So Keith and I were playfully jabbering on at the dinner table last night about each others’ sleeping habits: you see, I have the terrible habit of staying up until 1am most nights (and sometimes later), which he attributes to my ambition to “conquer the world while everyone else is sleeping” and I jokingly referred to him as a narcoleptic because he can fall asleep anytime, anywhere (which, truth be told, I’m jealous of!). So we’re going back and forth about this over our pork chops and wild rice, and Claire asks (what sounds like), “What’s a narcoleptic?” and so of course, demonstrating with full dramatic flair, I fell asleep at the dinner table. She woke me up, I apologized and justified my rude manners by claiming to be a narcoleptic, halfway through that final word, falling asleep again, sawing logs and all practically on top of my plate. Not surprisingly, this provoked laughter all around, and I was feeling like a rockin’ awesome homeschooling mom (assuming that they’ll never forget what a narcoleptic is). Until….
“But why is it called a nerd collector?”