By Gwen Rockwood, newspaper columnist and mom of 3
Evenings should be easy. Don’t we all want to coast to a gentle landing at the end of a busy day?
But lately it’s taking longer to get ready for sleep. Even though the kids are grown and we have no toddlers to corral into bed, there’s a growing list of “night chores” that must be done before I sleep.
I share some of the night chores with Tom. One of us takes out the dog for his end-of-day potty break, while the other loads the last few plates and cups into the dishwasher. Then one of us walks around turning off lamps and lights while the other adjusts the thermostat. Then we make sure the stove’s burners are off, the garage is closed, and all the doors are locked.
But this is where our list of duties diverges. Once we go upstairs, it takes roughly 3 minutes or less for Tom to brush his teeth and fall into bed. But for me? Teeth are just the tip of the night shift iceberg.
For many women past the age of 50, we become a living embodiment of the warning flight attendants give just before the plane lands: “Things may have shifted during flight.” Many of my newest night chores are an attempt to put all the things that are shifting back into their rightful places.
For example, I not only have to brush my teeth, but I also have to clean my new nighttime retainer. Last year, I spent six months and a chunk of money on corrective retainers I wore day and night because one of my teeth had shifted slightly off kilter, just enough to bug me in every single photo. Once my dentist had the wayward tooth back in the proper alignment, he handed me one final retainer and told me to wear it only at night. “For how long?” I asked, to which he replied, “Every night for the rest of your life.”
Once my teeth are tucked into their snug-fitting plastic pajamas, I move on to the lotions and potions part of the evening. Thanks to shifting hormones and normal aging, my skin has become an ongoing mystery which I’m attempting to solve with nightly cleansing, an occasional liquid exfoliant, or a retinol serum, or a hyaluronic acid, or an intensive moisturizer, a therapeutic hand cream, and any other treatment the beauty industry has convinced me will keep my skin from shifting into something unrecognizable.
After the face chores, I apply a prescription cream and swallow a progesterone pill. (See earlier reference to shifting hormones.) Then I take my sleep medication so I can fall asleep because, after all the night chores, I’m wide awake again.
Meanwhile, Tom has been asleep for at least 20 minutes, probably dreaming about how great it is that men with normal signs of aging are described as “distinguished,” whereas a woman might get critiqued for “not taking care of herself.” But I digress.
After all the cleansing, lotions and potions, creams and medications, I finish up with the dreaded CPAP maintenance phase. Because apparently, even my breathing has shifted, and now I sound like a wounded lawnmower at night. So I refill the humidifier chamber, clean the mask, and strap on the stupid headgear. It feels nuts to work this hard just to look this ridiculous.
Finally, I land the plane on my satin-covered pillow and arrange the blankets into what I hope will keep me at a “just right” temperature for the next eight hours. The chores are finally done. The only thing left to do is sleep, which is supposed to be easy… unless things have shifted.
Gwen Rockwood is a syndicated freelance columnist. Email her at gwenrockwood5@gmail.com. Her books are available on Amazon.
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