I spent many nights being the only adult in the home at bed time. Hubby worked a 3-11 shift for a few years here and there, and with over-time (who can ever pass that up?) I was often alone at bedtime. These days have passed and now it is a very rare occasion for me to be the night guardian.
A few days ago Hubby and Teen began a weekend get-away in Chicago. Leaving me to
work and slave protect and care for the littlest ones at home. The first night was not awful, largely due to my mind and body being preoccupied with caring for Youngest's current illness. Sheer exhaustion outweighed any concerns of crazed family killers breaking in and I was able to sleep after checking all doors and even peering into closets with relative comfort.
Due to the doctor and dropping in on family, we arrived home at bedtime on the second night. The kids rapidly went through the bedtime rituals and were both soundly tucked-in (to my bed). I did a quick house check and settled-in to watch some TV. After exposing my mind to science fiction and murder, I was ready for bed. Struggling to maintain space and covers I began to drift. Secure in the knowledge that we were locked in, safe. Only to be jolted to a sitting posture when a particularly loud noise blasted through the house. I struggled to identify the noise and realized it was Daisy (the dog)getting in and out of the puppy-pool to feed her offspring. Talking myself down, I remembered that both children were with me and therefore defended and that the house was locked up tight after all.
Friday morning saw the usual burst of activity. Boy had left his shoes in the car and ran out to get them, I was throwing some form of sustenance into lunch boxes, and Youngest was singing and talking to the puppies. Frantically herding the crew to the van, I was doing a quick search for my wallet (it also holds my keys). Boy notices my actions and says, "Here Mom. When I went to get my shoes these were hanging outside the door." Sure enough he was holding my keys and wallet. Oops!