I'm happy when the night's third alert goes off. It's about a quarter to four in the morning. I've been deep into a nightmare (something about my parents hassling me about food that I have prepared wrong). A mere missile alert feels like an improvement.

Some time later, I awaken again in my big sleeping chair. I'm confused. I don't recall having come back upstairs from the shelter. Am I still down there dreaming that I'm up here? I decide that it doesn't matter.

I fall asleep again. Another alert at a quarter to five wakes me up, still in my chair. This time, I know it's for real.

In the shelter again in the afternoon, I see two young girls playing with the smallest dog. I'm surprised. I must have only seen one at a time before, and thought they were the same person.

I see that a woman sitting across the room from me, who is otherwise impeccably dressed, is wearing mismatched flip-flops.

At about 7:30 PM, the couple with the largest dog comes into the shelter. They sit in the corner, with the dog on a comfortable blanket.

A resident comes in and sits right next to them. The dog isn't happy about that. The couple and dog leave. The resident gets up, wanders across the room, and gets into a long conversation with someone from down the hall.

A large stuffed rabbit sits alone in a chair on the far side of the room. One of the girls who had been playing with the little dog earlier runs in, dressed in her pajamas, grabs the rabbit, and runs out again.

In the evening, CNN reports that we should expect a "significant expansion" of attacks from both Iran and Hezbollah tonight. Our army says that guidelines for civilians haven't changed. A local news site tells us that in the ten days of the war so far, our city has had sixty alarms.

We remain as prepared as we can be for whatever might happen tonight.