Hello from the middle of the night

A dear friend asked me to blog about our move to Oregon and I have relented. Because it's 3:30 in the morning with less than a week until the moving van pulls out of town. And what better time to start a slightly creative endeavor to preserve family memories and entertain loved ones than the middle of the night when I can't sleep?

At the moment, I'm wrapped in a quilt I made (very modern, not your grandma's quilt, for anyone wondering), sitting in the middle of our roughly 440 sq ft downstairs surrounded by moving boxes (packed, not empty) and sandy floors (residue from soaking up as much California beach time as we can). Dave is hopefully asleep in a hotel room halfway across the country on a work trip trying to keep sharks alive (that's not a cute metaphor; he really is). My youngest two boys are sleeping on the floor of their bedroom in sleeping bags because we Craigslisted their bunks right out from under them (the beds may not have survived the move and we made $100 on them from the price we paid six years ago; we're buying them new ones when we move, promise). And my oldest is in my bed because he informed me at bedtime that he could tell he would have a nightmare (though he couldn't confirm what it would be about), and how could I turn him down in the face of our impending move and Daddy's travel?

But now, as is often the case, I need to cut my writing short because the son with premonitions of nightmares just came downstairs to see what I was doing because he saw the light on and realized I was gone. I promised him I'd be up in five minutes and those minutes have multiplied. Maybe in our new (larger) house in Oregon I'll be able to sneak away to a distant corner of the house and write in the middle of the night without interruption. Or maybe I could find a cave. I think a cave would be better.