Don’t do that to Mommy

The thing about my children is that they don’t like to sleep alone. They never have and I can’t say that I blame them as I too like the security of knowing that someone else is there with me in the night. BFF Glenda would take this moment to intone ominously that there is always someone there even when there isn’t. What do you think your cats are staring at?!  But BFF Glenda isn’t here right now (or is she?!) so let’s carry on, shall we? To that end (of not liking to sleep alone), I often wake up in the morning and spend a few spazzy moments wondering just where in the hell my children are as I close their bedroom doors so their father’s alarm/shower/clomping up and down the stairs like a herd of gah-damned rhinos doesn’t interrupt their sweet repose. All mothers know the terror of their child not being where they put them the night before, and then not being in her favored sister’s room, and then ohmygod not being in her other sister’s bed, but oh, wait, there she is curled up in the corner under the five blankets four pillows and 3,987, 543, 230 stuffed animals.  Don’t do that to mommy! She’s not pretty enough to garner public sympathy when the 911 call goes out and the media shows up.

So yeah, this morning was like that.