Thursday, August 2, 2012


The drive between our parents' houses and our own house is about ninety minutes, and though she usually tries her best, Tamsen often falls asleep on the drive. (Not that I blame her. I'd fall asleep too, if I weren't driving.) She fell asleep on the drive home last night, and at one point, I felt a gentle poking on my arm. I looked over and asked her, "Hey, what are you doing?"

"Oh!" she said, clearly still asleep. "I thought you were a pillow."

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

This relationship is suffocating me!

As you know, Sam is, if not a sleepwalker, a sleep-acter-out-of-things. A few months back I woke up to find him sitting up on his knees in the middle of the bed.

me: Sam, what are you doing?

Oblivious to my query (or perhaps in response to it) he picked up his pillow and started beating the wall with it. I chose that moment to scoot as far over to my side of the bed as I could get.

Folks, if I'm ever found beaten to death with a pillow, as unlikely as that coroner's report might be, you know who the culprit is.