Not that sleeping with Tim is easy, but trying to get him to wake up is even harder. Doesn’t matter if it’s me, or the alarm clock doing the deed; he wants nothing to do with getting up. The man would sleep till noon if anyone let him (which, of course, I won’t). But beyond that, the act of waking him is nothing short of Jesus raising the dead.
When I try to get Tim up to greet his day, the first several times I call to him he’s either still sleeping, or pretending with all his might that he’s doing so—it’s quite apparent when the latter happens due to his “fake snore.” His fake snore is so mild compared to his regular roaring that it’s obviously contrived, and it also doesn’t even begin until you try to rouse him. Once he admits to being awake the moaning and groaning starts. “Nooooo, I wanna sleep longer!” He’ll wail, followed by more moaning. I’ll remind him everyone else has been awake and living their lives for hours, but that doesn’t matter to him in the slightest; he’ll pointedly roll over and tell me to come back later.
As for his alarm clock issues; you know—and I know—that there’s nothing difficult about setting one, but try telling Tim that. Thomas Edison had an easier time figuring out how to make a light bulb work. Luckily for Tim, he works rotating shifts and only has to deal with an alarm clock about 7 times a month; even luckier for him, he has a wife who rises early and can usually save him from himself when the alarm “mysteriously” doesn’t go off, again.
Since he’s never been able to master this mindboggling task, obsession that he’ll be late for work has set in, in the form of him suddenly waking up in the middle of the night, jumping out of bed as if sirens have just signaled an enemy attack, and then proclaiming—with wild terror in his eyes and arms spread out, action pose style, to ward off all danger—that he’s late for work. He’ll then frantically try to find his clothes, while I gently try to guide him back to reality—not an easy undertaking.
Finally, after several moments of coaxing him out of his imagined calamity, he’ll gradually come to accept the truth of the matter, find great relief therein, and settle back down into a peaceful slumber—the only time his slumber is peaceful, by the way—until I nudge him awake informing him that, once again, his alarm did not go off. Of course, I do take tremendous delight in doing that when it actually hasn’t gone off yet at all. ;)