Busted.

Here's Jude's second note. In my defense, I AM almost totally oblivious to what's going on at night. As Lord Protector of, and Provider for, the Realm, I am ashamed of this, but I've always liked to think that if someone did break in, some atavistic part of me would sense it and rise, Achilles-like, fiercely to the occasion. The following story, I think, bears this out.

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Joseph has almost learned to sleep consistently through the night (if
you consider 10 p.m. to 5 a.m. a full night). But very often he still
wakes at 2 a.m. for a snack and since I'm packing the food, it's no
surprise that the night shift falls to mom.

Chris must feel guilty about not helping, though, because he is
constantly saying that he doesn't even hear Joseph when he cries.
Until last night, I believed him.

What changed? At 2 a.m. as I reached for a burp cloth on the
nightstand, an eight-legged critter had gotten there first. Calmly, I
laid Joseph on the bed and whispered to Joseph in a voice so soft I almost
couldn't hear myself, "Hang on, we've got a spider situation."

At that, Chris who appeared to have been deep in dreamland, sprang to
a sitting position. His hair was wild and his eyes squinted as they
darted from the sheets to the wall to the ceiling looking for the
"spider."

Meanwhile, I picked up the cloth and disposed of Daddy's greatest
phobia -- Itsy Bitsy Spider -- all awhile shaking my head and
thinking, "You are so busted."

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