Today’s column: Fried Rice " sleeping rules
Glenwood Springs, CO Colorado
“That’s against rule number four,” Husband-Head blurted out of the blue at 5 a.m. the other morning as we lay in bed just before it was time to get up.
“Huh?” I asked, not quite awake. “The alarm hasn’t gone off yet. What are you talking about?”
Husband-Head mumbled something and turned over.
“HEY!” I jostled him. “You can’t just say ‘rule number four’ and then go back to sleep! What the hell is ‘rule number four?'”
“No peeing the bed,” he said, pulling his comforter around him and adjusting his space on the bed.
The alarm clock was still about a half hour from going off, but now I was wide awake.
“So then what are rules one to three?” I wanted to know.
“Rule number one is no farting,” he explained. “Number two is no snoring and number three is no kicking.”
I was pretty sure he was talking in his sleep, but I wasn’t sure.
“You’ve already violated all four of the rules,” he added.
I had no idea there were hard and fast rules in our bed and I was a little miffed that I wasn’t allowed to contribute some of my own.
And because we were talking, naturally our two big yellow Labs, Weber and Wyatt, figured it was time to get up.
The normal routine is that as soon as the alarm goes off, the dogs pile on the bed and we have a few minutes of what we call “snuggle time.”
It’s a very sweet, but sometimes painful, moment. The two 100-pound animals essentially sit on us and roll on their backs, wanting their chests to be rubbed.
“OWWWW!” Husband-Head yells just about every morning. “Who’s got jabby-paws in my back?”
I’m not really able to respond.
“It’s not me!” I’ll answer in a muffled voice. “I’ve got one sitting on my head!”
The cuddle thing with the dogs will go on as long as you let it. It’s pretty much one of the highlights of their day.
“Alright, that’s enough!” Husband-Head screamed out after a few minutes. “Rule number five is no over-snuggling.”
While one dog barrel-rolled into me on the bed for affection, the other stood at Husband-Head’s side of the bed and alternately growled and pawed at him.
“CLEARLY this dog needs to go outside,” Husband-Head yelled at me. “Snuggle-time is over and you need to let these guys out to go to the bathroom!”
Actually, I’m not quite sure how I got elected to be the one to feed and let the pets out at such an ungodly hour in the morning.
“You know, I work at home ” I really don’t have to get up and do all this stuff,” I told Husband-Head one time. “My happy butt could sleep in until 8 a.m. if I wanted.”
“Then who would feed the pets and make my lunch and put my belt on?” Husband-Head responded with bewilderment. “We need you to help us start the day.”
I started to protest when Husband-Head implemented yet another rule.
“Rule number seven,” he started. “No yapping in the morning. We’ll have peace and quiet until I say so.”
Husband-Head had suddenly become, like, the Bedroom Nazi.
And it wasn’t right.
“You didn’t say what rule number six was!,” I complained. “You can’t go from rule five to rule seven without rule six!”
The alarm still hadn’t gone off and I had one more little gift for Husband-Head before I left the room.
“I beg your pardon … I never promised you a rose garden!” I sang out to the old 1970 tune by country singer Lynn Anderson as I exited. “Along with the sunshine, there’s got to be a little WIND sometime!”
Husband-Head pulled his blanket up over his head.
“You just violated rule one again and rule six says there is to be no singing,” he insisted. “If you don’t follow the rules, you’ll have to sleep in the guest room with the cat.”
When he finally got out of bed, Husband-Head made his way into the kitchen, which is my domain.
“OK, now here are the seven rules for being in the kitchen …” I started.
Heidi Rice is a staff reporter for the Post Independent. Her column runs every Friday. Visit her website at http://www.heidirice.com.
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