A Chainsaw-Wielding Grizzly, on a Trampoline
The above title pretty much describes what my husband Tim is at night when he’s sleeping.
Read that last part again; when he’s sleeping. I, on the other hand, am not
sleeping, as I lie awake listening to the creepy, guttural sounds emanating
listen to, at any time, never mind the sacred hours of the middle of the night.
Even if by some miracle—or heavy duty earplugs—I could sleep through that
ruckus, I certainly wouldn’t catch a wink with all the twisting, turning, and somersaulting that takes place.
He used to be in total denial until one day when we recorded him taking a nap. Only bears
that moonlight as lumberjacks have the ability to make the kind of noises Tim
does when he snores. I realize that holding a pillow over his face probably isn’t my best choice, so I wake him and ask him to stop. That works for about three seconds till he’s back asleep.
As if the snoring isn’t bad enough, there’s his trampoline act. He flings himself with
wild abandon all over the bed, performing moves even the Flying Zucchini
Brothers would be envious of. If we had bigger springs on the bed, I swear he’d
end up bouncing off the ceiling; or through it...
Finally, I’ll give up all hope and go camp out on the couch—far away from the carnival
going on upstairs—to try and get some actual peace (notice how nice I am that I
don’t make the circus star go down there instead). What happens in the morning?
Does the fact that I let him continue sleeping on the bed—while I slept on the
couch, so as not to disturb him—matter at all? No. He actually tries to give me a guilt trip for “abandoning him” in the night. Typical Tim maneuver. What—does he need me to protect him at night? Isn’t he forgetting, after all, that he’s a grizzly with a chainsaw?