The plan was easy. Have the children. Raise the children. Throw children out of the nest. Welcome children back for brief periods to ensure that the far reaches of the pantry don't get lonely or that any dish or glass or spoon goes unwashed.
I go to sleep much earlier than the throngs of college students that inhabit our house at various hours of the day. Falling asleep leaves me vulnerable to a few outcomes including numerous awakenings every single time someone opens or closes a door. Those chimes have come in handy to prevent escape from doors and windows, but now I'm not supposed to care that someone is making repeated trips to the garage.
The more acute vulnerability is the super annoying walking in the sleep habit I've had most of my life. Somewhere between numerous door chimes and a half baked dream sequence about needing to cook dinner and lay out towels for a non existent football team passing through at 2 am, I take a stroll. Sometimes I say things to random teenagers that I encounter. Sometimes I just get water and find myself waking up in the kitchen alone with a box of uncooked pasta in my hands.
Explain that to an unrelated eighteen year old who was just hoping to grab some Oreos from the kitchen, unmolested.
The boys know I do this and are skilled at redirection and sending me back on my way upstairs. Yet something is left undone or uncooked like the pasta.
My nocturnal wanderings are worst when the illusion of control is missing. I never had any control but at one point I was able to get those children to stand somewhat placidly on that log in that Montana lake. For my next trick, I'll try not to scare anyone for the remainder of Christmas break.