Almost every night, at roughly 9:30 PM, I fall asleep on the couch. My husband and I are usually in the middle of watching TV and let me just go ahead and say thank goodness for our DVR, or I would never know what the heck Jack Bauer is up to.

The lights are on in the living room, the television is loud, the dogs are playing and yelping at each other, the coffee table is leaving deep indentations in my calves and my laptop is burning a hole in my thighs. But, boy can I sleep! All I have to do is set my head at an extremely awkward angle so that when I wake I’ll barely be able to move my neck, and I am OUT.

Sometime between 10:00 and 11:00 my husband will tell me to go to bed, at which time I rub my eyes, mumble something about being “so tired”…you know, because it isn’t obvious…then head upstairs.

When I climb into bed I begin, what I refer to as, my ballet.

This little dance starts with me on my right side as I notice that my top pillow is too close to the edge of the mattress. Then the top pillow is too high in the back and too flat under my head. Then the bottom pillow has slid toward the back of the bed. I simply can not get comfortable.

I flip over to my left side and start again. Tossing, turning, fluffing, adjusting, and flipping over and over again. For real, it’s like Baryshnikov up in here.

Last night this went on for many minutes and when I finally got settled just so, I realized that I had forgotten to take off my socks.

One of these nights, I’m just going to stay on the couch.

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Do you ever wake up with a zit in your ear, a pulled muscle in your back from lifting a case of water and a nose that will not stop running no matter how many times you blow it, then notice that one of your favorite shirts has a hole in it and that your super-expensive work shoes are all scuffed up, and then you laugh as you think, “Who cares…I’m a lunch lady” and remember how, because of your line of work, you went to the grocery store yesterday with baked rotini on your forehead?

Yeah. Me too.

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At my daughter’s fifth-grade basketball game on Saturday the other team had a center who was quite large for her age. Actually, large doesn’t even cut it. This girl stood a good foot above the other girls and likely weighs more than my husband.

I, having reached the towering height of 5′ 9″ by the time I finished seventh grade, could feel her pain. Though at least this girl was smart enough to play a sport in which height is an asset. The only thing for which I used my height at that age was hiding out in my basement pretending to be a Solid Gold dancer.

Of course, when my seven year old son spotted the overwhelming presence towering over his sister, he had to say something. I shouldn’t have been surprised when he exclaimed, “Wow! That is a really BIG BOY!”

I quickly hushed him then said, “Hey! That’s not nice. You can’t say things like that.”

He looked at her again, looked at me and said, “Sorry”.

Then he paused before saying, “That is a really BIG GIRL!”

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