Itchy

We have been running an experiment the past two nights, to see just how many times Larry and I can be roused from slumber by a coughing child before one or both of us goes stark raving mad.

It's not looking good.  I got more sleep during Navy boot camp.

Seasoned parents know that by the 3rd night, the child is coughing less.   I was looking forward to being able to lay my tired head down on my pillow and sleep a deep, dreamless sleep tonight.  All day, as babysitting plans and carpools were laid waste by children with sore throats and tummy aches and who knows what-all, I comforted myself with the thought that - once evening fell and this whole messed-up day was finally put to rest - at least Susie would not be waking us with her coughing.

My friend called me at 9:15, as I was embarking on my last stint of the day as family chauffeur, driving David home from Civil Air Patrol.  The friend, I might add, who was generous enough to let me bring my sick Rachel to her house this afternoon, where Rachel (and her germy pillow) lounged on this friend's couch while I ran to a doctor appointment.

Me: Hey, what's up?

Friend: I'm heading to Target.

Me: At this hour?  Why?

Friend: Oh, just picking up some hair things...

Okay, right there I should have understood what was happening.  But it had been a long day.

Me: Well, that's nice.  I'm going home.  Time for bed!

Friend:  You see, I noticed my eight-year-old scratching her head today...

So I headed to Target and we stood in the aisles and discussed the merits of various lice-killing methods (with her teen daughter standing there saying, "Could you guys keep it down?").  We even reminisced about a similar episode 2 years ago, and then the one 4 years prior to that.  Ah, nostalgia...

And could someone tell me why, of all nights, Rachel picked this evening to fall asleep in MY BED?