Like most married couples across the country, my husband and I each have a nightstand next to our designated side of the bed. I'd like to say that my side is a replica of a Pottery Barn catalog, adorned with a scented candle, a tasteful lamp, one classic novel, and an old-fashioned alarm clock, but it's not.
Not even close.
Sure I have a lamp, and it is a cute one. But the washcloth I throw over the top of it to make it dimmer so as to not disturb Brett when he's sleeping kinda ruins the whole Pottery Barn feel.
I don't have a scented candle (Firefighters sort of frown upon putting anything flammable that one might forget to put out right next to where they sleep). But I do have scented body butter . . . yum, coconut. I lather it on my cuticles before I go to sleep every night, hoping to wake up with the hands of a hand model and not a woman who uses hand sanitizer approximately forty-seven times a day.
As far as books go, I've got that area covered - although I'm not sure they'd be considered classics. There's the Oprah book, A New Earth, which I haven't made it very far in because each sentence takes me a year to process. There's an Erma Bombeck book, At Wit's End, which comforts me after a bad day with the kids. And lastly, there's Bright Lights, Big Ass, Jen Lancaster's 2nd memoir. I'm reading them backwards, just in case you were paying attention and yes, she is hi-lar-i-ous.
So, um, yeah - the books are covered.
I also have an assortment of little girls hair accessories. Because who doesn't need twenty clippies by their bedside?
But as far as the clock goes, I'm severely lacking.
You see, last July (yes, July of 2007), Brett's Aunt and Uncle came to visit from Denmark. We put them up in our guest bedroom (our travel trailer, we're classy like that! Hey, at least it has air conditioning). Of course they would need a clock so I gave them mine.
That was nearly a year ago.
Where is my clock, the one that is supposed to go on my very non-Pottery Barn bedside table?
In the trailer.
Do I go out to get it, or do I happen to remember to grab it when I go out there to get a box of macaroni and cheese when I don't know what to feed the kids for dinner?
So, every morning for the last 300 or so mornings, my husband has shared his alarm clock. On the days he leaves for the firestation at o'dark thirty, he sets it once for himself, and once again for me (because I cannot breathe the air before 6am, it will kill me and then what would my kids fix themselves for breakfast?). He wakes me up to tell me that he's set the alarm, gives me a kiss, tells me he loves me (I mumble something like "iwuuuuffffffewe" back, trying not to expose him to my morning breath) and he's on his way.
On the days when he is home, he sets it once . . . for himself. And then he lets me sleep in a little. Sometimes he rolls his eyes in utter confusion at how one person can sleep past 8 or 9 in the morning (hello! I was reading until 2am while you were snoring), but most of the time he just lets it be. Unless we have to be somewhere, then it's all drill sergeant all the time.
I was thinking of going out to the trailer to get a brownie mix (Katie and I are craving chocolate), and you know, maybe, just maybe, I'll grab that clock while I'm out there.
Heck, who am I kidding? This system is working quite nicely for me and I'd be a fool to give it up!
Happy Father's Day Honey. Thanks for always waking me up before you go.