Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

There are some nights—ok, many nights—that I go to sleep earlier than my six-year-old nephew. I can’t help it: If I don’t get a solid eight hours’ worth of rest, I’m a terror the next day. Think Cruella de Vill meets Medusa—with hair just as frightening.

My toddler-esque bedtime is an endless source of amusement to friends and family. Dinner reservations for 9? Forget it. A midnight movie? Not a chance. Dancing until 4 a.m.? Please.

The way I see it, my sleeping pendulum has swung in the other direction. All throughout high school, college and grad school I was a serious night owl. I didn’t even like going to bed. All those late nights have finally caught up to me. Now my bedtime rivals an octogenarian. Actually, scratch that. My grandma goes to bed later than me too.

Tonight we’re going out to dinner with some great friends. At 6 p.m. No one who lives in Manhattan eats dinner before 8 p.m. Why are we? Because the mister and I go to bed so early. God bless them, our friends continue to remain friends with us despite our early turn-in time.

I’ve been thinking a lot about sleep, as it’s come up in a few articles recently. The Times ran a story about how more younger people are taking advantage of early bird special dinner times. I read this and immediately thought, “Yes! I knew others would follow my lead!” Alas, these folks weren’t elbowing the blue hairs out of the way for a table because it worked better with early bedtimes; they were being thrifty and getting a deal on a meal in these tough economic times. Sigh. In something else I read, Arianna Huffington challenged all women to get more sleep in 2010. Seems American women are among the most sleep-deprived in the world. Well, American women except for me.

So, I've decided that my resolution for this year is to stay up a little later, be a little more social during non-daylight hours. My big goal: 9:30 p.m. (baby steps and all).