Is it just me, or do all Mommy’s have problems staying awake to watch a movie? I usually am a bit of a night owl, but I need to keep moving or thinking to stay awake.
Typing! Reading! Cleaning! Any job will do! Once occupied I can potter away till midnight. But don’t ask me to watch a movie. My eyes just cannot focus for a full two-hour duration.
I switched on The Wizard of Oz for the kids the other day. After only ten seconds of music and credits, my son let out an enormous sigh.
“Will they ever be over?” he said, with a distinct hint of irritation.
He then reached for the remote control and fast forwarded through the lot. Let me just say, it took a lot of fast forwarding for a movie that old.
The amazing buttons of the remote control don’t seem so magical to today’s kids. They take them for granted. Mom remembers moving her butt from the couch to wander over to the TV to change channels.
Many programs received an additional few minutes of watching, in the vain hope the plot might improve, thereby eliminating the need to move. One advantage of the old channel changing dance, was the fact it kept me awake.
I don’t know what it is, but whenever my husband sticks on a DVD, I seem to hit my own internal snooze button, as soon as the opening credits begin to roll. Keeping in mind how short opening credits have become, I am sawing logs in no time at all. I know my husband sits down beside me in the hope I will at least last through the first hour. He turns to tell me how much he loves watching a movie together. I inevitably respond with a snore, that shakes the walls.
I believe a surround sound system could not drown out the rattles of my snores. Thankfully we live in our own house, with some space separating us from our nearest neighbors. If we were still in an apartment with cardboard thin walls, any tenants next-door would be ear witnesses to my snore-fest.
I think there would be a greater chance of survival, if we watched movies with every single light bulb in the room switched on. Blazing light might sear my retinas, forcing attention. Retreating to the basement is a pure disaster altogether. My husband should open the windows. Chilly night air might whip me into shape, refreshing my leaden eyelids.
Or perhaps a less cozy chair might do the trick. He should insist I sit in the most uncomfortable chair. You know! The high-back, wooden, kitchen variety! Armrests should be out of the question. The wooden rungs on the upright back-support should poke my spine, if my head even droops for one second.
The truth is I am an annoying wife who falls asleep in the middle (or at the beginning) of movies. I am a lost cause. Even George Clooney or Brad Pitt, in all their handsomeness, are no answer to the call of the dark calm behind my eyelids.
So my poor husband must resign himself to the fact, we will never again have brilliant, in-depth discussions about each movie we rent. I agree to sit beside him on the couch, but I can never promise to keep my eyes open for the entire length of a movie.
Slán agus beannacht,
(Goodbye and blessings)
Irish American Mom
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