Like, actually sleeping together. Getting a hotel room and not leaving it for 24 hours, unless there's a hot tub or massage at the end of a short walk. Room service. Eye masks. Snoozing until our bones hurt. Crappy television. The good stuff. For close to five months, Frankie has been burning the midnight oil (and the 2AM oil, the 4AM oil, and the 6:30AM oil); this imagined scene is my happy place in those moments when I feel like I have nothing left to give, which happens on a very scheduled basis, as well as unexpectedly, in the bad-surprise-way, like sitting in a Smart Car and getting rear-ended by a tractor trailer.
So when I read today's post over at The Nomad Mom Diary, I expanded my fantasy to sleep orgy. If you don't understand that this term is not an oxymoron, you're not invited.