I made a distressing realization this past Saturday night: I'm the only one in my house that actually wants to sleep at night. There I was, lying in my bed, exhausted to my bones, at 11pm. My sweet, though sometimes oblivious, husband was downstairs reading. My adorable, though too-curious-about-his-environment-to-ever-sleep, baby was in my arms nursing. My 15-year-old was down the hall, laughing hysterically about who knows what. My 10-year-old was in his room crying because he was so overtired he couldn't fall asleep. I was trying with all my might to communicate with my husband (did I mention he is sometimes oblivious?) via ESP to come intervene with our two oldest while I endeavored to create as boring an atmosphere as possible for the baby. It was all for naught. The baby remained awake, the laughing and crying continued, and my husband was aware of none of it. That was the moment of the aforementioned realization. Sleep did come to our home eventually, but it involved depositing baby with daddy, popping a forgotten melatonin pill into a teenage mouth, and practicing a little guided imagery on the 10-year-old. Watch out family members! I may start spiking your juice with Benadryl!