Her Stories

In the mornings, if Chloe wakes up on her own she will lie there waiting on someone to come get her out of bed. If no one magically shows up in a reasonable amount of time, she will stomp out of bed and find you, then force you back into a bed so that you can properly wake her up.

This morning she and her raging bedhead came and glared at me while I stood in the bathroom, hair wet and clad only in a towel. She grabbed my arm and pulled me over to my bed, where we climbed in and gathered on "the girl side," instantly making the queen-sized mattress into a more acceptable twin. As she refused my recently-toothbrushed kisses ("Too minty!"), I asked her how she slept. "Good," she said, giving me her usual answer. I asked if she had sweet dreams last night.

"I don't have dreams! Just my stories."

I've heard her say this before, and I can't tell if she remembers her dreams and calls them stories, or if she doesn't remember her dreams and only remembers the stories she makes up in her head as she falls asleep. In either case, I think it's a lovely way to describe the sugar plum thoughts that drift through her head at night. It certainly brings me some comfort, after years of dealing with Connor and his nightmares/night terrors. Just two nights ago, I was awoken by his screams and desperate jibberish as he tried to work through whatever anxieties followed him into the night.

With Chloe, there is no such anxiety. I excitedly asked her "What kinds of stories did you see?" Her answer didn't surprise me. "The Justice League!" Then she explained that she was a member of the League, one who could fly. She got to go to their Watchtower. "And Michael Jackson was there! And Ben Tennyson!" All her heroes, working together to fight bad guys- with her help. Not a bad way to spend a night.