Musical Beds. It is not just a college phenomenon. All you parents of college aged students want to plug your ears and say, “la la la, I can’t hear you”.
Right.
Stand up and be a man.
Pull the fingers out --I’m not going to talk about college. And besides, your kids aren’t having sex. They are too pure, too perfect, and don’t have time with all those studies. Just keep repeating that. It helps to solidify the delusion.
While musical beds can be quite exciting and trashy - like 50 Shades of Grey- I want to explore some cleaner versions. (And by the way, Mr. Grey is sooo weird. Ana needs her brain sanitized with Oxyclean – it can get out the worst messes).
One of my first (well, the first we shall speak of) experiences was when the kids were small and we were spineless, newly formed parents. Our perfect children had manipulated our virgin parent brains into thinking they needed us to go to sleep. So, every night, at bedtime, we would put them in bed and leave the room.
Ahhhh…. look at us, the best parents in the world.
And then we would stare at each other because other activities required energy and libido. But, it was somewhat relaxing nonetheless.
The 10 minutes that it lasted.
Then, the keystone cops music would start playing. “Mommmm-mmeeee”. I was always first because “Dadddd-deeee” was either at work or was suffering from some rare form of severe narcolepsy that resulted in quick, deep deep sleep. So much that repeated pokes to the side did not stir him. Neither did swearing, stomping, or cover pulling. (I know now what I suspected then – he was a Ne’er-do-well that would rather fake a real syndrome than get up. Damn him and his reproductive prowess. I now do it to him, but the dog-child has replaced the human-child. Muah ha ha ha! I’ve learned from the best).
So, one of us (ME) would respond to the pitiful cries of the young. We (I) would put them back in bed, reassure them that “they could do this” and shuffle sleep-blind back to our bed. They didn’t believe us (ME) and after 21 billion times of textbook reassurances, one of us (ME) would end up “laying down” with our angel/devil child. (If you have children, then you know that by "laying down with", I mean falling asleep and sleeping half the night in their bed and then stumbling back to your bed at 4am for your short 2 hour nap.) I braved all kinds of scary things. Giant Penguins, Pokémon Monsters, dump trucks, the little bossy neighbor girl, the potty – all the things that scare a super smart devil child. I would like to say I am a better person for it. But, that is a lie. Just more aged and wrinkled. It left a mark.
So, one of us (ME) would respond to the pitiful cries of the young. We (I) would put them back in bed, reassure them that “they could do this” and shuffle sleep-blind back to our bed. They didn’t believe us (ME) and after 21 billion times of textbook reassurances, one of us (ME) would end up “laying down” with our angel/devil child. (If you have children, then you know that by "laying down with", I mean falling asleep and sleeping half the night in their bed and then stumbling back to your bed at 4am for your short 2 hour nap.) I braved all kinds of scary things. Giant Penguins, Pokémon Monsters, dump trucks, the little bossy neighbor girl, the potty – all the things that scare a super smart devil child. I would like to say I am a better person for it. But, that is a lie. Just more aged and wrinkled. It left a mark.
It sucked.
And then I had a musical bed experience of my very own. It began innocently enough. A light seesaw sound. Almost gentle and sweet. I just loved him, that’s all. Nbd.
Somehow, while I was sleeping, it changed to moderately annoying. I wake to the sound of a congested bear, a nice bear though, who has worked many hours saving lives and drinking coffee and is now in my bed. Papa Bear in scrubs. (Not MY Papa, I'm not weird like that - he just sounds like Papa Bear in Goldilocks might sound if he were in my bed. Just sayin.) I don't want to wake him, but dear lord, he needs to stop. I poke him. I turn sideways and push him over with my feet - gentle like. Works for about 1 minute — just long enough for me to readjust my jammies and almost fall asleep.
Do I still love him? Yes, I still love him, but only in the daytime.
Do I still love him? Yes, I still love him, but only in the daytime.
Me: “You are snoring, can you please turn over?”
Him: “I wasn’t even asleep, how could I be snoring”
OMG really?
Me: “So you snore when you are awake?”
Him: “ “.
Time passes.
Wax on, wax off.
Then came the full on Pokémon Monster Snoring/Roaring. Jeez Louise. I cannot even tell you about it because the memory is too fresh. And aggravating. The part of me that loves the sleep is too agitated still.
Wax on, wax off.
Then came the full on Pokémon Monster Snoring/Roaring. Jeez Louise. I cannot even tell you about it because the memory is too fresh. And aggravating. The part of me that loves the sleep is too agitated still.
This brought on the swearing and cover pulling and stomping.
And musical beds are on.
Pillow in hand, I search for the right bed, like a messed up Goldilocks. The first one contains a teenage boy. The must smell is heavy and just too much. That bed is too pungent and also, it is weird because he is a teenager. That one is too “teen-ey”. The smell is much too big.
The next bed contains a small but furnace-hot starfish prone pre-teen girl. This bed is much too hot and, even as a queen size bed, it has grown too small.
Sadly, pathetically, I turn to go back to my hell/bedroom when I spy the perfect solution – the couch. It works in the daytime for a nap, why not a quick little nighttime slumber?
The next bed contains a small but furnace-hot starfish prone pre-teen girl. This bed is much too hot and, even as a queen size bed, it has grown too small.
Sadly, pathetically, I turn to go back to my hell/bedroom when I spy the perfect solution – the couch. It works in the daytime for a nap, why not a quick little nighttime slumber?
I lay down. It is just a little slippery, that's all. Leather is like that. But, I can do it. I fluff my pillow.
It is jusssst riiiiight. Goldilocks should have tried the couch - stupid blond chick. I pick up my pillow that has fallen on the floor.
I am so freakin tired and I am sleeping on the couch.
My pillow keeps slipping. The dog comes to check out my face. I re-fluff my pillow.
It sucks.
And then the Papa bear shuffles in. Oh Gawd! I pretend I am so very fast asleep - like a seasoned faking narcoleptic (I am clever like that.) He stands there for a minute, staring at me and looking at my pillow on the floor.
Him: “Hey, what are you doing?”
Me: “You were snoring and I need to sleep”
Him: “Oh…. I have to tell you that you were snoring too”
Me: “Really? I snore when I’m awake now too, I guess”.
Him: “ “*
*(I’m thinking all kinds of swear words, but decide against saying them because I still love him on Date Night, Friday nights and sometimes weekends, and I want to stay married.)
My last experience involved a hot (not hawt-this isn't college) summer night, a beach house, open windows, barking dogs, a crying fox and a freaked out teenager. And, of course, a snoring Papa bear.
It sucked.
(If I can, I will post the video of fox, but not the bear, I have to protect him. After all, I still love him – the bear, not the fox. The fox I may hunt down.)
There is one last thing that I would like to add. There is a small secret that The Bear and I have been keeping. The musical beds have introduced a darkness into our lives - a rich darkness. A rich, hot, steamy darkness. It is a Menage a Trois of sorts. He is ready in a pinch, and does a good drive-through service. His name is Starbucks. Thanks Howard Schultz – you be kinky. Mr. Grey ain't got nothin' on you.
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