Quiet Time

I love television.

I'm not ashamed of that.  In fact, now that acting is my only job, I am pretty much required to watch TV.  It is literally research, and our cable bill is tax deductible.  (Side note- lots of cool stuff is deductible in this business, including getting my hair done, gym memberships, and makeup.  Acting is awesome.)

But every now and then, we need a little quiet time.  I say "we" because Dean is much more comfortable with silence than I am.  If I find myself at home during the day, working on a task, 99 percent of the time, the TV is on, providing comforting background noise.  Like a chatty friend.  Or a visiting parent. (Side note #2- my mom has the TV on a lot, too.  I noticed this when she visited recently. It's in my genes.)

Poor Dean even gets up before I do in the morning, leans over to me and whispers, "you stay sleeping," and then goes upstairs to supposedly walk the dog and make coffee.  OK, he actually DOES do those things, but when he's finished those two tasks, I lie awake in bed, listening, and I hear...nothing.  Maybe I hear the occasional "thunk" of his Sportsman's Lodge coffee mug on the dining table, or the flutter of a magazine page turning, but essentially, I hear...silence.

Which is probably the real reason he gets up so early.  It's the only time he can claim a few minutes of total silence, total Dean time, for himself.

And who can blame him?

When I get up, I immediately barrage him with every thought I've had since we went to sleep:  My dream about forgetting to feed the baby (Side note #3- this is a recurring dream I've had my entire life.  Only it scares the Hell out of me now that we're expecting a baby who will likely want to be fed.), ideas I have about paint colors for the Baby's Wall, items to add to today's grocery list, what Perez Hilton said about RiRi and Chris getting back together, and the overly realistic conversations I carry on with the pets.

They go something like this:


Dixie:  Meow.
Me: Not that great, how did you sleep?
Dixie: Meow.
Me: I beg to differ. You were walking all over my stomach last night.
Dixie: Meow.
Me: That is just rude.  You know I'm pregnant.
Tater: Meeeow.
Me: No, Tater.  You're just big boned.

Tonight, however, we were quiet.  Quiet-ish.  We had nice conversation about all kinds of creative things as we ate dinner.  Real-life artist things, that made me feel smart and thoughtful, and not at all like a Crazy Housewife About to Have a Baby.  We talked about travel and theatre and his trip, and artistic collaboration.

And then, we did something really nutty.

We sat on opposite ends of the sofa and read.  Books.  Not the internet on our phones, not status updates, not the new J. Crew catalog...books.

It was quiet and comforting and I loved looking over at Dean, who looked especially adorable wearing his reading classes and jeans with the torn knee, reading a book about parenting.  Our beagle lay snoring between us, and Dixie lay curled at my side.  The baby was kicking, surprising me, making me smile.

It was pretty great.

I should be quiet more often.  Especially since there won't be much silence around here in about 112 more days.

MW