I am such a P*ssy

And I don't mean pissy. I mean that every time Bob goes out of town - every time - I am up late listening for every little creak that could signify that an intruder is going to crash his way into my home and attempt to ravage its contents (me included) unless I can save us all.

Never mind that we live out in the country, on a dark road that is lit only by the Big Dipper and the rest of the stars. Never mind that there are signs posted all over our property warning potential ravagers of my guard dog. Never mind that when my dog does muster up a bark with her 110 pounds of muscle, she sounds like a lioness guarding her cubs.

Because when I'm up working on the computer and I hear a squeak, or a creak, or the wind rustling a tree branch against the house, I go into fight or flight mode. I sleep with my cell phone and my land line. I double check the locks. I look in the kids' closets (because of course someone has been hiding there all along just waiting for the time when Bob may be out of town), and I hone my hearing skills so that they are probably as good as my dog's. It's exhausting.

Of course, I'm only this way the first couple of nights that he is gone. By the third or fourth night I am so weary of the routine that I fall into bed and I just think - screw it. If tonight is the night a band of burglars breaks in, so be it.

But last night two of the kids slept with me and for some reason I, too, slept like a baby. Why? Do I think that should something happen (and it could, right?) these two little kids, weighing less than a hundred pounds together, are going to join their mother in fighting for safety - kind of like the kids in the Chronicles of Narnia who go from pasty English children to mighty warriors alongside the God Lion, Aslan?

Seriously, folks. I need to do some more self-talking before going to bed. But I must say I get a hell of a lot of work done on these business trips.