We had some loud, rumbly nights over the weekend. That means, for lots of parents of little ones, there may have been a high premium on bed space, as the storms chased kids out of their own rooms and into mom and dad's. I received a couple e-mails about that very situation this morning. When I was a kid, the storms didn't scare me nearly as much as the idea of seeing my dad, shirtless and in his boxer shorts, so I tended to stay put.

Our own kids are pretty deep sleepers so there were very few times we ended up with all four seeking refuge. As an example of this deep slumber, while staying at grandma and grandpa's house in Wisconsin, our oldest, about six at the time, got up in his sleep and wandered into the closet where the water softener is kept. He had a big smile on his face and was laughing as we walked him back to his bed. He had and has no memory of his nocturnal stroll, however, to this day, when we really need to get his attention, we just yell "HEY, CULLIGAN MAN!"

There was a stormy night when I woke up with a great heaviness on my chest and trouble breathing...my eyesight also seemed to be impaired...everything was blurry. I opened my mouth to call out to my sleeping wife "Call 911...I'm having a heart attack or stroke or something!" and it came out "Camf 9brffbrff...m vinga mnart cack...." It was then I realized what had happened. The rumbles had forced both dogs onto the bed...the 90 pound one had taken up residence on top of me and the 50 pound one was sleeping on my head...not near it...on it. The "head" dog also tended to shed when nervous, so when I had tried to yell for help, I ended up with a mouthful of fur. It was as though I'd ordered one of those tall, Russian hats as an entree with a side order of vacuum-cleaner bag remnants, and a large glass of pencil sharpener shavings to wash it all down. Our older dog, the late, great Checkers, was by far the most skittish about storms of every creature in the household. I suspect she endured some noisy, scary nights on the streets early in her life and that fear followed her into our house.

When I think back about 11 years, I do recall a few nights we ended up with four kids and two dogs on the bed due to rough weather. None of them was shy about getting his or her share of the mattress space which left me with my head on the nightstand and one foot on the floor. It was after one particularly challenging night, that my wife, who is always looking out for me, decided we needed a bigger bed so I would always get a decent night's sleep no matter what else was going on. (During the decision-making process, one relative recommended we invest in a water bed because he and his wife had one and it was the most comfortable bed he'd ever slept in. His wife was less enthused and, for some reason, referred to it as "The Dead Sea.") Well, we did end up getting a bed more conducive to overnight interlopers.

Still, even with the extra space, my wife is often concerned that bad weather may lead me to having a poor night's rest before heading into work. She is so worried about this possibility that, if there's even the hint of a raindrop outside, she urges me to stretch out on the sofa downstairs: "You'll have it all to yourself...just in case!" She is always wanting the best for me!