Yep... all grown up. Wife and mother of three. I take the kids to school, help with homework, do the laundry... all the usual grown up stuff.
My husband is in classes two nights a week. I'm a huge chicken.
I hate being home at night... the only "grown up" in the house. My husband blames it on the Stephen King collection in the bookcase. I'm pretty sure it's the Anne Rice collection...
I've become best friends with my dog. Yep... he's my little alarm system. Making noise when he hears anything odd, that's about all he's good for. My little chawiener. Half chihuahua and half dauchsund (not sure I spelled that right). So, I fed him a bunch of turkey tonight and this has kept him right on my heels all night long. I prefer it that way. There's nothing worse than being in one end of the house and hearing him barking like mad from the other end.
I don't like our den at night. We have large sliding glass doors. They look out into our backyard and beyond our fence is a breezeway that the utility company uses. It's big enough for a truck to drive through and there aren't any lights out there. Which isn't so bad, except we have big shrubs lining the fence. Shrubs that aren't incredibly dense, just dense enough to imagine all sorts of shapes in them. So... at night it feels like being in a fish bowl.
I avoid doing laundry late at night because it's right off the den.
I was listening to Bob and Tom on the radio as I took the kids to school this morning. Drew Hastings (a comedian) was on and he was talking about how he lived in a cabin in the middle of the woods.
"Did you know that a possum walking through the woods in the dark sounds exactly like three guys with an ax walking through the woods at night?"
Yes Drew. I do know that. Can understand that exactly.
I also know that innocent glow-in-the-dark Halloween glass clings can look like a guy in a ski mask leaping at you as you close the sliding glass door. And they weren't scary glass clings either. We're talking small, happy pumpkins, spiders, and cute little witches.
I'm a chicken. A chicken who has to wait another 40 minutes for her husband's key in the lock. After I make him slide his ID under the door.
Ok... I am kidding about the ID thing. Honest.