Night of the Living Dead

Must've been a full moon last night. Took a half-hour to put Siena to bed; she kicked and screamed like I was trying to shove her feet-first into a blender. She fell asleep minutes before 9:00 p.m., but obviously was just waiting for the right time for her revenge: a quarter after three that morning.

We wake to the same screaming that I thought we'd heard the last of at nine o'clock. She's a smart girl: first she screams for Daddy; then she screams for Mama, ensuring that both of us will be at her service. Then Mama and Daddy come to their senses, verify that no monsters are assaulting our daughter, and leave her to get over herself. But after an hour of this--we can hear the dogs upstairs running for the far corner of the house--we give up and bring her into our bed.

It's a queen bed, and I'm not that fat, so I think of it as pretty roomy. But last night, I saw the value in a king bed. Siena "slept" between us, if by sleep you mean crawl around like your parents are a jungle gym. And I'm sure you know how difficult it is to get a good night's sleep when a midget's kicking you in the nuts. So when 7:00 a.m. rolled around, none of us noticed.

Mama just won another bout of Greco-Roman wrestling, so Siena's asleep for now. If she gets up again in the night, maybe I'll write you all as it happens. Mama does all the work anyway.