I've been displaced

We're at Bob's Kid Haven (not an official name, but maybe it should be) up in Little Cottonwood Canyon now. A wee stopover in the States while we adjust our body clocks and get some work done before we head out for Europe. Since we can't be at our own home, this is as close to home as it gets. LBH will have to remind me how many summers he lived here, mooching off everything, included in the family fold -- was it six? Family.

I haven't slept, not even a catnap, in about 50 hours. I thought there might be hope for me at 10pm when I went to bed, but EBH is on a roll with climbing in between us (can't really blame the poor homeless jetsetter) and, once she's there, flops around like a gasping fish for hours. LBH stuck it out, but after two hours of balancing on the edge of the mattress because my new sleeping companion is a space hog with arms that slap unsuspectingly against my face, I took to the internet. That was five hours ago. I thought maybe I'd try sleeping again (you know, now that it's 7am -- it's a true fact that all my best sleeping happens in the early morning) except I just discovered that CQH is in my bed, too. Maybe I should just shove my way back in there and call it attachment parenting.

The only thing that saves me and enables me to keep going in life is the fact that, after 20 years of insomnia, I'm very well versed in getting by on absolutely no sleep. And to think I don't even drink coffee! What on earth did insomniacs do before the internet? Ironing?