I'm the Homecoming queen after midnight...

I am wildly popular at night. Before you get scared and stop reading, I assure you I don’t mean that kind of popular.

I just mean everyone in our house, or out of our house as so happened last night, wants to either be near me or talk to me. In the middle of the night, when I most enjoy being completely and totally a-l-o-n-e.

It’s a well established fact I enjoy animals, just from afar. I love Rolly dog, I really do, but I would like him even more if he was a robot. He’s such a good dog and asks for nothing, aside from lavish attention whenever we have company. --I think I may know why. Of all the people in our family, I probably have the least connection with Rolly. Brandon and the kids love him. I live with him.

Either out of shear will or because I feed him, drive him around, and treat him with turkey bacon and chicken, Rolly LOVES me. He needs to be near me at all times. The older he gets, the more needy he becomes. He follows me from room to room and waits outside the closed door while I powder my nose.

Lately, Rolly’s decided he should sleep right next to my side of the bed. ON THE FLOOR naturally, I haven’t completely lost my marbles. It would be fine if he just slept quietly, but he doesn’t. Rolly barks at imaginary UPS men and runs a half marathon in his sleep every night. He yawns louder than anyone I’ve ever heard, and occasionally he burps. Gross.

Meredith tends to visit at least once a night normally reporting that she hasn’t wiped well, has dribbled, and requests permission to change pajama bottoms. Sometimes her CD player is skipping. Last night her tree was off-balance and due to come crashing on top of her bed any minute regardless of physics dictating otherwise. It’s always something. She loves to visit.

Alex often comes in around 5:30 a.m. to tell me Meredith woke him up while going to the bathroom and now he can’t sleep. Do I know where one of the wheels to his Lego plane happens to be? Will I pack his lunch tomorrow because he thinks they’re having burritos and he doesn’t care for school burritos, only El Rodeo burritos, and can we eat there over the weekend?

Because Brandon travels, I have a king size bed all to myself. It doesn’t bother me in the least. I’m in no way a cuddler. I like space and lots of it. No one turns over 18 times an hour, no one’s snoring keeps me awake, I have all the pillows I want. Most importantly, I fall asleep and wake up on my watch; at least in theory.

Brandon is working in Phoenix, which means we have a two hour time difference. It means he eats dinner when I’m brushing my teeth for bed. It means he calls really late sometimes if he’s taken clients out to dinner. Last night, the phone rang at 12:45 a.m. I answered the phone with, “At which hospital should I meet you?!” Brandon didn’t seem to appreciate that he’d woken me from a deep sleep and thought it was pretty funny that I didn’t really want to talk. “You always want to talk," he laughed. At least that’s what I think he said, I hung up on him.