Last night, at 12:30 A.M., from the depths of my Nyquil assisted slumber I awakened to the shrill tones of the phone in my bedroom. I climbed over my still sleeping husband to answer the phone and heard the voice of my seventeen year old who informed me that his car had stranded him at the Quiktrip on the way home from work. After prodding my husband awake and sending him off to rescue our baby my head hit the pillow once more. Only to be awakened minutes later by my fifteen year old asking me to explain the plot of Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughter House Five. I think I came up with some sort of answer. Now that I think of it the Nyquil probably didn't hurt a bit and may even have helped. I drifted in and out while visions of schlachthof funf danced through my head and eventually the fifteen year old gave up on me and my husband ended up back in bed.
At least the four year old slept through the night.
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