My bed is my sanctuary. It’s comfy this time of year with snowflake flannel sheets, tons of pillows and the best down comforter this side of the Mississippi. When I crawl in, I feel safe, warm and relaxed. Consequently, I am a bit selfish in my bed and definitely don’t like to share my space. I often call out Maverick for ‘encroaching’ on my half, yet he still allows me to stick my cold feet under his legs to warm up (honestly, that man is a gem!). The kids have never been allowed to sleep overnight in our bed in spite of their repeated requests (they love the bed just as much as I do). Of course, the only exception has been if the kids are sick or scared in the middle of the night. Despite my overt selfishness regarding my bed, there is something incredibly endearing about hearing fretted footsteps running down the hall, such was the case at 3:18 am this morning. Rocky had a bad dream and sped into our room, nearly crushing my tibia on his way up to the pillow. When Maverick & I pulled him close, I saw that sharing the big bed melted away the terrifying robbers from his dreams. As the three of us sandwiched together, I found out that this encroaching thing wasn’t so bad after all.