I try to help Tracey out where I can, but sometimes I just make things worse.
You know how when you wake up you can tell it’s morning without opening your eyes because it’s lighter even behind your eyelids? Well, that kind of happened to me the other night. I lay there for a minute, figuring it must be just before 7 and the alarm was about to go off.
Only it wasn’t sun up, like I thought, but rather 1am in the morning – Tracey’s computer hadn’t shut down and the screen was lighting up the room. If I’d known the time I would have pretended to be asleep and let Tracey get up. Did I write that out loud?
In any case, it turns out I wouldn’t have been any worse off.
But I didn’t go back to sleep because as I lay there contemplating how wonderful my first coffee of the day was going to be I heard something.
“Daddy? Mummy? Daddy? Mummy? Where are you?”
It was sort of muffled, but something told me it might be one of our kids.
“Daddy? Mummy? Where are you?”
I decided to help. I mean, usually Tracey handles these sorts of things during the working week and I do the weekends, but I figured, quite rightly it turns out, if she was still asleep when one of the kids was calling out she must be a little knackered.
And of course, the best thing about getting up to one of the kids was I would be able to claim to be tired as well.
“I’m shagged,” I said to my wife later that morning. “I got up to the kids last night so I’m totally can’t-thinking-the-words-good shagged.”
If I expected some small amount of praise or sympathy, or possibly a chuckle, I was about to be disappointed.
“You?!” she said, an incredulous look on her face which I took to mean I didn’t know the meaning of the word tired. Then, just in case my foggy brain wasn’t up to reading facial cues, she added, “You don’t know the meaning of the word tired!”
I guess I should have expected this. Lately it hasn’t just been the kids keeping her awake.
A regular part of our morning banter these past couple of weeks has been her complaining to me about some odd things I’ve started doing in the bed. And not kinky odd either.
Tracey’s list of my recent bedroom transgressions includes:
- Ferreting in the blankets for something I’ve never found and can’t recall when asked,
- Taking a sip of water, then missing the table and dropping the glass on the floor,
- Tapping the bedhead (and sometimes her head) to a mystery beat, and
- Developing new snores – the latest of which she compares to a whale call.
She mimicked the whale call for me earlier in the week.
“So a sick whale,” I joked.
“More an endangered whale,” she corrected me. She didn’t sound like she was joking.
I knew all this. Which is why I was hoping to win back some favour by helping out more.
“Daddy? Mummy? Where are you?” came the cry again, and I finally got up to find out what was going on.
It turned out Miss4 had locked herself in the bathroom and not been able to find either the door or the light switch. I set her free.
By any definition of the word, that is helping. Right?
Unfortunately, Tracey doesn’t see it like this. Apparently, I lost points in the lead up.
“You lay there with your head on the pillow,” she told me, “and tried to get her attention by screaming out over and over, ‘WE’RE IN THE BEDROOM!’”
At least I could tell she was seeing the funny side of it this time. But, seriously, there’s always something, isn’t there? 😉
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“Raising a family on little more than laughs.”