Ever since the beginning of our wedded bliss, my husband and I have had an ongoing dilemma that I like to call “The Restful Soul Vs. the Morning Man.”
Simply put — he loves to wake up with the early birds and I am normal.
Pat has made constant attempts to mold me into a morning person and has tried various tactics to wake me in the pre-dawn hours. There’s his early-morning whistle, his personal rendition of a Jack LaLanne motivational speech, and the strategic placement and implementation of floodlights.
Being a woman of a stubborn nature, I’ve always been able to ward off his earlymorning attacks. With a well-placed pillow and a death grip on the blankets, I can stay in bed for 10 minutes longer than he’s willing to fight me.
I learned to ignore the way he claps his hands. I’ve managed to keep my eyes tightly shut as he fires up his air-compressors, and can even swallow the panic that I feel as he asks me if I’ve paid the trash bill.
Being married to a morning man is one thing. But his early-morning traits have rubbed off on our little Charlie, who also wakes up at 5:45 a.m. sharp.
Together they share a ritual that consists of watching ESPN, consuming morning beverages and chuckling like a couple of little old men about the lesser people of the world who sleep their lives away.
Back in the day, I would grow weary of smacking the snooze button at 7 a.m. and reluctantly throw back the covers.
With a look complete with hair standing straight up on end and oversized jammies, I would crawl to the kitchen in hopes of some form of caffeine.
“She did get up!” Charlie exclaimed on a daily basis.
“Can you believe it?” my beloved spouse would respond. “Why, it’s nothing short of a miracle!” Then the two of them would chuckle in feigned disbelief.
For the last couple of months, however, something has changed, and my eyes are popping wide open long before the sunrise. Although I can’t prove it in a court of law, I know my Pat is to blame.
His latest plan of attack seems more brilliant than an ice cube on the spine, worse than halogen lamps, and more effective than placing his air compressor next to my pillow and shooting off the air guns.
His new strategy is subtle, sneaky and downright deviant. “What could it be?” you might ask. “Is it a bucket of water? The use of smelling salts? A well-placed set of bongo drums?”
Heck if I know. All I can say is that at or around 5 a.m., I’m not only awake, but feel as though I’m fully rested, and I suspect the man has somehow reprogrammed my brain. Will he stop at nothing?
One minute I’m dozing blissfully and dreaming about decorating the mud room and the next I’m giving up my pillow, relinquishing the warm blankets and crawling out of bed.
There was a time when I could not only have slept through a nuclear blast, but also the sound of a man building a deck outside the bedroom door. These days my eyes not only pop open, but I’m fully awake at the sound of a barely audible alarm clock.
They say this is normal for a woman in her late 40s — that as she ages, nature plays a dirty trick and sleeping in becomes a thing of the past. Still, I smell a rat, and I’m pointing a finger at my husband. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but I suspect that somehow he’s manipulated my body into thinking it’s well-rested even before the sun peeks over the horizon.
“She did get up!” Charlie exclaimed when I walked into the kitchen early this morning. And I was not only bright-eyed, but bushy-tailed.
“It’s a miracle,” Pat said with what I’m certain was faux surprise. “Now you can enjoy the best part of the day with us! Aren’t you so happy?”
I was happy all right — so happy that I turned on my heel and went back to bed.
This restful soul may have lost the battle, but I refuse to let the morning people win the war.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her by sending an email to [email protected].