I'm very particular about how I sleep. It needs to be quiet. Strange snoring/whining noises are not appreciated or tolerated, and result in a strong poke and disgusted huff. There cannot be any light in the room. Night lights are ridiculous. The obnoxious green glare from my husband's alarm clock continues to be an issue. I turn it around. He turns it back, and ...repeat. The blinds need to be shut in such a way that allows for the smallest possible amount of moonlight to filter through. The bathroom door must be shut, so that the light from those windows don't seep into the room. The room should be comfortable - not cold, not hot, certainly not the sauna-like conditions my husband likes to sleep in, which has me waking up a sweaty, soppy mess. Slightly cool would be optimum. I dress light. No sweatpants or sweatshirts. No layers or heavy socks. But every area must be covered. I don't want to wake up in the middle of the night and feel cold air up my shirt. I tuck my shirt into my pants. I also tuck my pants into my socks. That's right. It's quite sexy, as my husband will tell you.
Jim can sleep in almost any condition. He can sleep with the TV blaring (and does every.single.night). He can sleep with bright sunlight in the room. But, as I've mentioned before, he likes the room toasty. He is warm through the day, and I am freezing. Then, at night our metabolisms switch. Somehow, I manage to love him in spite of this bizarre nightly occurrence.
Recently, I bought Dylan new pajamas. I bought the ones with the feet for a very specific reason. If he wears ones without feet, he takes his socks off every.single.night. When we go in to get him in the morning, he is barefoot, and his feet are cold. I worried about him having cold feet, especially since he is still sick. When I showed him the new pajamas, he touched them, and remarked, "They're so soft!" I thought I had achieved success. This morning, Jim came in to tell me... "You have to see Dylan. He somehow took off just the bottom half of those pajamas". Sure enough, there he was with his arms and chest covered, but bare from the diaper down.
This afternoon, I put a new sheet on his bed before nap, and he rushed over to inspect my work. "That's not right!", he moaned. "WHAT?! What's the problem?", my not so patient self replied. "It's not blue! It's white!", I explained. (He won't sleep on blue sheets. He won't sleep on patterned sheets. He won't sleep on flannel sheets. White. They have to be plain white). "Those aren't COLD!", he whined. (Talking to myself..) "I'm going to need patience. A lot of patience. Breathe in. Breathe out).
"Dylan, these are the regular plain white sheets. Not the hot ones(flannel)". "No, they're not. They're not the cold ones or the hot ones. They're WARM". Apparently the new plain white sheets I bought are a different thread count or some such nonsense that just changes freakin' everything. (Breathe in. Breathe out).
I give up. We all have our night time quirks. The things that make perfect sense to us, but absolutely none to others. The things that make us happy and comfortable. The person who does this...
really can't say too much about anyone else's method.
Here's wishing you and your family whatever brings you Comfort and Joy this holiday season.