My little boy has the weirdest sleeping habits. Firstly, let me tell you that he has been successful in denying my husband and me the luxury of sleeping in our own bed. How, you may ask, can an 18 month old possibly wield such power? (At this point, all parents are vigorously nodding in agreement.) We moved from Ohio a year ago, from a cozy 4 bedroom, 21oo sq ft home, with a full finished basement, a two-tier deck, and a breathtakingly gorgeous wooded backyard to........ a cramped second floor 2 bedroom apartment, a kitchen that makes me feel like Gulliver in Lilliput land (FYI, I'm only 5'2"... and a quarter, maybe!!), 2 bathrooms where you can soak your feet in the tub, sit on the 'pot', and wash your hands ...all at the same time. Okay, some of you might be perplexed right now, trying to envision the whole thing in your head. Simple solution...just visit us for a demo!!! Or maybe not!!!!
Anyway, the walls are so thin, that I can hear my very considerate neighbours upstairs, vacuuming at 11:30 pm; the young guys next door, who don't lead a 'regular' life since they're studying to rid the world of disease, play some bizarre version of what is supposedly music; showers being taken, toilets being flushed, people walking around like the New Zealand Rugby team performing the 'Haka' (youtube.com has some great footage for those interested); the hallway always smells like a 24 hour barbecue spit and the walk up the stairs with my groceries (why can't I ever stick to the list?!!!), is like a challenge on an episode of 'Survivor'. So, this is 'home sweet apartment' for us right now.
Now I really can't blame anyone else except myself. After all, I was the one who decided on the apartment after several days of driving around and sniffing laundry rooms. I will admit though, that being exhausted from hauling my then 3 month old in his car seat from leasing office to leasing office, did influence my decision. I saw it, and I said to myself, "Okay, this is it!!". So, I told my husband; we met with the leasing folk again (who were all smiles then, and now look like the Grinch stole their Christmas), and then I went on vacation to India with my bundle of joy...for 3 months.
It's September 2006. I'm in India, loving every minute of being with my parents and sister, getting a massage every week......What?!!! It costs only 5 bucks there, so don't judge me, sister!!! And my dear husband is stuck at work here in Pittsburgh, slaving away at the office on weekends, so he can take time off to move our stuff from storage into the apartment. (And before you all start feeling sorry for the man, let me tell you that we had movers provided by the new company, so all he had to do was supervise.)
It's a Friday morning, when he calls me and sounds like he's just chased a bus for 50 miles. And this is our conversation, 8426 miles and 11 times zones apart...
Hubby: "Where would you like the table?"
Me: "Which one? We have at least 4!"
Hubby: "Eh, the brown one?"
Me: "You need to be more specific than that!!"
Hubby: "Never mind that. How about the couch?"
Me: "Is that a trick question? In the living room, of course!!"
Hubby: " So would you like the coffee table in the living room, as well as the bookshelf, rattan chairs, rocking chair, TV stand, console table, floor cushions.....?"
Whoa, tiger. Hold it right there!! As far as I could remember, the living room was the size of two cars, really really small cars, parked side by side... Chevy Cobalts, to be specific. Now unless, it had miraculously expanded since the last time I saw the apartment, there was no humanly possible way we could fit in all those pieces of furniture, AND live in the same place. So I said what any loving wife, who wants to let her spouse feel in charge of the situation, would say, "Go ahead, honey. Do what you think is best."
Yup, it was like I had an unfurled a banner in bright florescent letters screaming "YOU THE MAN!!!" Now, ladies, this is probably the most dangerous situation you could get yourself into. You see, men suffer from the syndrome that I like to call "linear thinking". This is when they see the world as it is, literally. It's a beeline to the goal. Unswerving and uninterrupted. It's like when they're looking for the ketchup in the fridge, and somehow, it just doesn't occur to them that the inside is three-dimensional. They just can't seem to look beyond that first row of condiments, while the bottle is right under their nose, behind the mustard. Oh no, you need to be really specific about it..."It's on the second shelf, column four from the right, and row three from the front, between the chartreuse (Who on earth uses that in everyday talk?!!!) container, and the opaque bottle of juice, the orange kind, not the yellow?" AGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Back to my original story..... I complete my 3 month hiatus in my homeland, spend a few weeks with the in-laws while my husband is in town, and then hop on a plane to fly back to the "US of A". More than 24 hours later, across 3 continents, the Atlantic Ocean, three flight changes, two hours of waiting on the Chicago O'Hare runway waiting for news of good weather, overweight baggage, a wailing baby and a grumpy husband (or was it the other way?); I finally walk into my new home/apartment.........only to find one less than a hundred boxes occupying every breathable inch of the living and dining room. Double AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!! More boxes in the bedrooms....Oh dear god, is this really all ours? I maneuver my way through stuff collected over 6 years of sales, bargain hunting, "But we need that!!!", and "I must have it this minute!!!" with a now hysterical baby held over my head. I look around, and there's this sinking feeling in my stomach. "Uh, honey, where's the crib?"
"Oh darn it!!!! That's what I forgot!"
