Any self-defense manual states that the strongest point on the human body is the elbow. If ever attacked, use the elbow as a "weapon" of defense.

Birdy has a very nice, perfectly straight, picture-perfect nose and he is absolutely terrified of my elbow.

In the evenings, while laying in bed watching t.v., if I make a sudden move to readjust my position, Birdy moves his head away.

"What are you doing?" I asked him the first time.

"Getting away from that elbow."

My big, strong, strapping husband is afraid of my bony little elbow.

Huh.

We all have our little quirks.

Birdy snores. Birdy snores worse than average, but not so severely that he requires a sleep study. Yet. He cannot sleep on his back or he will snore to beat the band. Like a buzz saw. On his back, Birdy can suck the curtains off the wall at the other end of the house.

I am a light sleeper. I don't like that I'm a light sleeper, but from a MomStandpoint, it's a good thing to be a light sleeper.

I also have some back issues. So, when we built the house, we got a new mattress. I made sure it was a Tempurpedic.

There is some truth in advertising. Until I became completely accustomed to the bed, which took just over the 90 day trial-period, I slept like the dead. Birdy would get up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom. He'd scare me half to death coming back to bed.

I'm used to my bed, now, and there are some nights I sleep like the dead and there are others that I sleep like a normal person. Would I still recommend that type of bed to people? You bet. I love that mattress. It beats sleeping on any other mattress I've ever had, or encountered on vacation or at The Cabin. I love that mattress so much that if Birdy is snoring to beat the band, I refuse to leave the bed.

I used to bail.

I don't anymore.

Instead, I just elbow him.

Not hard. Just a little nudge accompanied by a softly spoken, "Honey, you're snoring. Roll over, please." I'm polite. I use my manners.

A few minutes later, I will nudge him again, "Honey, you're still snoring. Roll over, please."

This is generally followed by a bellow of, "I HEARD YOU!"

Well, if you heard me, why in the hell didn't you roll over???

It's a very unpleasant middle-of-the-night exchange. I try my best to not take it personally.

There are instances where Birdy will carry on the better part of a conversation over the snoring. And not recall said conversation the next day.

We've had this conversation many nights.

Nudge, nudge, "Honey, you're snoring..."

"Alright, I heard you! You know, YOU SNORE, TOO!"

Really, really nice and heart-warming.

One night he made this crack, "I wish YOU snored so I could beat you up in the middle of the night."

Feel the love, people? Yeah, me, too.

I do not beat my husband up in the middle of the night. I nudge him.

We all have our little quirks. I have mine.

First thing in the morning, I do NOT like bright light. If the shades are up in the east windows & the sun is bright, I close my eyes, bobbing and weaving, until I get to the window. Then, I pull the shade. Same thing when I wake up at 0500 during the week while it's still dark outside. I stumble around in the dark for 20 minutes before I'll turn on a light. Birdy refers to me as Dracula. I don't argue.

Another odd little quirk is that I cannot stand to have someone breathe in my face. Be it asleep or awake, I don't want someone so close to my face that I can feel their breath. I thought this rather odd, until I talked to my Dad one day and he said, "I woke up last night and couldn't go back to sleep. I got up at 2."

"What woke you up?"

"Your Mom was breathing in my face." I thought nothing of this exchange.

My boys still share the same bed. I do not argue with them. I encourage this behavior. My father and his brothers shared a bed when they were younger. As adults, they were very close. I am sure there are other reasons for this closeness, but at this point, I attribute their closeness to having shared a bed.

One night, at bedtime, my oldest was complaining about sharing a bed with his brother, who is completely, painfully, terrified of the dark. "I don't like it, Mom! He breathes in my face!!!"

"Well, honey, roll over, then."

So, despite the Tempurpedic, there are times I feel Birdy turning over in the bed. If he is heading for his back, I can promise you he is about to put a foot on either side of the bed, thereby crossing The Center Line and invading my half of the queen- size bed. About ten minutes into that position, he will begin to snore like a buzz saw.

I like to stretch out as much as the next person.

Before we purchased the new mattress, Birdy suggested a king-size bed.

No.

Why not?

No.

Why not? Our bedroom is large enough for one.

Yes, if we don't have night stands. I must have a nightstand with a drawer for my hand lotion, my lip balm, tissues, magazines, remote controls...quirky, I know...

Let's get a king-size bed.

No.

Why not?

Bedding costs and absolute fortune and I like lots of sets of sheets. If we get a king-size bed, I can't afford 10 sets of sheets...I can't buy 4 different comforters and quilts and switch things out every few months...quirky, I know.

No.

A king-size bed would be great...let's get a king-size bed.

No.

Why not?

They're a total pain to make. Enormous.

I know, they're enormous. That's why we should get a king-size bed.

No.

Why not???

Because you'd sleep in the middle of that thing, too...

Last night, when he rolled onto his back, I happened to wake up. I could feel his foot moving rapidly in my direction. Being curled up, I just put my foot to the end of the bed. That was all. My foot didn't travel to the end of the bed at warp speed. My foot wasn't traveling at Mach3. I just stretched out. Just like my husband was doing.

"DON'T KICK ME!!!!"

Are you serious?

I did not kick him.

This morning, he was standing in our closet getting ready for work. I asked, "Is your foot bruised?"

Birdy looked slightly perplexed. I could see the revelation light up his face. I was surprised. Normally Birdy doesn't remember what he bellows in his sleep. "You kicked me."

It was almost a whine.

It was almost a pout.

I entertained getting his Mom on the phone so he could tell her all about the abuse her son had admirably suffered through the night before.

I held my tongue. "I did not kick you," I told him.

"You did, too."

Did not.