“Hey, B!” she whispered.

*B continues snoring, nestled between a purring cat and snoring toddler*

“Hey, B, wake up! I need you to check the house.” – more urgent, but still a whisper.

“Wha?” I was awake now.

“I thought I heard something in the other room.”

I put on my glasses, then I felt around for my baseball bat that I keep by the bed for just such an emergency. Then, I remembered I don’t actually do that, I just saw it on TV. Oh well. I tiptoed out of the bedroom.

I snuck through the hall, and flipped on the light in the family room. The dog blinked at me from the couch. Luckily, I resisted shouting a Peter Sellers-ish “AHA!” when I turned on the light, not because I was afraid of startling the dog, but because I was afraid that anybody dumb enough to try and rob our house at 2:00 AM might also have an itchy trigger finger.

I checked the kitchen and garage (no burglars), the living room (different sleeping dog, no burglars) and finally went to check on each child. Well, the ones that weren’t already in our bed. Baby? Snoring. I walk into the boys room.

A (too) perky voice calls out “Dad, I finished a whole Junie B Jones book! Then, I turned out the light since I need to get some sleep.”

With the mystery solved, I return to bed. My late night intruder was just an over-reader, who will be impossible to wake in the morning.

And, since my wife and I were both awake, we do what most couples do, at night, in bed. We watched Grey’s Anatomy on Tivo.

Update, and TMI:
Sorry, I was just kidding about Anatomy. (sorry, Doctors McDreamy, McSteamy, McBeal-ly). No, we had white-hot bed-shaking sex, we just had to get the kids back to their beds and shut the door first. And then about an hour after we finally collapsed in a sweaty nekkid heap, I went for a run, and my mental jukebox was playing (I’m not making this up) “Don’t Touch my Willie.” My wife may think I’m only interested because she’s been chatting with her first love, but I think she’s only interested in me for the same reason, neener neener.