snoring

I woke up this morning and found the following comment waiting for moderation on my snoring post. My response is below:

Dear Kiera,

Thanks for writing. I’m really honored that someone would be this excited that I’d take the time to discuss the subject of snoring. Snoring has in fact touched the lives of countless people, so your comment is very poignant in that regard. What I’m touched by even more is how strongly you felt about this subject. I mean, you even said so yourself: “I feel strongly about it.” And as if that weren’t enough, that you love learning more about it. Really? You are a rare and mystical woman, Ms. Stevenson; perhaps you should impart this gift to my wife, Jennifer. She hates learning about snoring altogether. In fact, she’s trying to get me to stop. (Can you imagine? The audacity!).

But update you with more information? That’s where I’ll have to disappoint you, Kiera. I can not possibly update my blog with more information. You’re correct in observing that my expertise in the subject will only grow (I’m flattered); I fully intend to get better and better at snoring as I grow older and lose involuntary muscle control of my relaxing oral and sinus tissues. But the inherent problem is that I don’t know when I’m snoring. I get better and better at something I’m completely unaware of. (Some might call it my spiritual gift). Thus, I can no longer be of help to you.

Where will you go for further instruction? I can not say. But it won’t be here. I have sadly taken the liberty of marking your comment as “spam,” never to return, as I can’t bear the thought of leading you on in the false hope of educating you with my increased expertise. Oh, the cruel torment. Interestingly enough, however, your comment was posted with an accompanying website; what divine intervention! It’s almost like the Greek snoring gods have looked favorably upon you! Surely you might be able to find more answers there!

May your strong feelings and desire for helpful learning only increase in the nights ahead. I bid thee a fond farewell.

ch:

The Wrong Shampoo, Snoring, and the Cruel Irony of It All

A few days ago I reach down to “my corner” of the shower (the one with one bottle, not twelve), and pull up a new shampoo. Timely. I had just run out, and I’m married to a wonderful wife who always keeps me stocked up. Obsessed with good smelling shampoo (the real reason I still use it), I decided to see what my bald head was going to indulge in for the next few weeks.

But what caught my eye was not the flavor. It was the type of shampoo. Or rather, the type of hair this particular shampoo is used for. Shampoo. For long hair. And better still, shampoo for people who have apparently had, or are intending to have, a long term relationship with their long hair.

I have neither. And worse yet, it even mocked me in Spanish.

But the personal products story is not over. In an attempt to curb my hellacious snoring via the Dutch nose I inherited from my father, my wife bought me Breathe Right Strips. Only my genuine excitement for my wife’s long-awaited peaceful night’s sleep motivated me to apply the strange fitting latex band. A glorified Band Aid really. Why don’t I just spend less money and stick a Dora the Explorer bandage on my face?

I read the directions, stuck the thing over my nose, then went to sleep. Hoping for the best.

Surprisingly, my nose was unusually clear during the night. Deep breaths. I liked it. And not as uncomfortable as I would have thought. So much so, that I forgot I had it on when I woke up at 6:55am to the word “Done!” coming from the other bathroom. Done is the one word my kids use to signal Jennifer and I that, “Hey, Parent, I’ve just pooped a lot on the toilet, I lack the needed motor skills to properly wipe myself, and I really need you because I’m tired of sitting here with this smell I’ve created.” I climb out of my bed, walk into the hallway, and find Eva sitting on the toilet. Waiting. As I reach down to do the deed, she says, “Dad, what the crap’s wrong with your nose?”

Note to self. Remove Breathe Right Strip before wiping 4 year old’s butt. (Why wasn’t that on the directions?)

I crawled back into bed only after sending Eva to try and “sleep in” on this Saturday morning (a term I don’t think she’ll ever quite grasp, as she’s this morning-guy’s daughter). I’m just about to enter my REM stage when something wakes me up. No, not “done” again. Not my 5 month old telling the whole house he’s hungry. Not even my 3 year old playing WWF off the rungs of his crib. What was it you ask?

Jennifer. Snoring.

And when asked how my Breathe Right Stripes worked? She said, “Uh, I think it was louder.” Nice. ch:

In Response to Snoring

The Wrong Shampoo, Snoring, and the Cruel Irony of It All

Looking for awesomeness?

Check out what you missed: