I open my eyes, blearily, and wipe the sleep out of them with my fist. What the hell? I half-way sit up in bed and look at the clock.
It is 3 a.m., and Michael is talking to me.
And he is using his angry voice.
". . .what?" is the only thing I can think of to say.
"I still haven't gone to sleep," he says to the darkened ceiling of our bedroom.
"Uumph," I say cleverly, and proceed to roll back over and snuggle down again.
Though I might sound unfeeling about the particulars of my beloved's situation, it IS 3 a.m. So I (momentarily) feel VERY saddened and sorry for my husband, who knows that he will have to be at work in roughly two and half hours. Then I flip and toss some more, trying to find a comfortable spot, and I wonder foggily: Why is he TALKING TO ME at 3 o'clock in the morning?? Why is he DOING that? Why does he not remember that THAT IS SIMPLY NOT DONE???
Then I try my best to shake all this "awakeness" out my ear, so that I can get back to sleep. I make promises to myself to feel lots of genuine pity and concern for him, when and if I choose to wake up and face this day.
Poor baby. . . *snooooooore*
And I think back to a few hours ago, when we were lying down and getting ready to go to sleep. . .
I was propped up in bed and watching Bob's Burgers, and Mr. was getting ready for a good night's sleep before work. . . I was sipping my sweet tea, and giggling. (Because Bob's Burgers is funny. Seriously. It is one of my favorite cartoons. . . and believe me:
I like a LOT of cartoons.)
So I'm just sitting there, watching and giggling, and feeling generally happy because. . . you know. Bob's Burgers.
(It was the Art Crawl episode. One of my favorites. If you've never seen it, then do yourself a favor and look it up.)
And when I get up to use the restroom, I notice my husband:
He is underneath the covers, rolled onto his side facing away from the tv, with what appeared to be TWO pillows over his head.
This told me several things:
1.) The light from the tv was bothering him.
2.) The sound from the tv was bothering him.
3.) He knows how much I love Bob's Burgers
---(it has been discussed)---
and decided to suffer through in silence so that *I* could
watch my "stories."
So I got back in bed and promptly turned off the tv.
(And yes. If you are thinking "Wow. THAT. THAT is love." then you are absolutely correct. Never let it be said that I am unwilling to make sacrifices.)
So all this was going through my head at 3 o'clock this morning when he unceremoniously woke me up.
I felt bad for him (momentarily), then remembered Bob's Burgers.
I had CLEARLY already done all that I could possibly do.
My conscience was clean.
So later, when I woke up at 6:00 a.m. (because that's when Took always wakes me up to start the day), I began thinking about Mr. Michael's lack of sleep again.
Well-rested now, I felt considerably sorrier for him that I had when it was still dark outside. . .
I sent him a text.
And, though it is true that I often send HILARIOUS text messages (Seriously. First class stuff.) I harbored no illusions that this message was going to be enough to pull him out of his "I-have-been-awake-for-roughly-24-hours-straight-and-bent-on-mayhem-and-destruction" funk.
So I decided that I probably needed to make him dinner.**
**I decided on pineapple chicken and thai noodles. . . .Because that's what I found when I started rummaging around, and because I like thai noodles.
I've never made pineapple chicken before. . . so I'm pretty excited.
And also a little nervous.
But if I completely derp it up, we have hot dogs in the fridge, so I'm keeping that in mind as a possible Emergency Dinner.**
And that's pretty much all I have to say.
I love my husband.
I think he is JUST the bee's knees. =)
He went to work on no sleep today, and it was NOT the first time he's done it.
Then he came home about an hour ago, changed from his suit into his OTHER "work" clothes, and was out the door again to go landscape someone's yard.
(A side job that he started this summer. For extra money. . . .so that *I* can stay home with the kids.)
And yes --- sometimes he gets grumpy.
(Which, honestly, is better than what *I* do when I've had no sleep:
I get over-tired, and I just cry. And cry.
And then, just for good measure, I always make sure to cry some more.
Basically, I just weep uncontrollably until such a time that I can sleep until I'm normal again.)
But MOST of the time he just grins and bears it and goes on about his day.
And nowadays, just about ANY time you walk into our house, you can find a curly-haired toddler walking around with a nerf-sword held to his hip, pretending to weed-eat.
Because his Daddy is his hero.
And I have no problem with that.
The man works hard, he takes time for his kids and his wife, he makes a mean pork tenderloin, and he has an amazing sense of humor.
Simply put: If I could choose a hero for my son. . . I'd be hard-pressed to find a better one.
. . . but. . . if he wakes me up at 3 a.m. again to tell me he can't sleep. . .
Shit's gonna get REAL.