Last night, I'm sure I went to bed too late. I'd meditated earlier, as part of the discipline for the six-week course I'm taking, but in this second week of nightly meditation, I find I'm also engaged in micro-sleep. Working on overcoming that. But the micro-sleep surely kept me awake longer. Around midnight, Lynn and I turned out the lights to go to sleep.I thought I was asleep fairly fast—within a few minutes. Lynn was asleep immediately. It is a marvelous trait, and one that runs in her father's side of the family, and intolerable to those of us who sometimes toss and turn. As I was dousing the fires of consciousness, I was startled awake by a sound. I couldn't immediately place it, as I thought it had happened outside. But I heard no further noise, and decided it must have been Lynn shuffling in her sleep in the sheets, even though as I looked at her she was in the same position. I got up, and looked out through windows to make sure no one was nosing about the house. Back to bed. Then I hear Rex cough. Rex has a minor cold, and is on antibiotics for a secondary infection from about 10 days ago. But he hasn't been kept up with a cough, so that seemed strange. Back to sleep. Then I hear what I think is Rex crying. I get up, seemingly without disturbing Lynn. I quietly go into the boys' room. Ben is sleeping in a plank position in which apparently less than 50% of his body is on his bed, perpendicular to it, and his legs are straight out. His pants legs are also rolled up. I rotate him back onto the bed and under the covers. I check out Rex who seems asleep and quiet. I rouse him a little, and he says he's fine. He doesn't remember crying. Assure them both. They're back to sleep. By now, I notice flashing police lights painting the kitchen. As I think about it, I recall that while I was trying to get back to sleep at some earlier point, I had felt a deep bass rumbling. I go into the kitchen and can see the car parked in the lane in our two-lane arterial that runs on a T to the street our house is on, and I see a fire engine lumber off. I go to the front of the house, and see someone running down the street, but towards where the police are. A concerned neighbor? Not sure. It all seems under control, in any case. Back to bed. I'm just drifting off when I hear Lynn breathing in an unusual fashion. In 14 years of sharing a bed, I can't recall her ever breathing in this way before. It doesn't sound dangerous, just odd. I leave her to her dreams. A moment later, she calls out for me, shakes me gently. She's had a nightmare. (I won't share it. That's too much insight into someone's private mind.) I clutch her, reassure her, she calms down, and I tell her what's been happening over the previous 45 minutes. We wind up shaking with laughter, which dispels the demons of the night. Finally, we lay back to sleep. Uninterrupted. The boys even let us sleep until a miraculous 8 am.