|A Very Scary Fruit|
We’re still playing musical beds in our house. Without the music. Unless “please, please please go back to your own bed,” is music.
Sometimes I am lucky and can coax the midnight bathroom visitor back underneath their own sheets, but mostly, I don’t even try. I grab my pillow, tell them to “get in there beside your Daddy and I’ll see you in the morning,” before crawling into the vacant bed across the hall.
I have spread myself out on the floor beside a cot and a bottom bunk bed, trying desperately not to snort carpet pile up my nose as I waited for the offender to go back to sleep.
I have held water bottles for various boys to sup from and tip toed out of their bedroom in the vain hope they will let me.
There have been a few bad dreams since the summer holidays and these are the ones I don’t even try to fight. I just pull back the corner of my duvet and invite the child in.
Today I overheard Oldest Boy giving the low down on bad dreams to Shy Boy.
“Your brain does this thing,” he began, “when you’re asleep and you kind of have no choice. It sorts out all the stuff you see during the day.”
So far so good so correct.
He continued. “If you see bad stuff,” at this junction he reached out and plucked an orange from the fruit bowl, “just pretend this orange is horrible, well, your brain will remember this orange and you’ll have a bad dream when you’re asleep. See?”
Great! Orange nightmares tonight so.