Are We There Yet?
There's no winning with an early riser
LORI CLINCH
Ever since the beginning of our happily wedded bliss, my husband, Pat, and I have had an ongoing dilemma of the restful soul vs. the morning man.

Simply put - I like to sleep in and he likes to wake up.

I enjoy nothing more than dozing through the predawn hours while he's up and whistling at zero dark thirty, whether he needs to be or not. I enjoy my pillow and my snooze alarm while he's dressed, fully caffeinated and playing Jack LaLanne long before the break of dawn.

Pat makes constant attempts to mold me into a morning person and has tried various tactics for waking me in the predawn hours. There's his early morning whistle, his jumping jacks at the foot of the bed and the clever placement and implementation of floodlights.

Being a woman of a stubborn nature, I've been able to ward off his early morning attacks. With a well-placed pillow and a death grip on the edge of the blankets, I can stay in bed for five or sometimes 10 minutes longer than he's willing to fight me.

I'm nothing if not stubborn.

Lately, however, Pat has designed a new assault plan and I must say one would be hard pressed to find a more clever man. This latest plan of attack is more brilliant than an ice cube on the spine. It is worse than halogen lamps and more effective than placing his air compressor next to my pillow and shooting off the air guns.

His new strategy is so brilliant that even he can't believe that he hasn't thought of it before. It's subtle, sneaky and downright deviant. "What is it?" you ask. "Is it a bucket of water? The use of smelling salts? A well-placed set of bongo drums?"

No, it's a low-volume radio/alarm clock. That's right, an alarm clock set to go off at the crack of dawn at a volume so subtle that one is awake and cranky long before she knew what hit her.

Will the man stop at nothing?

One minute I'm dozing fitfully and dreaming about decorating the mud room and the next I'm giving up my pillow, relinquishing the blankets and throwing my body across the bed to shut the stinking thing off.

And it's not set to just any station, mind you. Oh no! Through what I'm sure must have been hours of research and days of studying sleeper's warfare, the man found himself just the perfect station to waken me - The Negative Ned show.

Ned is a DJ who likes to gripe about the woes of his life at an unholy hour. You'd be hard-pressed to find an individual more negative than Ned. He likes financial reports, national debt and the man can go on for an hour about his bunions.

He complains for a spell and then, just for fun, he takes calls from fans with similar woes.

Just this morning, instead of waking up to a happy thought or that catchy little tune, "Don't Worry, Be Happy," we awoke to a phone-in show about family finances. Emma Jean from Pocatello phoned in to say that she had overspent her budget. Norm Ruins from Boise had racked up enough debt to rival the national deficit, and good old Penny Riches from Wichita, Kansas, had spent enough cash on the horse races to put her in financial ruins and she'll be doggoned if she can see the light at the end of the track.

"Lori," Pat said as he shook me awake so I could hear the news, "Terry Arrears from Wahoo had to pay $35 in late fees. Are you sure that you're paying the bills on time? Lori, did you hear that? Darlene Debit didn't pay her parking tickets, and now they're confiscating her husband's work truck! For the love of money, how can you sleep through that?"

As I lay there with my blankets tucked neatly around me and firmly held a pillow over my head, Pat pounced on me. "Good heavens, Lori," he said in a near panic, "do we have any adjustable rate loans?"

He won the battle, but I'll be dogged if I'll let him win the war. He's not messing with just any woman, you know. I'll reset his stupid clock. I'll duct tape the tuning dial to a happy station. Better yet, I'll replace it with one of those clocks that awaken you with ocean sounds.

And when his back is turned and the time seems right, I'll really mess with his world - I'll switch the man to decaff.

Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book "Are We There Yet?" You can reach her at www.loriclinch. com.