Though I rarely feel like I really get caught up on rest, I’ve also started sleeping pretty lightly since we’ve had kids. A few nights ago, I was sleeping away when I was awakened by a sound that, in my sleep-addled state, I thought was the doorbell. I looked at the bedside clock: 3:00am. I went to investigate, thinking that perhaps there was a friend in dire need or that one of the kids’ toys had sprung spontanously to life.

I went into the front room and noticed Emily sleeping on the couch, which she sometimes likes to do. She was still completely unconscious, though considering that she often sleeps through Maggie’s caterwauling, that didn’t mean much. I peeked out the front door, and saw a burly, shadowy figure lurking on our front porch. He evidently saw me too, as he immediately called out “Police!” in a voice that, in my barely-awake state, sounded as though it was calculated not only to raise the somnolent, but also the deceased.

I turned on the porch light and peeked out the door. (I was, at this point, still wearing only boxer shorts.) “I was passing by and noticed that your car was completely opened up. I wanted to check in and make sure nothing was wrong,” bellowed Officer Lungpower. I muttered something about checking on it, and went to put on some pants.

We met out at the driveway, and looked over the van, which had the hatch and the driver’s door open. Apparently nobody had gotten around to closing it up when we had brought in groceries earlier in the evening, thus setting the stage for the late-night visit. And, in a way, it was comforting to know that the police are alert enough to notice something like this. But, for future reference, if I’ve been robbed during the night, I’d rather not know about it until 8:30am.