My husband and I have a lot in common. We both share the same family values. We’re both first generation Italian. We’re both ambitious and driven. And we both think I’m smart and funny. But there are two areas where we couldn’t be more different. Food and sleep. I need lots of both. He doesn’t need either.
Every day in our house starts the same way. Enzo’s alarm goes off for a split second and he’s up and out of bed. Fresh as a daisy! It doesn’t matter if he went to bed at 9:00 or if he barely closed his eyes after a late night out. He’s up. He’s awake. And he’s chatty. He talks to the dog. He talks to the cat. He even talks to himself in the mirror. I don’t mind that. But the trouble is he also talks to me. At 5:30 I’m in no mood. Nonetheless, he makes a few comments, asks a few questions, I don’t answer and he’s out the door. All by 5:45. A long while later my alarm goes off. I hit snooze. It goes off again. I hit snooze. It goes off again. I hit snooze. Now multiply that by 4. See the contrast? And that’s not just on work days. The same goes for Sundays. He’s up. I’m in a coma.
Some nights before we go to sleep we play this game. I’ll say, “I’m getting up with you tomorrow morning.” He’ll say, “I’ll make sure you do.” Then the morning comes and he remembers what he promised the night before. “Mon, let’s go. Come on. Get up. You said you were gonna. Come on. Let’s have coffee. Sonny is up too. Mon. Mon. Mon.” I remain limp and lifeless and eventually he gives up.
Enzo works hard and I mean really hard. We’re talking digging holes, planting things, building things, tearing things down. But there are some days when he’ll come home from work and his lunch is still untouched. I’ll start to make dinner and he’ll announce, “I’m not eating.” What??? After a day like his I’d be ready to eat my own arm. Not him. He eats to live – and sometimes not even. I live to eat. I wake up really looking forward to what I’m going to have for breakfast. That first spoonful of yogurt and berries. The first bite of protein bar. Yum. I’ll be just barely done with that before I’m wondering what’s good in the caf at work that day. And all the while in the back of my mind I’m thinking about what I can eat for dinner.
I love eating out and if we have reservations someplace I’ll check out the menu online days in advance to start weighing my options. On a Saturday night give me the choice of a bar, hip club, lounge, concert, ball game, meeting the Pope or dinner and I’ll take dinner any time. On the flip side I can ask Enzo what he wants to eat or where he wants to eat and the answer is always the same. “I don’t care.” And he really doesn’t. Not at all.
The big thing that pisses me off is Enzo’s ability to control his weight. After the holidays he got it in his head that he needed to lose a few pounds. He decided he wasn’t eating. And he didn’t. Two days later he was down 10 pounds. I didn’t even think that was possible.
Sometimes I wish I weren’t so food and sleep obsessed. I think about how much more productive I’d be if I were an early riser. With a couple of extra hours in the morning the house would be immaculate, the dog would be walked, the cats would be fed. I think about how much fitter I’d be if I saw food for what it is – just fuel. Imagine if no food would entice me to go over the edge? I’m hoping the longer we’re married a little of Enzo will rub off on me. Stay tuned to hear about my progress.