I’m Deaded…

So this morning at 4:30 SB (Small Boy) woke up crying hysterically and came into my room.  Did I mention he was hysterical?  Not the fake, “I want more Skittles because they’re really fruit” cry, this was the real thing.  Red face, tears, boogers, shaking – heartbreaking stuff.

When I finally got him settled into my bed,  I asked him what his bad dream was about.  Ready? 

He said, “I had a dream that you were deaded in a Haunted House”.  I realized that 4:30 a.m. wasn’t the time for a grammar lesson, so I just asked him how that happened.  He said I flew there and died.

 Now I have a few problems with this…

One, can’t he just have the regular old “monster in the closet” type of nightmare?  Why do I have to be the deaded one? 

 Two – I can’t fly.   Period.  Even at my lightest, pre-pregnancy weight, flying was never an option.

Three – We live in a pretty nice neighborhood.  There’s one creepy guy in our cul-de-sac but as far as I know Haunted Houses are non-existent.  Granted, I didn’t ask when I was buying the house, but one would assume this would come up during escrow.

Of course SB fell back to sleep once he realized I was ok and capable of trudging downstairs to bring him juice, but I was awake for the rest of the morning worrying about dying in a Haunted House.  Clearly Disneyland’s out of the question for a while…

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These Words Just Came Out of My Mouth…And I Can’t Get Them Back, EVER.

It’s bath time, and SB lives for his bath.  So tonight he came running downstairs naked, hit me with his weenie and said, “you’re it!”  When I was done trying not to laugh and scream at the same time,  I said, “we NEVER, EVER play tag with our weenies, it’s not appropriate, yap yap yap!!!!”

To which he said, “Are the Police going to come and get me now?”

Sigh.  I guess if he were 20 years older they would…