The first thing I plan on saying to my niece when I see her on Wednesday is "makamakamaka." It doesn't mean anything at all, except that (as I have been informed by her mother) Sarah finds it hilarious which means the world to me. I love making her laugh.

My usual no fail method is a caterpillar puppet who speaks with a very bad french accent and likes to nibble on elbows and knees. As soon as Mister Caterpillar appears she shrieks with laughter and runs away but only far enough that she can keep an eye on me and make sure that I chase her, if not she'll creep back and reinact the shriek and run.

Matt usually hangs back and watches Sarah and I. It's not that Sarah doesn't like him, she adores him. Between the two of us, he gets hugged first. And instead of being bossed around with a demanding call of "Aunty Jenny," she quietly walks up to him and patiently waits (more patiently than I've ever seen her wait for anything) until his attention turns to her and he picks her up. I wish I had a photograph of that moment, Matt being very gentle and kind and Sarah leaning in and smiling happy and content.

Aunty Jenny is a riot of fun, but Uncle Matt is special. My family is glad that Sarah likes him, but none of us really get her reasons why. I like to think she has good taste in people.

There is a small window of time where after being woken up, I can slip back into sleep. The size of the window is directly related to the amount of time having been asleep, for example: After being woken up after three hours of sleep, I can be awake for an hour and go back to sleep with ease. However, after being woken up after eight hours of sleep that window shrinks down to about five minutes.

Darrett woke me up with a phone call to get me to join him for lunch. However, I had different plans in mind, which was to hang up the phone and go back to sleep. By the time I finally convinced Darrett to let me sleep, I was fully awake and starting to feel hungry.

The lesson of the day: Let Jennifer win the sleep argument, but keep her on the phone long enough and she'll eventually be sitting across the table from you with a plateful of food trying to convince you that baton twirling is a talent.

Any time when I'm away from the apartment for longer than 24 hours I ask Matt to check in on my mice and make sure they're all alive. It's not so much the thought of one dying, but the thought of one dying PLUS having the other mice having to deal with the body that really bothers me.

Cinnamon is fat. All my mice are pudgy, but Cinnamon has gotten to the pudge point where she's a little round ball with feet and a head. I think it's because she no longer runs on the exercise wheel or playfully tumble about the cage with the others. Matt has given me the most reasonable reason there is, it's probably because she's at a late stage in her life and is winding down. Of course, myself, the self-deluding person that I am, is intent that she's still young, healthy and instead of being at the end of her life she has simply become lazy.