My husband knows me.
And I know him right back.
I have a difficult time falling asleep. One night last week, just for the sake of being able to give an example, I took mental notes: I went to my bedroom, quiet and cool, at about 9:30 pm and tried to rest. Did my usual tricks of reading and not reading, watching hulu and not watching hulu, and finally at 11:45 pm resorted to the ol' turn-off-the-lights-and-be-still. I did fall asleep, but the last time I looked at the clock it read 2:35.
This screws up most everything. If I don't get to sleep early, then I don't get up early. If I don't get up early, then I don't go to the gym. If I don't go to the gym, then I'm sluggish, slow, grumpy. If I'm sluggish, slow, grumpy, then I don't Get Things Done. If I don't Get Things Done, then I feel like A Failure. When I feel like A Failure I act like A Failure. When I act like A Failure I don't shower or get dressed or get anything done until, at the earliest, mid-afternoon. When that happens, I suddenly can get a few things done...but it's dinner time and far more than A Few things need to get done. Before I know it, I'm wide awake from not having done anything all day, but my body is tired from not sleeping, and I find myself in my bed late at night, not doing anything, including sleeping.
Darin knows this about me.
But there's something I know about Darin that he does not yet know about himself, which is this: He Needs Sleep.
Duh, right? We all Need Sleep. But my dear husband (WAIT! Is that what DH means??), as much as he is able to accomplish in each set of 24 hours given him (and believe me, it is much), doesn't give himself the credit to realize that he Needs Sleep. This is evidenced by two things: 1, his nearly daily proclamation, "I don't need much sleep," and 2, his falling asleep while doing, well, ANYTHING. Reading, talking, you name it.
Cue Sunday evening:
Darin found me on a couch downstairs, talking and tiredly playing with our two youngest, who were still awake from the Cursed Late Afternoon Nap o' the Sabbath. "Go to bed," he suggested. "If you get to sleep now, you'll be able to go to the gym in the morning."
I raised my eyebrow.
"Really, I've got this."
I stood up and sighed. "Do you promise that you'll let me know if you're too tired so that I can take over before you fall asleep?"
"I'm not tired. I've actually got a lot of energy right now."
"Mmm-hm," I mumbled as I marched upstairs.
Twelve minutes later I heard him, 3 floors away, snoring deeply.
I went downstairs and saw that he and The Boy were cuddling, both asleep on the couch together, but there was no sign of Atcha. I suspected she might be hiding or playing in her room.
"Baby Girl?" I called softly. "Sweetie, where are you?"
And then I turned my head: