GOOD NIGHTS... GOOD FRIGHTS

I am one of those people that cannot stand to be in this house at night by myself. Children excluded of course; it's a give-in that they'll be with me. So I'll elaborate and say I hate sleeping in this house when my husband isn't home. He is gone for two nights - which normally isn't a big deal. In fact, he barely goes on business trips (especially over night ones). This is a special circumstance however, and so I have to deal with it. During the day it's fine, although by the time I put the kids to bed, I am silently cursing his name for not giving me the usual 2 hour reprieve I usually get from the time he gets home until the kids are tucked in. As I said, it's part of work and can't be avoided. But the night is different. That's when I start becoming a total freak.

I think I have separation anxiety or something. I'm always envisioning that someone will break in the house or something like that. I sweetly remind my husband if we had an alarm on the house, I wouldn't be so paranoid. He tells me that the chances of someone breaking into our house are slim. We live in a highly populated area, in a cul de sac without many escape routes. Statistical analysis aside, I still don't feel secure if he's not here with me. I jokingly told him I know I can outrun him in case of a home invasion - so he's increasing my odds considerably for a narrow escape. If he's not home, I have to book it with three kids. Plus the house is so big, I probably wouldn't even know someone was there until they were standing over my pillow. Yes I have issues.

Also, I think part of it is I hate to sleep alone. I'm used to my lumbering bear beside me. He's been there for the better part of 14 years - so when he's not there, I feel his absence. He admits he sleeps like crap in hotel rooms because of this exact same reason. So last night I lying in bed at 12:20am, with no inkling of falling asleep. I decided maybe it'd help to have a bed mate... so I went to Karis' room, plucked her out of bed, and snuggled with her in mine. At first she had no clue what was going on. She was snoozing away contently. Then at one point, she opened her eyes, smiled at me in the dark, and turned around and farted. Lovely - just like her father. We had a nice little cuddle for about an hour. Then I remembered she is the worst person in the world to share a bed with. She wriggles, flips, kicks and clings to you like saran wrap. After I had enough of our little hug session, I delivered her back to her own bedroom, where I gratefully spread-eagled across my own mattress happy to have the bed to myself. By this time I was so tired, I couldn't care less if three axe murderers came in and had a tea party at the foot of my bed.

It's amazing how sleeping with a three-year old can change your perspective of lonely nights.