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
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.
Posted by Genuine Draft at 12:21 PM