I'm at my kitchen counter right now, where I always sit to blog. Behind me, in the family room, shoved behind the post between two archways, sits Al's birthday present. My nemesis. The New Bedroom TV. I shoved it behind that archway because I am loathe to even gaze upon it. I waited until today to buy it, even, and kept hoping something would happen to prevent my having to Do the Deed, pull the trigger on a big-ticket item we've lived without for this long, me very very blissfully, but him somewhat grudgingly, I'll admit.
We have gone round and round, in a friendly, loving, joking manner, of course, ahem, about having a television in the bedroom since we were married. And my stance has always been anti-bedroom TV from the git-go, even though when pressed I've never been 100% sure where my strong opposition found its genesis. And Al has always been pro-bedroom television, because he finds the sleepy bedtime climb up the stairs to our bedchamber to be nearly fatal and is tired of facing a near-death experience on a nightly basis. He envisions us putting the Bean to bed, spending an hour or so in the kitchen side by side at our computers, him studying and writing another stinkin' term paper and me bloggin' and menu-plannin' and family-calendarin' and bill payin' and what have you (shopping on e-Bay, but don't tell him that, okay?) and then retiring to our room to suit up, brush up, and hop in the sack for an hour or so of mind-numbing, pillow-snugging, snooze-inducing viewage of the boob tube.
Which, in theory, would work for me, as the trek up the stairs around tennish is, for me, a stark interruption of the night's deep sleep which begins involuntarily, no matter where I am or what I'm doing, which has proven dangerous and embarrassing at times, yes!, promptly at 8:59 PM on the dot.
There is the little matter of Mama's peaceful and absolutely requisite slumber being interrupted throughout the evening by said television, which will inevitably be of comfort and entertainment to my bedmate for many long hours beyond which I find it so, and which will evenutally lull him to sleep mid-History Channel® expose, Napoleon: The Real Reason He Always Looked So Cranky and Uncomfortable, (though I can't imagine why!) and continue to drone on and on deep into the night, showering both of our sleeping, receptive minds with heaven-only-knows-what subliminal messages until it finally wakes me, at which time I will be forced to rouse myself fully and either stump over to the TV, or prod and otherwise
And there's the matter of the few paltry weekend mornings we have two or three cozy minutes in bed together before Hurricane Bean alights from her boudoir to scurry into our room and demand that we duly alight alongside her and commence with the parenting and such, which have heretofore been spent in perfect, blissful, refreshing silence but will now, no doubt, give way to the scores on SportsCenter® and what have you. In my BEDROOM. On Saturday mornings.
Oh.. what have I done?
I bought the television because I love Al. And I appreciate him. And this is something he really, REALLY wants. And he works hard, he's completely selfless and adorably eager to give ME what I really want, so I want to do something special that's just for him, regardless of my own preferences, wishes, or paranoid projections of the certain doom we face if we break MY rule and try it his way this time. But it ain't gonna be easy. I'll try not to grimace when he does his Happy Dance, boosting the big, fancy Look--It's-A-New-Fancy-Expensive-Electronic-Man-Gadget above his head, all the way up the stairs to the bedroom. I'll try not to sigh when, as the clock rolls over to 10:03, the new television's still on, and my husband is lying by my side watching it, tears of joy and thanksgiving rolling down his grateful, victorious, albeit drowsy little cheeks.
Happy Birthday, Honey. I love you. Now hand me that stinkin' remote.
What about y'all? Do you have a TV in your bedroom? And why/why not?