Bed Hogs

Boy Oh Boy Oh Boy — "Bed Hogs"

4,800 square inches. That is how big my queen-sized bed is.

About 300 square inches. That is approximately how much space I actually have to sleep on.

You see, I have kids. And a dog. And a cat. And of course my wife. In short, I have a bad case of bed hogs. Let me explain the situation ...

Culprit 1 - My Wife

Now before I get in any trouble here, let me make it perfectly clear that I am in no way saying that my wife is anything but the perfect size. On the contrary, the only problem with her body is her circulation, in the sense that she has none. It can be the middle of August, 100 degrees outside, asphalt melting in the driveway, and she will still sleep wrapped up from head to toe and under the covers. Now imagine what it is like in the dead of an Ohio winter? She goes to bed in long johns, sweat pants, wool socks, a long-sleeve shirt, and a hoodie (with the hood pulled up over her head) while covered with the regular blanket, an extra blanket, and an electric blanket. By the time she is all wrapped up, she is the size and appearance of a Siberian fur trapper, just minus the boots (thankfully).

Culprit 2 - The dog

Next there is Nikita, our rescue dog who insists on showing her appreciation for being rescued by bounding into bed with us each night. She is not a small animal. We are not sure what breed she is exactly but she looks to be part Rottweiler and, by my best guess, part water buffalo. Most nights Nikita will jump into bed before I get there and will plop down on my side (politely warming it up for me, I imagine). Unfortunately she will not move. In fact, when I walk over to the bed she will intentionally avoid any and all eye contact with me, under some strange belief that if she can't see me, then I can't see her. Eventually she will acknowledge my existence and insistence that she move, and will reluctantly pull herself up, walk six inches, and plop back down again. This goes on for some time. When I finally can get into bed, I can be sure that Nikita's massive body will not only continue to take up a large chunk of the bed, but will also weigh down the covers so no one can move. It's her way of saying thanks.

Culprit 3 - The cat

Our second rescue pet is our cat Dribbles (more about the name later). My wife Carmen took him in as a stray back in college many years ago. He is truly a wonderful cat, putting up with three crazy boys and never once scratching or biting. He is very affectionate and loves to cuddle. Oh yeah, and one other thing —he drools. A lot. Especially when he is happy. Hence his name, Dribbles. To be fair though, Dribbles really does not take up any extra room in the bed. Instead he waits until I am asleep and pinned down by Nikita, and then he will lay down on my chest, get all comfortable, start purring, and then drool on my face.

Culprits 4, 5 and 6 - The boys

Which brings us to the final group of bed hogs — the boys. When Carmen and I first got married, her boys were still very young (2, 4 and 6). I am sure that is was quite a change for them to move into a new house, with new bedrooms, and me as a new step-dad. They were understandably uneasy and maybe even a little afraid. So for at the least the first year of our marriage it was a guarantee that by morning one, two or all three boys had made their way into the bed, squeezing into whatever nook or cranny was left. As newlyweds in a blended family, when the honeymoon is over, the honeymoon is really over. It wasn't so bad with Carter and Mason, who took up a lot of room but at least would stay reasonably still. On the other hand, there was Grant, who insisted on doing Kung Fu in his sleep, and in the small of my back.

As the years have passed the boys have adjusted well to their new home, but bad dreams, loud storms and upset stomachs (my favorite) will still send them into our bed many times. Well, not just them, but also their stuffed animals and blankets and whatever other items of comfort they bring.

So most nights that is how I sleep (or try to sleep). My wife beside me wrapped up like an Eskimo, children with bony elbows and knees wedged in between us, a large dog weighing down on my legs and a cat drooling on my face.

And I think to myself... what a lucky guy I am.

Yep, that's right. They may crowd and squeeze and kick and squirm and release unnecessary bodily odors. But they love us. When the lightening strikes and the bad dreams scare and the belly aches stir, where do you go? You go where you are safe and secure and loved. And they all come to our bed.

Our bed is sort of like Ellis Island in the sea of nighttime. I should get a plaque on the foot board that reads "Give me your tired, your scared, your nocturnally incontinent masses yearning for a warm dry bed."

In the end, I wouldn't change a thing. Well, except maybe it might be time to upgrade to a king-sized bed.