Gone are the days of “Mommy, can I pleeeeease have a sleepover?”
Now I go to bed long before my kids do, and usually long before they get home. I often don’t have any idea who is sleeping in my house until I come downstairs and find clues:
This is more typically how I find them:
I usually recognize my own kids’ shoes, and from there it’s a guessing game. The number of pairs usually indicates how many people are asleep somewhere upstairs, in a tent in the backyard, or sometimes draped across furniture in the family room.
It’s not always just shoes:
I recognize my daughter’s shoes (though I already accounted for her flip flops in the picture before this one), and they only have one friend who is a former Chaparral High School Senior, but whom the pants belong to is anyone’s guess. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the rapture struck our house, and this was all that was left of my little angels.
As I walked through the house this week snapping photos of random shoes and clothing I found lying about in the early mornings, it occurred to me that someday I will miss these reminders that I have loved ones (and a rotating assortment of their beloved friends) sleeping nearby.