A Cold By Any Other Name

A Cold By Any Other Name

It’s been one of those weeks where you start out tired and then go downhill from there. Friends look at you and ask if you’ve got the flu and even when you tell them that you’re just really tired, they still back away. That kind of week.

We never really had a chance to rest during Thanksgiving and then Steve caught a bad cold. I always know that he’s sick when he starts giving me air kisses. When he pecks me somewhere in the vicinity of a cheek I know that he’s trying not to give me what he’s caught. So even though we live in the same house, breathing the same air and sleeping in the same bed he’s sure that it’s the kiss that will surely get me. I hate air kissing my husband.

We’ve been washing our hands more than Lady Macbeth and have been wearing garlic around our necks and yet some nasty bug still managed to find Steve. And then on Sunday night I could feel my throat begin to feel funny. So I came home on Monday night, made dinner and got into bed obscenely early so that I could get enough rest to face the rest of the week.

There was one problem though. Though Steve usually snores, a combination of sleeping on his left side, taping those cute little butterfly-looking-thingies to his nose and an occasional shove from me usually solves the problem. But this time Steve’s sinuses were so clogged that his normal snoring escalated to a decibel level that requires people in the area to wear protective headgear. Those butterflies were absolutely useless and no amount of jabbing was going to get me any peace and quiet.

Add to that the fact that in between the snoring he was also coughing and you can understand why I was ready to cry. I jolted awake at the first nasal explosion and wracking cough, (snoring+coughing=snoughing?) saw that he was already on his left side and knew that this time even jabbing wouldn’t help. When I related this later to my friend, Kate she looked at me quizzically and asked, “And you didn’t just put a pillow over his face?”
No I didn’t have the heart although I knew that no female jury in the world would have convicted me.

I knew that I would have to do something desperate if I wanted to get any sleep. Suddenly I remembered that there were empty beds in my kids’ rooms that I could use so I took my pillow, blanket and alarm clock and headed off to sleep exile. I closed my door but I could still hear the rumbling, so I got up and closed his door as well. When I put the pillow over my head the snoring finally receded to a sleepable level. Of course by then I was so cranky that even Lisa’s ticking clock drove me nuts but I was not about to get out of bed again.

Eventually after tossing and turning like a pancake I managed to fall asleep. Then at 2:00 in the morning I was awakened by a coyote stampede in the house. Heart beating wildly I bolted out of bed when I suddenly realized that it was Snoopy alternately throwing himself against the bedroom door and clawing at it. He must have woken up and sensed that I was in Lisa’s bed. You see he’s not allowed in our bed but the kids invite him into theirs. So whenever there’s a warm body in either of their beds he feels entitled to a share of the mattress. I opened the door and he rushed into the room as if he was being chased by hyenas. He leapt into my bed and began his round and round settling in ritual.

“Hey!” I yelled at him. “Settle down and stay at the end of the bed or I’ll throw you out”. I so terrified the poor thing that he immediately dropped and was quiet for the rest of the night. I think I managed to fall asleep a half hour before the 5:00 alarm rang. It was going to be a long day.

When Shatz heard what my night had been like he decided that he would sleep downstairs until he felt better. I wanted to protest but I’m ashamed to say that I wanted a good night’s sleep even more. So that night Steve slept on the downstairs couch and I slept the sleep of the dead. It was wonderful. What is not so wonderful is that it’s been four nights now that I’ve been sleeping alone. Even Snoopy has left me, preferring to stay downstairs next to the couch where my poor husband manages to trip over him every night on the way to the bath room.

Every night I turn in early and wake up after a few hours to see that Steve’s side is still empty. Even though I know that he’s downstairs I’m still lonely. Every morning I ask him how he’s feeling in the hopes that he’ll return to our bed that night but he’s still snoughing. I hope he feels better soon because one night, snoughing or not, he’s going to wake up and find me on the other side of his couch. There’s just so much lonely sleep that a girl can stand.