As I came out of the grocery store on Sunday, I found that I couldn’t see a thing. When I had gone into the store, the day was gray, but quiet. Now, just half an hour later, a snow squall had come up, complete with a driving horizontal wind, and I found myself pushing through a wall of wind and white, hoping that all the cars in the parking lot would do what they were supposed to do. Namely, not run into me.

I’m not crazy about driving in snow, but since the storm had just started, I knew I could make the 10-minute drive home before the roads got too bad. That is, if I got behind sensible drivers. Wouldn’t you know it, I got behind a not-so-sensible driver. I certainly have compassion on those who get nervous in snow; after all, I grip the wheel pretty tightly myself. But this driver was practically crawling along the not-yet-icy road. I don’t think we broke 10 mph. Whenever we approached even the slightest of curves, the crawl slowed even further. I didn’t even think that was possible, but clearly it was.

That would have all been fine, but there was one thing I couldn’t figure out. This obviously nervous and stressed-out and overly cautious driver didn’t have any lights on. Here we were in near-zero visibility and no lights. No headlights, no parking lights. Nada.

I didn’t get it. I mean, c’mon, if you’re that worried, wouldn’t you take the normal, sensible precaution of at least turning your lights on so other drivers could see you in this dangerous weather situation?

This is where blogging becomes a problem for me. I came home, mulled over my experience, tried to think of how I could turn this little story into a funny or touching or at least entertaining blog post. Unfortunately, what I discovered was that I am just like that driver in far too many ways.

That driver: Nervous and frightened by the weather but doesn’t have headlights on. Doesn’t make sense.

Me: Get fed up with the size jeans I’m wearing but continue to over-indulge. Doesn’t make sense.

Me: Worry about stuff but neglect the simple yet transforming act of praying about those things. Doesn’t make sense.

Me: Grumble about kid’s misbehavior but do nothing to improve my own discipline consistency. Doesn’t make sense.

I seem to do better or worse in those areas at different times – I don’t always not make sense in every area – but the fact is, I can pride myself on being a very logical, sensible driver but that doesn’t change the fact that I fall short of sensibleness in plenty of other areas.

So, the moral of this story? If you think about things too much, you’re bound to stumble upon areas of your life that need work. Of course, it’s usually worth it to do so, but it can be uncomfortable at the time. You’ve been warned.

Oh, and turn your headlights on.

The other day, C. was marveling at the wonder that is a full night’s sleep. “You close your eyes, and the next thing you know, it’s morning. It’s like those hours didn’t even exist.”

So true for the millions of people who sleep all night long. But there’s nothing like having a baby in the house to remind you that there’s a whole world out there awake at 3:00 a.m.

L.’s teething, so we’ve had our share of interruptions lately. Nothing that requires rocking or singing or feeding at some ridiculous hour. But enough to wake me up. Which is often enough to then convince me to go downstairs to get a drink or something (true confession: I’ve been known to check my email at 3:00 in the morning – hey, as long as I’m near the laptop, might as well have a peek).

The landing on our stairs has a nice big window that faces our neighbor’s house. And very often, as I’m stumbling up or down the stairs in the middle of the night, I notice that their kitchen light is on. I’m never really surprised. After all, they have a baby, too – he was born in September. I wonder sometimes if he’s not sleeping through the night yet or if he’s sick or if he’s just having a hard time sleeping that night. And I imagine my neighbor stumbling through her house just like I’m stumbling through mine.

Some nights, once I’m downstairs, I look out the front window. Because our neighborhood is on a series of hills, I can see a whole lot of houses when I glance outside. Most of the time, the houses are dark if it’s before 6:00, but every once in a while I’ll spot a house with a light on. Being the curious person that I am, I always wonder: is someone sick? dealing with insomnia? battling heartache and just can’t sleep? waiting up for a child who’s out loooong past curfew? Or maybe there’s a slumber party going on and the mom of the house has just snapped on the lights and said, “If you girls don’t go to sleep right this instant, there’s going to be trouble.”

When I’m coherent, I try to remember to say a prayer for those with lights on, those who aren’t able to enjoy a full night of sleep. And then I crawl back under my covers, bury my head under my pillow, and hope that the next time I wake up, it will be morning.