Sweet Dreams

While walking to J’s room to put him to bed for the night, I paused for a moment to survey the disaster zone that we call our home. I’m not sure where I’ve gone wrong (probably the schedule in which we are never home), but this place is out of control. I muttered, “Oh, I can’t stand this crap hole anymore.” Naturally, my four year old incorporated the term “crap hole” into his next three sentences.

Me: Ok, let’s not say that word anymore.

J: Why?

Me: It’s really not that nice. We can say junk hole or disaster instead. If you say that word again, you’ll have a consequence. If I say that word again, I’ll have a consequence.

J: Ya, like no crocheting.

He may as well have just called me a complete dork instead.

As I was preparing to exit his room, I kissed him and said something that I’ve never said to him at nighttime before and really haven’t ever said in general: “Good night. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

How this old adage ever came about, I have no idea. I do know that it sent Mr. Literal into a question asking frenzy. Needless to say, his anxiety level was higher after I left his room than when we initiated the bedtime routine. Really, though, what’s not comforting and soothing about the mention of blood hungry, bed dwelling insects at the moment one takes a recumbent position in his sleeping quarters?

Well, now I’m not just a complete dork. Now I am a complete dork who will have a freaked out, nightmare ridden boy crawling into bed with her at 3:00 AM.



Sweet dreams to all!