Well, it all started innocently enough. Usually it’s just the cat sharing space with me these days. And even then only when she’s cold and sleeps on my feet until I wake up, notice I can’t move and convince her to go stalk something in the darkness. The dog has been spending a lot of time lately with His Favorite Person, who lives in another city.
But then my kids decided they would indeed be coming home during their four-day fall breaks from college — on different, consecutive weekends. Who was in charge of planning that? So they called their father and begged him to bring the dog home for a visit at mom’s house.
Which is fine. Really. Except I’d kind of gotten used to NOT being awakened before dawn every morning by 85 pounds of energetic black lab jumping up on the bed and slurping my face as a signal he’s ready to go outside.
So last Saturday and Sunday morning were loud and interesting. You know, it’s probably not a great idea to start the day swearing like that, but the good thing about dogs and cats is they don’t repeat what you say and embarrass you in front of the neighbors.
Monday morning, my son was snug as a bug in his own bed. It had been a while, and I appreciated how nice it was to have him home for a couple days. Except that Monday morning usually requires the playing of really loud music as a motivator to get me up and out the door to work on time. Not this week.
Tuesday morning brought the realization that the population in my house had grown significantly overnight. The guest bed and both couches in the bonus room were occupied by large male life forms. This was not really a surprise. House rules: You drink beer and shoot pool till 3:00 AM at my house, you’d damn well better plan to spend the night — or you will be attempting to explain yourself next time I see you.
By Wednesday morning the boys were gone and my daughter was in place, home for one night because she had a doctor appointment that morning and it couldn’t be rescheduled. She was back on campus by noon, attending the last day of class before her break started.
Thursday morning and I was alone again with the four-legged creatures. But I checked all the beds, just in case. I’ve discovered that running around half-naked in the morning is not a good idea, even if you’re really, really sure and could have sworn no one was there . . .
Then Friday morning there were four girls camped out in various locations. Yes, they had planned to sleep over at someone else’s house after attending the fair, but things change. Usually not at 11:30 on a Thursday night, but it can happen. Sure, no problem.
By Saturday morning, I was so confused and sleep-deprived I got up early, did a head count — just one female child, far as I could tell — and started getting ready for work. I do not have to go to work on Saturday. Sigh.
Sunday morning? Who knows? I’m ready for anything.
So that’s who’s been sleeping in my beds. And on my couches. And in my sleeping bags. You wouldn’t think a middle-aged, divorced mother of two college-aged kids would spend much time wondering who is sleeping in her beds, would you? Shows how much you know.
Don’t even get me started about who’s been eating my porridge.