Nothing wakes a parent from a dead sleep (and for those of us with small children, there's rarely any other kind) faster than the blood curdling scream of one of their children. Tuesday night was no exception. The husband and I were both instantly on our feet desperately trying to gain our bearings while knocking each other down running for the bedroom door. It probably had a Keystone Cops funny to it, you know, if you weren't us. I raced into the boys bedroom and in the glow of their lava lamp (it's their choice of nightlight, does a hip mama's heart some good) I could see they were both sitting upright, so it wasn't a good clue as to from where the scream had come. At least no one was in a limp pile in the middle of the floor. I soon realized that the sobs were coming from the lower bunk...the crabby muttering from the upper. Little Ly's cheeks were covered in salty tears and he was near hyperventilating, so I coached him on his breathing for a few minutes (after doing a quick scan for obvious signs of damage). "Smell the soup...blow the soup...smell the soup..." Thank goodness for the bright ideas of school counselors. He agreed that he'd had a bad dream and all four of us headed for mom and dad's bed (the oldest was still grumbling).
When we all crammed into the queen size bed that no longer makes the family bed such an appealing prospect, Ly started quite literally burrowing under the blankets. I begged him to stop, but he kept crying "da cow is coming, da cow is coming..." I sighed heavily.
"Honey, apparently the cow is coming."
"Don't worry, I can take a cow, Elyas." the husband offered.
The lip quivered. More burrowing ensued.
Rather like pulling a very large hamster out of a habitrail, I plucked Elyas out of our bed, leaving the husband and the grumbler to get some rest. Someone should have some, it is, after all, a school night.
As we made our way from the sofa, Ly enlightened me on the demon of his dream, a large orange and white cow (a calico, perhaps?), which I gathered was trying to jump on him. I was now awake and trying to figure out what where on earth this specter had entered my three year old's imagination.
"Is it from a book you read, or a TV show?"
He shook his head seriously, "No mama, it from da pillow."
Oh well, we need new pillows anyway.