Sawing Logs

I slept on the couch last night. Not because I did anything wrong, but because I snore and my wife, who has always been a light sleeper, can no longer stand the dulcet tones of my sawing logs. The night before I woke up at 3am to find my wife and her pillow gone from the bed. This means one of two things: 1) One of the kids woke up and she needed to be with them in the living room or 2) My snoring kept her awake and the only way she could get some damn sleep was to go to the couch.

It's usually number 2.

I fucking hate that it's usually number 2.

When I was a kid, there was a joke in Mad Magazine where a mom was giving advice to her daughter:

The mother said, "Don't sleep with a man before you marry him."

The daughter says, "Okay."

"And don't marry a man who snores," says the mother.

The daughter replies, "But how will I know?"

Funny right? But it was the snoring part of the joke that has always haunted me. 'Don't marry a man who snores.'

I hate that I snore. I hate that people can't stand to sleep in the same room as me. I sometimes wake myself up as a result of my own snoring.

I've tried the strips. I've gargled the mouthwash. I've slept on the pillows. I've done the tests. It's not life-threatening sleep apnea. It's just snoring.

So when my wife is forced out the warm comfort of our bed because of me, I try to give her a night of peace and sleep on the couch. Cause I'm good like that. And because I'm guilty about it.

Mornings are hard enough. Waking up alone when you're married is the worst.

How to send your child to the ER and feel good as a result!

We're on the living room floor, rough-housing and generally being silly. Princess Persistent and Darling Boy are taking turns playing "let's tackle daddy", despite Veronica's entreaties that we stop since it's nearing the kids bedtime and they really need to settle down. PP escapes my grasp, moves to run away, and I gently give her a push on the shoulder.

Forgetting, of course, that gentle to a 195 lb man is a little different than to a 40 lb 3 yr old.

She loses her balance, trips over a throw pillow on the floor, and goes face first into the corner of the coffee table.

Immediately, the crying starts and by the time she stands up and looks at mean old dad, the rivulet of blood has run from the corner of her left eye all the way down to the collar of her pajamas. But facial cuts can bleed pretty bad and I'm not too worried. I pull her close and work on calming her down while heading to the bathroom to assess the damage and staunch the bleeding. I get a close look and turn to Veronica, who has joined us by now, saying "So, who wants to take her to the ER, you or me?" There is a nice, deep split just to the outside edge of her left eye-brow that if it was elsewhere on her body we could probably deal with ourselves. But this is our pretty little princesses face! Veronica says that she'll take her and I can work on getting DB to bed.

You wanna know how much of a trooper my girl is? They get to the ER, decide she'll need 2-3 stitches and apply some lidocaine cream to numb the area. This needs about 30 minutes to take effect, so Veronica cuddles PP in her arms while they wait. And PP falls asleep. And stays asleep with the physician puts in 3 stitches! And continues to sleep for the trip out to the car, the drive home, getting carried into the house and all through the night!

Isn't she cute? [Yes, I took a picture of the damage I caused!]


12 days later, it's time to take her to the pediatrician to have the stitches removed and due to work schedules, I take her. Of course, before we get there I coach PP that "My daddy pushed me" may not be the best answer when the doctor asked what happened. No need to get child protective services involved!

The doc and I make small talk while he's looking at how the wound is healing and I'm telling him what happened. And no, I didn't sugarcoat the story!

God bless him, you know what his response was to my story?

"It's not the kids that get the occasional stitches or broken bone that I worry about. It's the kids who go through childhood without those little injuries that worry me. They're not having fun!"

What a wonderful attitude to have. And exactly what I needed to hear!!

When Schedules Don't Collide

My wife works at home.
I work in an office.

Her work day officially starts at 6:30, when the first kid gets up.
My work day officially starts at 8:30, when I begin my commute.

Her work day is non-stop. When the kids are napping, there are chores to be done.
My work day offers me a lunch break and sporadic pockets of time in which email can be read.

Her work day officially ends when the last kid has finally fallen asleep.
My work day officially ends when I arrive at home, sometimes just as the last kid has fallen asleep.

After work, she retreats to the computer to check email or Facebook, or sews.
After work, I quickly make dinner and wolf it down.

We connect for about an hour, where we decompress and maybe watch some TV together.

Her energy depleted, she goes to sleep soon after.
I've still got an hour or so left in me to check email, write and read blogs before passing out on the couch.

Tomorrow it will start all over again.

How do you deal with the varied schedules within your home? Do you have to work to carve out time to do all of the things you want? Do you have to sacrifice some things to make others work?

The discussion begins below...

Bedtime Ogre

Well, well, well......

This marks my First post over here at Hot Dads. Which is funny because I'm not Hot. I'm barely palatable. At best.

And. Apparently, I'm also a Bedtime Ogre.

Anyone with small children has a Bedtime routine. There may be songs or a snack before bed. There may be stories of Marshmallow Rainbows or some sort of foolhardy Duck that has become Stuck. In the Muck. We all have them and frankly, they are a Huge pain in the ass.

Sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes I feel like instituting a Lord of the Flies policy and locking my Bedroom door only to walk out 6-8 hours later to find that the dog has been shaved and all my booze is gone. That's irresponsible. Funny. But irresponsible.

So we go through the motions.

As stated before, I am a Bedtime Ogre. A book or two, a song, a kiss on the cheek, and it's time for you to go "ni-ni" so Daddy can clear his head. It's simple really. Just close your eyes and, go. to. sleep.

Cutie McWifey is a sucker. I don't mean that in a Good way either. Well, I do. But not at this particular time. She's a Sucker because she can turn a Goodnight kiss into 30 minutes worth of steppin' and Bedtime fetchin'. Usually, she opens the smallish one's bedroom door with her eyes squinting against the light of the Hallway like she was just seconds from the Deep sleep herself.

Now. To her credit, I hardly ever hear the Tater make a peep after she exits the Room.

She's an awesome Matriarch.

I'm a Bedtime Ogre.

Sometimes, when I have Bedtime Duty, I have to go back in and soothe the Water, but mostly, after the smallish one bitches and moans for 5-10 minutes, well, there is no escaping the Sandman.

I used to tell my oldest daughter, when she was much younger and would carry on about taking a Nap, "Listen. Mom's not here. You can sleep. You can stay awake. I'm giving you Tabula Rasa, kid. You get to create you own Future. But you create it in Here. *motions around the Goat's bedroom* For the next 2 hours. Again. Just so we're clear. Sleep or don't. It's your World. But your World is in here. *motions again around the Goats room* Hugs and Keeses."

And........exit Stage Left.

See? I'm a Bedtime Ogre. And I'm not Hot.

You may start with the throwing of Rotten Vegetables at any time.

-word.

Posted by CIII at the Goat and Tater