Pillow Talk

I sure love this guy. But, much to my chagrin, he is not a night-time chatter like I am. Growing up sharing a room with Laura, our evenings were almost invariably spent talking way past our bedtimes and well into the night until we had to force ourselves (through ridiculous methods) to stop talking and finally go to sleep.

If I'm lucky, Craig's and my night-time talking routine involves a prayer, a "goodnight," and maybe (just maybe) a couple sentences about our day. But mostly, once we say goodnight, Craig is off the clock and out of reach for the rest of the night. My brain doesn't shut down quite as quickly, so while the day's events are still going through my head, and I keep remembering things that I need to tell him about, he's already heavy with sleep, snoozing away without a care in the world.

Last night went as usual. After saying goodnight, I told him to remind me about something that my mom and I had talked about on the phone that day.

He said, "Do you want to just tell me about it now?"

"Nah," I said. "I'm tired, so I'll just tell you tomorrow. But if I'm not asleep in five minutes, I'll tell you then."

His response: "Well, I'm going to be asleep in two, so you'll probably be talking to yourself."

True. And it wouldn't be the first time, either.