroom, I pondered doing something messed up to his toothbrush. (then I decided I was too tired to come up with anything creative that didn’t cross the line into disgusting.)

Back in bed, I mulled over locking the door of glass and seeing how long it took him to find a way back inside. (then I decided he would just annoy me by knocking on the doors or windows or by ringing the doorbell.)

I was really running out of options here.

In the meantime, the baby had gone back to sleep next to me on the bed. I settled on getting that last piece of homemade bread and joining him. Saturday Sleep-In was back on! Minus 1.

Only it was hard to get back to sleep. Then I heard working-in-the-yard noises outside. Then the baby woke up again. Then the working man, smelling of dirt and outdoors, came inside and opened the cave door to come and stare at us and kiss our cheeks.

“It’s no use” I thought.

So I got up. And M got a grouchy wife. Fairest payback of all?

Only, as he came out of the shower in a blue bath towel, my resolve began to wane. I steeled myself while he dressed, and tried to ignore his attempts to make me play nice by begging for kisses, telling him in my firmest voice, “you missed Saturday Sleep-In!”

Ultimately, I caved. Not that I didn’t try the “who cares about vegetables!?” tack, because I did. He gasped like I had blasphemed, then countered my “lowly vegetables” argument with how he’ll be planting carrots, squash, and green beans that I can use to make baby food for C. (He’s right, of course.)

Truth is, I appreciate his hard work. We always joke about how I have the best brown gardener around. My front yard is trimmed and pretty (which our HOA also appreciates) and soon we’ll have a budding garden.

He talked about how getting his hands in the dirt and being out in the morning air and seeing families leaving together to go enjoy the day made his workweek doldrums disappear. Even if I hadn’t already known how working the soil with his hands and doing yard work is a form of therapy for him, how could I stay grouchy in light of such poetic Saturday sentiment?

Besides, as he deftly pointed out, there’s always Sunday Sleep-In.

Why, yes, yes there is.

[Title quote is from "Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest"]

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