Humans are creatures of habit. We like having some semblance of a routine so that we can know that all in right in the world and that world peace is not far behind. Wait, am I the only one like that? I hope not because then I’m even more weird than I’m willing to admit.
And even during my recent
funemployment life-killer boredom-fest free time at home, I have found a way to have some sort of routine. I wake up later than any self-respecting adult should admit sleep in a little, have a little breakfast that usually consists of a protein drink. I will then get on Twitter and see what everyone was chatting about as they were getting ready for work, check the blog and e-mails, and commence watching an exorbitant amount of Law & Order: SVU on Netflix.
This goes on for a while, then I find some lunch and do any picking up around the house I feel needed for my husband not to move out. After lunch settles, I’ve been doing my 30-Day Shred work out. Less and less cursing has been happening, so that’s a plus. I then get showered, put some clothes on so my husband doesn’t know that I’ve been in pajamas most of the day, and continue with the Netflix and internet routine. Some days I have to go do laundry, others I have go grocery shopping or run errands, but this is my day for the most part. Sad? Yes. But I start work on the 4th and then I’ll be one happy girl to be getting out of the house and into real clothes on a regular occasion.
So bedtime in the A Family Household is the same. There’s a routine.
Usually starts about 30 minutes before Mr. A actually plans on going to bed. He’ll start making comments about sleeping or needing to go to bed and then look at me expectantly. It’s almost like he’s prepping me because it seems about 30 minutes before he’s ready for bed, I’ve started typing my blog post for the next day or have gotten involved in some muti-strain Twitter comment or I’m in the middle of a television show or something.
***It’s 9:56pm on Sunday. I’m writing a blog post for tomorrow and my husband just said, “You aren’t writing a blog post are you? We need to get going to bed.” It never fails people."****
Eventually, his yawns become more frequent and loud and he decides to go to bed. I usually go as well because I just like when we go to sleep at the same time and I remember when I was student teaching and went to bed at 9 every night and that was too early for him, so I went to sleep alone. Talk about lonely. So conversations get wrapped up and we get ready for bed.
Now, I have no clue if our routines are “normal” or not. We’re not very normal, so I wouldn’t expect our bedtime to be.
I will check that the front door is locked because I have irrational fears of people breaking into our apartment in the middle of the night and killing us. (This is why I can no longer watch scary movies because then I become a nut job who things that every time the A/C kicks on or the upstairs neighbor moves that Michael Myers is breaking down our front door. My dad should never have let me watch the shit that he did when I was little. I’m forever messed up. Now, my husband has some OCD tendencies, so after I check it, he usually checks it. I’m okay with it because I don’t need John Wayne Gacy coming to hide me under his house.
By this time, we have brushed our teeth and such. As I’m farting around, and for reasons unbeknownst to me, delaying going to sleep (usually because of my “little” sleeping in habit, I’m not all that tired at 10:30), my husband is being a lunatic and STRAIGHTENING THE BED.
Yes. You read that right.
The exact same bed we are about to get into and mess up anyways. My husband insists that the sheets be straight and all of that jazz. But this is also the man who thinks the bed should be made perfectly everyday even though no one will see it except for us and I could care less about a made bed. (I must have skipped over all the domestic wife genes at conception and went straight for the love of sleep and things sweet and salty ones. My zygote self has no clue how much it has screwed me.) I make fun of him about this every night. Keeps him in check.
Finally, the time has come for us to curl up in bed and drift off to sleep. Except my brain is crazy and decides that the first 10-15 minutes of being in bed is equal to 12 cups of coffee and I get super hyper. Like 13 year old girl at a slumber party prank calling boys hyper. We usually joke around. I’ll neck jab him, he’ll start tickling me behind the knee caps, most sensitive next to the feet, and so on. It usually ends after he’s holding my arms to keep from tickling him and I get mad because I can’t break free. Mr. A is very strong and this makes for games of wrestling or play-fighting very one-sided.
I finally calm down and settle in to sleep. I silently curse the neighbor behind us who leaves their porch light on all night long that shines directly into our bedroom window and put a blanket over my eyes. And while I don’t let my feet hang over the side of the bed because I saw I Know What You Did Last Summer and the killer grabs the girls feet because he’s under the bed and I just know that IT is hiding under there, but my feet cannot be under the blankets while sleeping. This also applies to socks. The idea of having my feet covered while sleeping is repulsive. I like cool feet.
And every night, at some point, Mr. A will get up to use the restroom, and if I don’t wake up when he first gets up, and instead wake up while he’s gone, I panic for a minute because I can’t find him. As soon as I see the bathroom light on, I can calm down, but I won’t fall back asleep until he’s safely in bed next to me.
Also, both Mr. A and I sleep talk at times. We have woken up in the morning on numerous occasions to tell the other about the ridiculous things the other said during the night. I tend to talk about Kool-Aid or shopping and being lost and bugs, and he talks about school, war, and dogs. I would love to be able to see his dreams.
Even though our routine is spastic and hilarious, at least in my mind, I love our routine. The husband and I are very silly and playful, so it makes sense that the playfulness carries over into our nighttime routines. I get to crawl into bed every night next to the man that I love more than anyone else and know he’s there with me. If I’m having a nightmare, I will reach over and he will hold my hand until I can relax and fall back asleep. He’s my best friend and I can’t wait for many more nights of our little routines.
****It’s now 10:25. My husband is taking glasses to the kitchen and giving me the eye about going to bed. Time to check the door…***