Ever wonder if there’s a surefire way to get your lazy kids off the couch fast? Or move your husband? Just say you’re going to take a nap. All hell breaks lose.
Let me start at the beginning. We enjoyed eating at Vic’s All Star Kitchen on Saturday mornings. Nothing beat a big stack of hotcakes, thick smoky bacon, side of hash browns and a plate of toast to induce a coma later in the day. By noon, I could barely move much less keep my eyes opened.
I said to my family, “I’ll be upstairs. Taking a nap.”
“Okay. Can I have some friends over?” my daughter asked, bolting off the sofa and stuffing a bag of popcorn in the microwave.
“Talk to your dad. I’ll be in my room with the door shut. Try to keep it down.”
Ten nanoseconds passed. My husband yelled as loud as a NASCAR announcer from the bottom of the stairs, “Remember guys. Be quiet. Mom’s sleeping.”
Attempting to sleep here!
After years of trying to get my son to try piano and violin lessons, he tapped his way from the kitchen, up the staircase, down the hallway and into his room with a pair of drumsticks that had been MIA for four years. Click, clack. My eyes fluttered opened like a moth around a porch light.
And not to be excluded, our dog, Stanley, expressed his displeasure regarding my nap as well. He sniffed under the door like a coon dog and catapulted his 20 pound body forward. Ping. He gave me a smug look as the door burst free, routed in the blankets and staked out a comfortable spot at the end of the bed.
“Buddy, if you’re quiet, I’ll let you stay,” I said, hopping up to shut the door.
What’s that? Faint rustling of feet came from the staircase. Big man feet. Like a stalker, he paused, hesitated and then ever so slowly, turned the knob on the double doors. Kabong! Doors burst free. With a shuffle of sock feet, my husband whispered, “Don’t worry. It’s just me. I’ll be done in a second and out of here.”
After using the toenail clippers and electric razor, he stomped out of the room, pulled the doors shut and yelled downstairs to my daughter, “I’m on my way!”
I drifted off for a couple of minutes. From outside the opened window, I detected the whine of a chainsaw and the distinct smell of gasoline. When I married my husband, he was not a lumberjack. But Paul Bunyan decided to do a little light remodeling in the backyard. Now.
Oh, come on.
I popped up in bed, blinking like crazy. Out the window I spied a saw. And a tree. Timber. Next up, I watched as he reinstalled loose fence panels with a hammer. Bam, bam, buzzzzz. When finished, with a flourish he let out a big whistle for the kids to join him and admire his workmanship.
By that point, the dog couldn’t contain himself. He charged the open window and jumped up and down to get a peek at the commotion. Ruff, ruff, growl.
Finally, I stuck my head out the window and said, “Hey!”
“Mom, did you get a good nap? Come on out.”
Yeah, a full five minutes.
“Look what Dad just did. Isn’t it great?”
“Looks fine. I’m coming.”
If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. I’m going to sack out on the couch. Quietest place in the house.