I turn around to see my beloved looking quizzical. I take a deep breath... must stay calm.... must not strangle father of my child..... And while I'm counting to five hundred, I feel warm hands on my shoulder and a soft voice say in my ear, "I'm sorry, darling."..... Well, I wish I could say that's what really happened. But the truth of the matter is that even though we said some really nasty things to each other, we eventually did kiss and make up. And he did apologise...at some point. And so we all proceed to sleep in our queen size bed.....which brings me back to my original story of my child's strange sleeping habits. But I think I should save that one for another day...
Anyway, the walls are so thin, that I can hear my very considerate neighbours upstairs, vacuuming at 11:30 pm; the young guys next door, who don't lead a 'regular' life since they're studying to rid the world of disease, play some bizarre version of what is supposedly music; showers being taken, toilets being flushed, people walking around like the New Zealand Rugby team performing the 'Haka' (youtube.com has some great footage for those interested); the hallway always smells like a 24 hour barbecue spit and the walk up the stairs with my groceries (why can't I ever stick to the list?!!!), is like a challenge on an episode of 'Survivor'. So, this is 'home sweet apartment' for us right now.
Now I really can't blame anyone else except myself. After all, I was the one who decided on the apartment after several days of driving around and sniffing laundry rooms. I will admit though, that being exhausted from hauling my then 3 month old in his car seat from leasing office to leasing office, did influence my decision. I saw it, and I said to myself, "Okay, this is it!!". So, I told my husband; we met with the leasing folk again (who were all smiles then, and now look like the Grinch stole their Christmas), and then I went on vacation to India with my bundle of joy...for 3 months.
It's September 2006. I'm in India, loving every minute of being with my parents and sister, getting a massage every week......What?!!! It costs only 5 bucks there, so don't judge me, sister!!! And my dear husband is stuck at work here in Pittsburgh, slaving away at the office on weekends, so he can take time off to move our stuff from storage into the apartment. (And before you all start feeling sorry for the man, let me tell you that we had movers provided by the new company, so all he had to do was supervise.)
It's a Friday morning, when he calls me and sounds like he's just chased a bus for 50 miles. And this is our conversation, 8426 miles and 11 times zones apart...
Hubby: "Where would you like the table?"
Me: "Which one? We have at least 4!"
Hubby: "Eh, the brown one?"
Me: "You need to be more specific than that!!"
Hubby: "Never mind that. How about the couch?"
Me: "Is that a trick question? In the living room, of course!!"
Hubby: " So would you like the coffee table in the living room, as well as the bookshelf, rattan chairs, rocking chair, TV stand, console table, floor cushions.....?"
Whoa, tiger. Hold it right there!! As far as I could remember, the living room was the size of two cars, really really small cars, parked side by side... Chevy Cobalts, to be specific. Now unless, it had miraculously expanded since the last time I saw the apartment, there was no humanly possible way we could fit in all those pieces of furniture, AND live in the same place. So I said what any loving wife, who wants to let her spouse feel in charge of the situation, would say, "Go ahead, honey. Do what you think is best."
Yup, it was like I had an unfurled a banner in bright florescent letters screaming "YOU THE MAN!!!" Now, ladies, this is probably the most dangerous situation you could get yourself into. You see, men suffer from the syndrome that I like to call "linear thinking". This is when they see the world as it is, literally. It's a beeline to the goal. Unswerving and uninterrupted. It's like when they're looking for the ketchup in the fridge, and somehow, it just doesn't occur to them that the inside is three-dimensional. They just can't seem to look beyond that first row of condiments, while the bottle is right under their nose, behind the mustard. Oh no, you need to be really specific about it..."It's on the second shelf, column four from the right, and row three from the front, between the chartreuse (Who on earth uses that in everyday talk?!!!) container, and the opaque bottle of juice, the orange kind, not the yellow?" AGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Back to my original story..... I complete my 3 month hiatus in my homeland, spend a few weeks with the in-laws while my husband is in town, and then hop on a plane to fly back to the "US of A". More than 24 hours later, across 3 continents, the Atlantic Ocean, three flight changes, two hours of waiting on the Chicago O'Hare runway waiting for news of good weather, overweight baggage, a wailing baby and a grumpy husband (or was it the other way?); I finally walk into my new home/apartment.........only to find one less than a hundred boxes occupying every breathable inch of the living and dining room. Double AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!! More boxes in the bedrooms....Oh dear god, is this really all ours? I maneuver my way through stuff collected over 6 years of sales, bargain hunting, "But we need that!!!", and "I must have it this minute!!!" with a now hysterical baby held over my head. I look around, and there's this sinking feeling in my stomach. "Uh, honey, where's the crib?"
"Oh darn it!!!! That's what I forgot!"
I turn around to see my beloved looking quizzical. I take a deep breath... must stay calm.... must not strangle father of my child..... And while I'm counting to five hundred, I feel warm hands on my shoulder and a soft voice say in my ear, "I'm sorry, darling."..... Well, I wish I could say that's what really happened. But the truth of the matter is that even though we said some really nasty things to each other, we eventually did kiss and make up. And he did apologise...at some point. And so we all proceed to sleep in our queen size bed.....which brings me back to my original story of my child's strange sleeping habits. But I think I should save that one for another day...
