Bad Things Happen After Dark

At 3:30 a.m. I was jarred out of my very-brief slumber by a loud thump.  My first thought was that my 12-year-old granddaughter was up doing something she wasn't supposed to be doing at that hour (now why would I think this???)  Of course it could possibly be the eight-year-old trying to squeeze in a few extra hours of playtime (she's been studying at the foot of the master).  I stumbled down the hallway, tripping over one piece of crap after another, and started the bed check.  Eight-year-old appeared to be asleep; of course that was questionable.  But no dressers were overturned, so I backed out slowly.  Twelve-year-old's light was out, but I heard the TV...stepped inside to find her lying on her bed, eyes closed, but quite possibly faking.  I called out her name.  No answer.  But everything appeared to be in place so I left.  Of course my husband slept through it all. 

My next step was to see if we had burglars.  A rational woman might get her husband to go along for protection, but that doesn't fly in my house.  A few nights earlier I had experienced a similar situation; as I was walking down the dark hallway to investigate the noise, I tripped over an open suitcase from my granddaughter's trip to camp the previous week.  I tumbled across it, certain I was going down face-first and would probably break a few bones in the process (the last three I broke still haven't quite healed).  Yes, I used a few profane words.  In a loud voice.  Intended to wake the dead.  Did my "loving" spouse come to check on me?  Don't make me laugh.  So being the caring spouse I am, and thinking maybe he really was dead and I hadn't been loud enough to wake him, I went to check on him.  Like this:  HEY!!!  Didn't you hear me?  I nearly broke my neck on that damn suitcase!  He barely moved.  As he rolled over to go back to sleep, I took one departing shot.  Thanks for all your concern, Jacka$$!!!!!!!!   With that, I slammed the bedroom door just for the fun of it.

So I went to check for prowlers on my own.  I crept around the corner of the basement stairs, hoping desperately not to see the flicker of a flashlight.  Nothing.  Either no one was there or they were way better at stumbling around in the dark than I am.

 

 

In the morning my husband informed me that he couldn't "rouse" the 12-year-old for church.  This is getting tiresome.  Somewhere along the way she has developed this notion that she can refuse to open her eyes, pretend to be dead to the world, and the big bad boogey man will go away.  I assure you, she didn't get this idea from me.  When it's time to get out of bed (especially if it's something that gets the kids out of the house), I don't tiptoe in the dark and I don't whisper gently in their ears.  Anyway, around lunchtime, sick of watching her spend her days in bed sleeping and her nights up doing God-knows-what while my husband sleeps soundly, I went to her room to "convince" her to get her butt out of bed. 

There was no bed.

Now I know without a doubt there was a bed at 3:30 this morning.  I saw it.  I'm not crazy.  Working on it, but not there yet.

"Get up!"  I said (rather calmly I thought, under the circumstances).  "What happened to your bed???"

I think I had to repeat myself a few times, but I don't quite remember, being in shock and all.  Finally, she mumbled something about "It's a long story.  Ask Grandpa."  Silly me, thinking he had grown a pair, I had the fleeting idea that he had taken the bed away in an effort to teach her that sleeping all day won't be tolerated.  No such luck.  According to him, when he went to wake her up that morning the bed had already been dismantled.  Seems it wasn't comfortable enough for the princess.

Princess needs a new bed.

Well, at least I now have a good idea what woke me up.  The good news is that burglars don't seem to be my problem.  The bad news?  A 12-year-old up at 3:30 in the a.m. with nothing better to do than dismantle furniture.  It's going to be six long sleepless years until I'm no longer legally responsible for her actions.