"Spring" as they call it in many parts of the world (I'm in Alberta, we only have two seasons - "Winter" and "Construction"), brings about many changes, but the most obvious of which is illness. My wife has been sick for the last week, and I hate to admit it, but I have quite enjoyed it.
I've spent the last six days sleeping in the guest room, and popping echinacea every day so that I don't get sick myself. Tonight, my wife has told me that the bedding in our room is all cleaned, she is feeling much better and sleeping fine, and that I can return to our room.
But I don't want to.
I moved to the guest room to avoid getting sick myself. Somebody has to stay in control and keep things going while the other is down, right? It's my obligation, my responsibility as a husband and a parent. I think I did it for the right reasons, but it's like I've discovered an amazing new world in doing so.
The guest room is quite large. It really is like a second master, but without an ensuite. A huge room, with no dressers and jewelry boxes and clothing hanging here and there and everywhere, no television blasting Gilmore Girls, and no shortage of blankets and pillows.
Some of our guests have allergies, so the guest room is a "clean room" in as far as it can be. The door is always closed so that the cat can't get in, the kid is not allowed to play in there, it is strictly off-limits for anyone but guests.
The queen-sized bed is the one I bought when I moved to Dawson. I shopped for it. I tested it. I chose it. I paid for it. I forgot how much I liked it.... It is soft and comfortable, but not so much that you sink into it and get lost. It has a heated underlay which takes the chill off, and makes things extra cozy and warm.
The silence in that room is wonderful. I mean, it is a front room so it still has the expected sounds of the louder traffic and of course the occasional incoming jets to the airport, but none of the other regular ambient sounds that I am used to like the air ionizer, humidifier, or the snorer. And the pillows! Five of 'em, some soft, some medium, and one hard. It's like a harem of varying comfort, and not a cat hair anywhere!
There's no fighting for blankets or sheets, either. It's like the good old days when I worked in the field and stayed in a hotel with a big bed and just me, wherever the eff I wanna lay. Diagonal, sideways, upside-down, or spread out from edge-to-edge and corner-to-corner all at the same time.
So here I sit, tired and wanting for sleep. Back to my eight-inches at the edge of the mattress with just enough blanket to cover one nipple, and a mouthful of cat hair.
"So glad you're back in bed with me dear. I don't like sleeping without knowing you're here."
"I love you too dear."
Cough.
I've spent the last six days sleeping in the guest room, and popping echinacea every day so that I don't get sick myself. Tonight, my wife has told me that the bedding in our room is all cleaned, she is feeling much better and sleeping fine, and that I can return to our room.
But I don't want to.
I moved to the guest room to avoid getting sick myself. Somebody has to stay in control and keep things going while the other is down, right? It's my obligation, my responsibility as a husband and a parent. I think I did it for the right reasons, but it's like I've discovered an amazing new world in doing so.
The guest room is quite large. It really is like a second master, but without an ensuite. A huge room, with no dressers and jewelry boxes and clothing hanging here and there and everywhere, no television blasting Gilmore Girls, and no shortage of blankets and pillows.
Some of our guests have allergies, so the guest room is a "clean room" in as far as it can be. The door is always closed so that the cat can't get in, the kid is not allowed to play in there, it is strictly off-limits for anyone but guests.
The queen-sized bed is the one I bought when I moved to Dawson. I shopped for it. I tested it. I chose it. I paid for it. I forgot how much I liked it.... It is soft and comfortable, but not so much that you sink into it and get lost. It has a heated underlay which takes the chill off, and makes things extra cozy and warm.
The silence in that room is wonderful. I mean, it is a front room so it still has the expected sounds of the louder traffic and of course the occasional incoming jets to the airport, but none of the other regular ambient sounds that I am used to like the air ionizer, humidifier, or the snorer. And the pillows! Five of 'em, some soft, some medium, and one hard. It's like a harem of varying comfort, and not a cat hair anywhere!
There's no fighting for blankets or sheets, either. It's like the good old days when I worked in the field and stayed in a hotel with a big bed and just me, wherever the eff I wanna lay. Diagonal, sideways, upside-down, or spread out from edge-to-edge and corner-to-corner all at the same time.
So here I sit, tired and wanting for sleep. Back to my eight-inches at the edge of the mattress with just enough blanket to cover one nipple, and a mouthful of cat hair.
"So glad you're back in bed with me dear. I don't like sleeping without knowing you're here."
"I love you too dear."
Cough.
