Scene from an imaginary restaurant
Out with the old

We'll sleep when we're dead

002

I find myself eating a lot of potato salad lately.  Mostly because it's in the fridge and available for immediate consumption.  I don't have to prepare it or clean it or cook it.  It's just there in a little container ready to be eaten with either a fork, spoon or whatever utensil (soup ladle)  is closest to my hand.   I don't actually need to be awake to eat it either, which is a major Plus considering I haven't really been sleeping all that much.  My son has suddenly become fully aware that Halloween is coming.  He also realized that along with Halloween comes scary things like skeletons, ghosts, popcorn balls and goblins.  He no longer enjoys his own bed and prolongs his night time ritual with numerous drinks of water, songs, stories, bathroom trips and hugs. 

The other night while I was trying to get a post written for NJ.com, he was crying and yelling down to me from his bedroom. I went up there to try and make him feel better, but I'm not really good at it.  I talk a big game, but when it comes down to it, I'm not good with "feelings".  I'm more of a Pat-Pat-There-There mom.  I was more annoyed that I had to leave my writing to go up there. 

After explaining to him that all the bad dreams about skeleton faces and tornadoes he's having are made up in his brain, I thought I had it under control.  I told him when he's dreaming, he should tell his dreams to go away.  Tell the skeletons to turn into ice cream cones.  Tell the tornadoes to turn into cotton candy.  He seemed OK with it.  He turned to his side and (I thought) he went to sleep.

I went back downstairs and continued with my writing, but I could hear him still talking.  Then he got loud enough so I could make out what he was saying.  Let me tell you, when you hear your little 3 year old son say these words in his little non-R & L pronouncing voice, it levels you:

"Go away bad dweams.  Go away bad dweams.  Go away bad dweams...pwease.  Pwease go away bad dweams." 

I felt like the biggest asshole in the world.  My little man was scared, and I blew it off like his problem was inferior to my writing.  I wanted to punch myself in the face.  Instead, I ran up to his room and just hugged him .  I didn't let go until he let go first.  Then I sang him as many songs as I could and hugged him some more.  He finally told me he was OK and that he was tired enough to go to sleep.  I gave him one more hug and went back downstairs.

He hasn't really slept all that great since then.  So in turn, neither have I.  But it's OK. We don't really need anything else from the Halloween stores, I know how to soothe him a little better and  I've got the potato salad in the fridge.  We'll be OK.  ...Tired.  But OK.

 

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