Menage' toofreakingmany

When Dan and I made the decision to move from California to New York, it was decided that we would down-size considerably to make our move easier (not to mention much, much, MUCH cheaper).  I threw away a boatload of crap, forced the boys to take their shit and store it somewhere else (like, I dunno... there own places?  I know, right?  Why shouldn't I haul their belongings with me to New York when all three of them are still living in California?  The nerve of some mothers!) and only kept the bare essentials of what we couldn't live without and what we could fit into a one bedroom apartment.  When you've lived in three bedroom houses literally your entire life, you have NO idea how much stuff that is.  Seriously. 48 years worth of MY crap + three boys who left alllllll of their stuff behind when they left home and continued to add to it every time they came back for a visit (because they view me as a giant, free, storage unit)  + one husband who never managed to make it to the landfill and kept everything in the garage "until he had a truckload" (Ummm, dude.... that ship sailed like 8 years ago.")... Yeah.  There was a LOT.  OF.  STUFF.  


(Pardon the rant.  Apparently I'm not quite over it.)


Anyway, one of the things Dan and I decided to part with prior to our trip was our bedroom set.  We sold our queen sized bed, dresser with vanity mirror, and two bedside tables and schlepped my son's double bed with us to New York, planning on using it briefly and then replacing it once we knew how much room we had in our new space.  


Long story short, we've been here almost 5 months and that hasn't happened yet.  Every time I bring it up Dan says, "I don't want to buy a bed until we can afford to get a really good one."


Translation:  "I'm cheap, I hate spending money on anything other than fantasy football and tools, and I can fall sleep anywhere, at anytime.  As long as I'm comfortable, it's all good.  Is this a problem for you?"


Why, yes... yes it is.  Thank you so much for asking.


Dan is blessed with the ability to fall asleep as his head is landing on the pillow.  He sprawls out, sighs contentedly, and immediately begins snoring.  He is completely unencumbered by the knowledge that he's left me wedged on the edge of the mattress covered by two dogs, half a sheet, and his giant drooling, snoring body.  


(Dan is 6'2, 260 lbs.  I'm 5'1 and nowhere close to 260 lbs.  Just to give you a visual.  Large man + double bed + small wife = someone is not comfortable.  And it isn't him.)


While Dan tip-toes through Dream Land, this is what's happening on MY square foot of the mattress:


Javi, our 4 lb Pomeranian, lies delicately between my feet, rendering me motionless out of extreme fear that if I move, I will crush his eensy-teensy little bones.  Maisy, the pug, plops herself on top of my head and immediately begins snoring.  Loudly.  (I'm pretty sure she's competing with Dan.  She just wants to be heard.)


Inevitably, after lying awake for an hour  or so, I decide I need to pee.  (I pee a lot at night.  Probably because since I'm not sleeping, I really have nothing else to do.)  I carefully pull my feet out from beneath Javi, shove Maisy off of my head, and get out of bed.  I do my business, come back to bed, and that's when I will find Maisy sprawled out, her head on my pillow, spooning Dan.  


And she won't move.


I push, shove, pick her up, try to move her over... it's impossible.  She has the amazing ability to turn her 18 lbs of snuggley puggishness into 200 lbs of dead weight.  She is Gibraltar.  She will not be budged.  


Finally, I climb in next to her and cling to the edge of the mattress.  She snores, blissfully.  Dan snores in perfect harmony.  Javi is a tiny piece of black fluff taking up the entire foot of the bed.  (How does he do it?  How?  He weighs less than 5 freaking lbs!)


As I lie there, eyes wide open, I ponder how big and fabulous of a bed I could buy with Dan's life insurance money...


Note to self:  Check policy in the morning.