It's 24 minutes past midnight, and I just crept downstairs, silent and stealthy as a ninja, and removed a box of cereal from the pantry. I eased the pantry door shut again so it wouldn't close with a bang, then slowly ran a finger under the sealed flap of the cereal box and teased apart the cellophane bag inside. Then, moving with the precision of a bomb-dismantling technician about to snip the red wire, I opened a cupboard, delicately lifted a bowl from the top of the stack, plucked a spoon from the silverware drawer, and managed to fill the bowl without letting cereal rattle against the sides.
All this so that G, whose bedroom is on the same level as the kitchen, and who is still wide awake even though I made her go to bed more than an hour ago, would not hear me and yell "HEY MOM, ARE YOU EATING SOMETHING? YOU'RE EATING SOMETHING, AREN'T YOU? WHAT IS IT? I'M HUUUUUUNGRY!"
It's hard living with a junior insomniac!