“Ricki Jo," Momma says, "who's on the phone? Tell them it's past your bedtime."I cover the receiver and look over my shoulder at my folks. Right. 'Cause a ten o'clock bedtime is something I want to shout from the mountaintops.”

“I walked in on my folks doing it doggy style less than four hours ago.""Waitress!" Jonas screamed, clicking his fingers madly. "Bring two!" then, more quietly,"You want a neck massage? A bedtime story? A bullet in the ear?”

“Give yourself permission to dream. Fuel your kids' dreams too. Once in a while, that might even mean letting them stay up past their bedtimes.”

“The Garretts were my bedtime story, long before I ever thought I’d be part of the story myself.”

“Well, I don't know," he starts, looking down and then up again, anywhere but at me. "Like, for example, your new clothes, it's like a whole new you. You dress more like those girls now.""I just want to look nice!" I defend myself."No,not that that's a bad thing, Ricki Jo!" he says, glancing down at me and then back over his shoulder. "You look great. Really pretty, actually.Just, you didn't care before and you were still"-he stammers on-"y-you know...pretty.”

“I'm always amazed at friends who say they try to read at night in bed but always end up falling asleep. I have the opposite problem. If a book is good I can't go to sleep, and stay up way past my bedtime, hooked on the writing. Is anything better than waking up after a late-night read and diving right back into the plot before you even get out of bed to brush your teeth?”