I think those tornado-filled storms that just missed us the other week spooked Eliza Grace and Will, because last night's storm resulted in very little sleep.
Let me illustrate (albeit crudely) what it was like in our room around 3:30 AM:
Scott and I are peacefully asleep. I'm dreaming about a thunderstorm. Then there is a kid standing beside me telling me that he is scared of the thunderstorm...at which point I realize that the storm is not only in my dream.
(Isn't it weird how your subconscious integrates things going on around you into your dreams?! A little "Inception"-ish, no?)
So Will climbs in.
I'm just about to drift off once again, when I hear a little voice beside me say, "Mommy. Mom! The storm is getting freaky!" Enter Eliza Grace.
Despite the California king size bed, I cannot tolerate the crowding or the heat, so I grab a pillow and a blanket and hit the floor.
Scott apparently (finally!) notices that we have guests, gets up and says, " I'm going upstairs." The crowding and heat has apparently gotten to him, too, thank goodness!
I climb back into the bed on Scott's side, since mine has been invaded, and try desperately to go back to sleep.
Except Scott's clock is as bright as the sun. Right. In. My. Face.
I could turn the other way but that would mean giving Will greater accessibility to smack me in the face in his sleep...again. So I stare at the clock, with a size one foot in my back until around 5:35 AM.
The dog begins whining to go out at 6:32 AM.
Needless-to-say, we are all a little tired today.
And possibly a little grumpy.
You've been warned.