As I type, it's about 4:30am (or as I have recently been brainwashed by the nursing profession to call it, 0430.) And I can't sleep. I'm actually more awake and alert and perky right now than I was last night at about 5pm.
I didn't have to work last night, but after working three shifts in a row the nights before that, my body is slowly getting into a "rhythm." I'm not sure what kind of rhythm it is, given my complete inability to clap on beat, but it seems that I'm slowly developing a more nocturnal sleep-wake cycle.
You might have noticed that there is very, very little family resemblance between these three men. That's because they're all adopted.
Specifically, they adopted each other. Yep, Brian, Brad, and Billy have known each other since junior high, and for all intents and purposes which aren't legally binding, they are brothers. And just like when my brother EJ visits, when "the boys" come to town, many video games will be played in the name of male togetherness.
Over the years, I have become well-acquainted with this esoteric rule of masculine interactions, and accept it as a natural consequence of Thanksgiving. (Which I realize was two weeks ago, but our family has never been particularly picky about when to observe holidays. After all, holidays are about family, and if your family isn't present for the actual day, you just celebrate it some other time when they're there.)
Unfortunately, there was just one small flaw in this plan: I had to work this week. Of the three nights they were here, I worked two of them. So when I knew the dates of their visit would conflict with my work schedule, I set two important ground rules:
1) Don't wake me up.
2) Don't expect me to cook.
It turns out I was overly optimistic about rule number one. I know they tried very hard to be quiet, but it's incredibly difficult to sack Rome and be silent. (Although to be fair, I was awakened far more frequently by the apartment maintenance men, who have been laying new sidewalks at our apartment complex. Jackhammers are much louder than I would have guessed.)
But I had much better luck with rule number two. I'm still not sure what they actually ate while they were here (other than a 5 lb box of Goldfish crackers) but I didn't have to cook anything for them. (They also went through a lot of pop. And when I say a lot, what I really mean is that if you go through two 2-liter bottles and three and a half dozen cans of pop in a three day period, that's 18.96 liters of pop. And because we don't believe in diet soda in our family, 7900 calories. )
And when I woke up this morning, Brad had cleaned the kitchen. What more could a girl want when letting family members sleep on the floor and expecting them to entertain themselves?