That’s how it goes, with Greg and I beginning the night sleeping in our bed, and waking up in another, if not two.
Sleep is apparently underrated for us. Not that I wouldn’t give anything, maybe even the dog, to change that. God love her, but darn it, we’re tired. Yes, it’s my fault that I stay up till almost 11 pm watching mindless shows like Real Housewives, only to get up for work a few hours later. I always start out in my cozy quarters, then somewhere between dreams and drool, I am awakened by one of the kids. If it’s Hayden, he wants to crawl in bed with us, if it’s our oldest, he is adamant that he won’t be able to catch any more z’s, so can he just turn on the tv or read a book? Funny how he never requests to sort our laundry. Might be worth being jolted out of bed for that, right?
And so we find what works best, with one kid MacGyvering his way under the covers, and one parent eventually deciding that an elbow in the back is cause for moving to a twin bed under the eyes of a Peyton Manning Fathead clinging to the wall.
The scenario last night was so scrambled that I woke up this morning in Hayden’s bed, both boys in ours, and Greg downstairs in our family room on what he calls our air-mattress from heaven. It’s like a hotel without the room charge.
And I’m not at risk of losing my key.