I hate the snooze alarm.
I think it’s evil.
I hate the snooze alarm.
I think it’s evil. I think the person who invented the snooze alarm should be shot at dawn by a firing squad after being drawn and quartered. I think that’s fair.
After all, they should be tortured the way I am tortured every single day of my life.
Look, whoever thought the snooze alarm was a good idea obviously hasn’t met my husband. Harry has to take his time waking up. For him, the snooze alarm is a great thing. Weekdays, he sets it for 6 a.m., and then actually gets up at 7 a.m.
This doesn’t work for me.
No, once I’m awake, I’m not going back to sleep. When Junior was a baby and didn’t sleep through the night, I was a wreck. I would wake up several times to feed him, change him – whatever. And it would take me hours to get back to sleep. And of course, the minute I dropped off, Junior would wake up needing to be fed or changed or whatever. I spent a full six months looking like the walking dead.
Of course, now Junior sleeps through the night. Oh, there are the occasional nightmares and projectile vomiting episodes. But for the most part, I get a good night’s sleep, completely undisturbed.
Until morning.
You see, not only does Harry use the snooze alarm – he sleeps through it. So at six o’clock, when the alarm goes off – RIGHT NEXT TO HARRY’S HEAD – he snores on, blissfully unaware that I am now fully awake thanks to the bleating of the stupid alarm clock.
So I kick him.
Oh, I know it’s not nice. But if you were woken up every single morning, Monday through Friday, this very same way, you’d get a little violent too. And after I kick him, Harry wakes up, hits the snooze bar and goes right back to sleep for nine minutes.
And I stare at the ceiling, waiting for the nine minutes to slowly tick past, when the alarm sounds again and I have to kick Harry awake. This goes on, every nine minutes, for an hour.
I don’t know why Harry can’t hear the alarm. I mean, this is a man who can hear Junior tiptoeing through a silent house in the middle of the night, looking for the bathroom. But he cannot hear a loud alarm that is sitting right next to him.
It makes me crazy.
But what makes me crazier is the Saturday alarm. You see, on Saturdays, when Harry and Junior are going fishing, I could sleep in. But not in our house. No, in our house the alarm is set for some horrible hour of the morning when even the darned fish are still sleeping. And Harry insists on setting the alarm and snoozing through it on the theory that the early fisherman gets the biggest fish.
How can that be? The fish aren’t awake. They can’t be. It’s still dark outside. The fish are still peacefully snoring away while Harry and Junior are out trolling for trout. And I am at home, wide awake, unable to get back to sleep on the one day I can sleep in.
It’s no wonder that I kick him. I’m sleep-deprived.
And now that fishing season has started, I’ll be sleep-deprived until winter. Unless I can find a way to balance the alarm clock on top of Harry’s ear, while I sleep with earplugs and a pillow over my head. It just might work. Unless I’m too tired to try it, of course.
