First, let me preface that I am a hardcore sleeper. I'm a champion. I could enter an Olympic event in Sleeping and sweep all three medals, because I am just THAT good at it. I, like my youngest son, can sleep anywhere, at any time, no matter what is happening around me.
But the older I get, I've realized that there's a direct correlation in Where I Sleep vs. How I Feel When I Get Up.
As in: *Nap on the couch = crick in neck
*Crappy ass hotel mattress = sore all over
*Drifting off in a chair at elementary school assembly = just embarrassed, yet refreshed
Anyway. The point is, the WHERE has somehow, in the last fifteen years, become very, very important.
And that's where our story begins.
When Nolan and I were first married, we slept on his bed. I moved into his house the day after we got married, and his bed was a Queen size, where as mine, although a much prettier antique wrought iron, was only a Full size. THAT was a no brainer. My husband is a big guy, and he sleeps big, too. We did replace the mattress on my bed the first year we were married because I'd been sleeping on it so long (10 years? And it wasn't new when I got it) that it sunk in in the middle. Even to our untrained eyes, we knew that our guests wouldn't want to sleep on that. But our bed? The one he'd been sleeping on, a hand-me-down from his parents, we continued sleeping on unfazed until I finally got my way six years later and he bought us a new bedroom suite. With a King sized bed.
*chorus of angels sing*
Once you go King, baby, you NEVER go back. Nolan, ever the thrifty shopper, had looked at the prices of mattresses and balked. (No kidding. have you PRICED mattresses? It's like they hold a gun to your head. Highway robbery.) So my sweet and handsome husband found "The Mattress Man," a guy who has a dataforms business and sells mattresses out of the back room on the side.
The whole time we were in that place (I don't use the word 'store' because honestly, a room with a bunch of mattresses stacked in it isn't quite that) the first time, I wondered if these had somehow fallen off a truck or something. The place is even in a sketchy neighborhood. I mean, swing a rope and you hit a crack house. But Nolan loves a deal, so we bought our first King mattress from this guy.
I am SO glad we did. It was, hands down, the best bed we'd ever slept on. I mean, we'd go to fancy-schmancy hotels and be thrilled to come home to our bed, because it was THAT good. EVERY time I laid down on it I made a little noise of contentment. I can't count how many times we said, "I love our bed." It was perfect.
Until it wasn't anymore. A couple of years ago, Nolan had back surgery to repair a bulging disc in his lower back, and about that same time, he noticed a Nolan-sized groove in his side of the bed. We rotated it, and a few months later, there was another Nolan-sized groove on the other side. We knew it was time to replace it. There were deep, regretful sighs all around. Tears were shed. Taps was played. And we went back to the sketchy mattress place to order another mattress JUST LIKE THE ONE WE HAD.
Only because this guy deals in non-name brand bedding, which may or may not be mob related, they didn't make our mattress model anymore. Nolan and I were stunned. We didn't know what to do. I might have sobbed. The guy assured up that he could get us a "comparable model." He brought it over to the house in the back of his pickup and everything.
It was not comparable. It was not even close. It did NOT make me go 'Ahhhhh," when I sat down on it. In fact, the noise was something like a disappointed, "Ohhhh."
We slept on it for five moths until we'd both had it. Waking up cranky and sore with me devising plans for how I could torch the mother and not burn down the house in the process did not a happy Carrie make. So, in an effort to make the Sleep Queen happy, Nolan goes back to the Mattress Man and negotiates a deal. We'd been going to Furniture stores looking at Temperpedic mattresses, (It got pretty bad; eventually, the salespeople just waved because we were the crazy people that just lay down on the beds and never bought anything) but the price tag made Nolan wince. It was astronomical. I mean, you can buy a great used car for what one of those costs. So my husband goes down to the crack houses while I'm out of town, and gets us the knockoff model of a Temperpedic. He ordered and had it delivered while I was out of town.
It was like laying on a brick. There was NO give. NO mercy. Instead of "Ahhh" or even "Ohhh," there was "Ewwww." EVERY TIME. I would make a face before it was time to go to bed, so badly did I hate that thing. I was sleeping poorly and I was waking up sore. My back hurt, my neck hurt, and my strategy for a backyard bonfire was redrawn and solidified into a workable plan.
Finally, Nolan, after a month and a half of sleepless nights, feeling like we were sleeping on a mattress made of concrete and waking up with creaking and groaning muscles, broke down and bought the CLOUD SUPREME from Temperpedic. From an actual store. Imagine my shock. But the result?
*angels sing again*
It is every bit as good as its name. We got it on Friday, and it's like being cuddled all night. Everything is aligned properly when I get up, and I don't hurt anymore. And I SLEEP THOUGH THE NIGHT. Just as a champion sleeper should. This baby has a 20 year warranty, so even though we shelled out the big bucks for it, it's going to be at least two decades before I have to deal with the mattress saga again.
*I sing the hallelujah chorus*
If you made it this far, you really deserve a cookie as a reward.
Or maybe a nap on my mattress. :D