This morning, Andrew woke up screaming. Given that he refused to go to bed the previous evening because of sickness, this event did not surprise me. It did, however, rattle my husband.
As he climbed out of bed, he yelled, “SSSHHHH!!!”
To which I responded, “Um, that won’t help.”
After looking at me sheepishly he said, “Sorry, I was dreaming that one of the boys I work with was screaming at me.” (Not too far from the truth.)
This dream state of my husband often results in hilarious nighttime outings and ramblings.
Like when I wake up to find cheese in the cupboard. Or a half eaten peanut butter sandwich in the fridge. And wrappers of my coveted chocolate scattered on the floor.
But nothing beats waking up to him whistling our alma mater’s fight song; alternating between humming a tune and laughing hysterically; and jumping out of bed, grabbing a folded towel from the dresser, and brandishing it like a sword. All while innocently dreaming.
It isn’t unusual for me to wake up and find him in the living room with the TV on and the internet up.
I’ve mentioned the need for me to sleep train my husband before, but I think I need to get more serious. After I stop chuckling.