I had big plans for last night. At this stage of the game, some of my biggest plans revolve around sleep, and that was the case last night. The key was that the dog was at a sleepover. Yeah, you read that right. The dog was at a sleepover. My brother was spending a few days at my father's house, so he took the dog. The dog likes being with guys. I don't take it personally.

So the dog, who is one hundred years old, was sleeping elsewhere, which is now a huge event in our lives. Because he is one hundred years old, his nights are rough, and because my husband and I are a couple of jackasses I mean caring individuals, we let the dog sleep in our bed. You read that right too: IN our bed, not ON our bed. Let's just move along, shall we? So, he sleeps in our bed, and he needs a drink in the night (take a number, buddy) so we have to lift his old little body out of the bed, then lift him back into the bed, then he circles eleven times before taking up too much space, then he pants madly for ten minutes because his lungs are old, and you can see how this would effect one's sleep. So when he is gone, I miss him but I sleep better.

Oh, I was excited to go to sleep last night, yes I was. No interruptions, right? The dog is gone, I can sleep all night, right?

Wrong.

Precisely forty minutes after I had fallen asleep (which was a little late to begin with, since my husband and I had been out for dinner), there was some kind of tapping on my arm. You know when you've just really gotten to sleep and the for some reason you are woken up and it feels like you died? It was like that. After quite some time, I begrudgingly open half an eye, and there is Girly Girl, wide awake as always.

"I have to go to the bathroom."

This is not bad. This is actually very, very, VERY good, because at the rate we had been going, Girly Girl will sleep in a diaper on her wedding night. The fact that she got herself up and ready to dash to the toilet was a huge development. So I didn't even mind getting up for this. In fact I pretty much tap danced my way to the bathroom, and after getting Girly Girl settled back in her bed I fell asleep again, which almost never happens.

My enthusiasm was significantly diminished precisely forty minutes later, when Handsome Boy started tapping.

"I tinkled in my boxers." He loves his little boxers.

Did I miss the memo about Tinklepalooza?

Listen up crazies, Mommy gave at the office. She has done her time in the waking up in the middle of the night department, and she's all done, so you need to find another sucker, got it? Every now and again, we'll let it slide, but none of this tag-team nocturnal pee-fest, are we clear? Good.

I have sleep issues. I am not a good sleeper. Falling back to sleep once in a night was unusual; falling back to sleep twice in a night was just never going to happen. So I lay in bed for awhile, wondering if my husband will have to change my diapers first or the other way around. Our day will come. I saw the futility in this line of thought, however, and went to watch Craig Ferguson. Then Carson Daly (didn't he used to be cute?), followed by something about Marie Osmond making dolls or something. Kinda creepy, but you have to love those Osmonds, am I right? Anyway, the morning news was on before I knew it, and I had gotten a solid ninety minutes of sleep before greeting the dawn of a brand new day with two five-year-olds.

Lucky for them they're cute.