The waves crashing on the shoreline should lull us to sleep but, as Bruce keeps reminding me, “It’s hot.” We find an 8″ stationary, portable fan, which helps a little, and we finally settle into bed, praying the heat breaks overnight.
About 1 a.m., I wake to find that Shaina has moved from her sleeping bag on the floor to the loveseat, her feet hanging off the edge and into my face. Each time she turns, her skinny toes come dangerously close to finding their way up my nostrils. her toenails scrape my arm.
Finally, resigned, I get up and give her my spot in the comfortable bed, but not without claiming the lovely pillows provided by the resort. She settles in, sighing, and scratches her dad’s back as he continues to snore, captured in the deep slumber of one who learned to sleep through three crying babies, train whistles, and smoke detectors (I am proof that one’s reputation as a good cook/baker is developed over years of midnight sessions in the kitchen).
I try out the sleeping bag on the floor, but the loveseat seems to be a better choice. I curl myself into a fetal position and, with a few whimpers, let sleep overcome my discomfort.