Snooze

There are two kinds of people in the world: those who hit the snooze button on their alarm and those who do not. My husband is a snoozer. I am not.

When we moved in together I brought with me the alarm clock I'd had since seventh grade. It got me where I needed to go, on time, through junior high, high school, college, and veterinary school. All without ever having hit the snooze button. Not once. I honestly had no idea if it worked. I found out the first morning Sean had to go to work. It did indeed work. And, did you know, you can repeatedly hit the snooze button? Every nine minutes. Over and over and over. I didn't then, but I do now.

Sean sets the alarm for a half hour early so he can hit the snooze button at least twice, and up to four times and still get to work on time. I can now go back to sleep after the first snooze, but when the second one goes off, I turn off the alarm and hit him. Otherwise, I won't be able to sleep again.

This week, Samantha has been in our bed because she's been feverish. Turns out she has pneumonia. Antibiotics seem to be helping. She is now so big and spreads out so much that our little queen size bed is uncomfortable for all three of us. She prefers her daddy when she's sick, so I've been sleeping in Sammy's bed or on the couch.

Without me there to prod him, Sean has been late to work everyday this week. This morning, I found him asleep with the clock buried under a pillow. Apparently, it wouldn't quit going off.

How about you, are you a snoozer or a non-snoozer?



*Photo courtesy of Alan Cleaver

Driving Miss Jessie

One of Sean's roles in our relationship is official chauffeur. Whenever we are going somewhere together, he drives. I really don't care for driving overall, and I care even less for driving in Los Angeles. Even after five years living here, getting on the freeways makes my heart pound, and there really are a lot of crazy drivers in L.A. Really. A. Lot.

Today, Sean was driving us to his mother's house and it got me thinking about different driving styles in different areas of the country. I grew up in Minnesota, where everyone is very polite about everything, including driving. They come to a full and complete stop at every stop sign. They use their blinkers for every turn and every lane change, even when no one else is around. They let you in if you need to change lanes. They use the passing lane for passing only, not for driving in. And they leave at least one car length between them and the car in front of them. Very polite.

Sean, is a typical Los Angeles driver. He is a defensive driver, if you think of defensive in terms of a football player trying to tackle someone. He cuts in and out of lanes, signaling only when he's going to cut someone off. He drives way too fast. He rolls through stop signs. And he tailgates, really, really close. I always tell him, being a passenger when he's driving is an aerobic work out. My heart rate shoots up into my target zone for a sustained period of time, my muscles contract and relax repeatedly, especially in my right leg, which is slamming on an imaginary break. He will tell you, honestly, that he doesn't get into accidents, so he's a safe driver. I concur he doesn't get into accidents, but I think he's a lucky driver more than a safe one.

I used to be a Minnesota driver, very polite and very safe. After living in Los Angeles, I can say if I were to drive in Minnesota today, people would think I was a crazy driver (they would think it, not say it, because it's not polite to say it). But, I'm not Los Angeles crazy. I signal, most of the time, when there are other cars around, unless I'm in a turn lane or making a right turn, because then it's pretty obvious what I'm doing. I stop at all stop signs, briefly, but I stop. I drive over the speed limit, but not much. I still leave a car's length between me and the car in front of me, too many crazies out there cutting in and out, unless I'm in heavy traffic, then I follow close so I don't lose my spot.

**Note: I really don't like the nickname Jessie, but it worked well for the post title.

Mommy's Little Helper

I have been on a Diet Coke binge the last few weeks. I'm so tired, I need the caffeine at nap time, so I've been having one a day. I ran out yesterday, and fortunately, Sean needed to go to the store, so I did not have to go through withdrawal today.

When I went to the fridge this morning, there was my brand new case of Diet Coke, already opened and waiting for me. I thought, how nice of Sean to have even opened the box for me. Then I realized his actual motivation behind the gesture. He hates the way I open those boxes.

I can never get the punch part to work, so I just open the flaps on the box. At first, every time you open the fridge, a can comes rolling out. But, once those first few are placed in the fridge, it works just fine. I opened the last box wrong, and I bet it drove him crazy to see it like that for two weeks.

It's the same thing with the toilet paper rolls. When we used to actually put our TP on the wall thing, before the kids decided unrolling new toilet paper rolls all around the house was great fun, he preferred to replace the rolls. He likes them either rolling from the bottom or the top, I can't remember. I just put the thing on, and whichever way it's facing is the way it goes. Works the same both ways. But it really bothers Sean. He has to change it the right way.

There are things he does, that I just prefer to do (so they're done right). For example, I don't like the way he makes a bed. (Laying on the bed and pulling the covers over your head, then getting out of the bed is not right.)

I guess that's the way it goes in a marriage. You complement each other, between the two people, someone knows how to do everything to keep the house running. I just need to figure out what more I can do incompetently enough to have him take over.