Anyone that knows me well knows I'm a creature of habit. If I don't do things a certain way, I'll forget something. It's borderline OCD for some things but it's mostly just to keep me sane.
I have a ritual for getting ready for bed. I'm usually already in my jammies prior to bedtime so that's not really a part of it. Once sleepy-time hits, I take my nightly pills in the kitchen, then go into my bathroom for a teeth brushing, face washing, and hair combing. Then I head up to my comfy bed, set the alarm clock, and turn on the tv to flip channels until I fall asleep. I get quizzical remarks from Daddeee because when he comes to bed the tv is usually on some shopping network, the weather channel, or even worse, the golf channel (none of which are *my* channels).
Well, after a little escapade the other night, I've had to add a new item to my ritual: toy patrol. I was fast asleep when I awoke to a sharp pain in my thigh. At first I thought maybe Daddeee was beating me in my sleep or possibly a charlie horse payback for not drinking enough water. But no, it was a matchbox car embedded in my thigh. There's nothing worse than having a miniature Ford Mustang almost permanently attached to a part of your body. No doubt a small gift left by my youngest.
This isn't the first time for such a thing. I've experienced the parental rite of passage of stepping on a lego only to have 4 neat little circular marks on my foot for days.
Evidently, I've added another.
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