First wake

My dad's Uncle George died the day before Thanksgiving (last week).  As I prepared to go to the wake on Sunday, Jake asked where I was going. 

Me: Papa's uncle died and TT and I are going with Gram'ma Bella to the wake.
Jake: What's a wake?
Me: Well, when someone dies, there is usually a wake and a funeral... Or some kind of ceremony where you can go say goodbye, and go hug the family and tell them that you are sorry about losing the person they loved.
Jake: Who did they lose?
Me: Well, Papa's uncle George died.  So Papa's cousins lost their dad, and Papa's aunt lost her husband.  When someone dies, we say we "lost" them.
Jake: Oh.

I absentmindedly asked Jake if he wanted to go.  It wasn't an accident exactly.  He seemed interested and there is something I want to try to teach these boys early on about life being special and about death being a part of life. And about what it means to belong to a clan of people- that you have respect and are generous with your time, and sometimes you stop what you are doing to show up and bare witness at these events. 

Jake: Maybe... I have to think about it.
Me: okay (In my head: "ut oh")

(I never thought he'd agree...
After a few minutes, I thought of a way to deter my 'soft pants' loving boy...)

Me: You know, if you go, you have to put some dress clothes on.
Jake: What do you mean?
Me: I mean, I am going to put work clothes on and you will have to dress up.
J: Like, in what?
Me: Like a sweater, or a shirt and tie, and church pants and shoes.
J: What sweater?
Me: I don't know... like the new one that TT bought you...

(After a few more minutes...)

Jake: I'll wear a tie.

Me: Oh... Okay. (pause)  So, we should talk about what it will be like...  At a wake, there is usually a box called a coffin that the person who has died will be laying in.  And there will be flowers and pictures and his family will be there and we will go through and hug all of his family- Papa's aunts and uncles and cousins.
Jake: Okay.
Me: And at some wakes the coffin is closed and you can't see the person inside but sometimes the coffin is open and you will see the person.
Jake:  LIKE A SKELETON?!?
Me: Oh, no... He will look like he's sleeping.  He will have his clothes on and of course all his hair and his skin... Maybe his eyeglasses...
Jake: (interrupting) HE HAS EYEGLASSES?!?  (The idea that he might see eye glasses seemed as shocking to him as the idea that me might see a skeleton.)
Me: (giggling) I don't know... maybe he does or maybe he doesn't...  The coffin might be closed, but it might be open.  And he will look like he is sleeping, but he won't be sleeping because he isn't alive anymore; remember how we talked about what happens when a person dies?
Jake: Yes.
Me: Their heart doesn't beat anymore, and they don't breathe, and their body is still there, but their spirit isn't inside their body...  ?
Jake: Yes.
Me: Do you still want to go?

Jake: Yeah, but I want to wear the red tie...

Katy likes to tell people that before she met me, she had never been to a wake or funeral.  And now she never stops going to them.  She is gracious about this and says that if it weren't for me, she would have had no idea how to conduct herself at her grandmother's funeral.  I almost skipped Uncle George's wake, but it was at her "it's the right thing to do" urging that I was getting dressed to go.  As a former ICU nurse, I'm more confortable than the average bear with corpses.  I sometimes have to stop and remind myself that these things can upset "lay people".  There are some funerals that children should NOT attend.  Very tragic, unexpected deaths... funerals where the adults are generally falling apart and so grief stricken that they are not able to look out for the emotional well being of kids in the room...

When our friend Liz's husband died leaving her widowed with 4 children (3 of the 4 were grade school age and younger), of all of the things she did that impressed me, none impressed me more than her plan for the kids.  After a brief appearance at the wake, she had them brought back to the house where Katy and I played with them and fed them dinner and got them to bed.  Of course they had to go to their dad's wake, but the emotions were too intense and the line at the funeral home too long to subject them to the entire event.

When my friend John died, I have this stark memory of his nieces a few feet from the coffin only 6 or 7 or 8 years old and my brain was forming the judgemental thought, "What are these parents doing letting their kids just hang around here near the casket all night?!?" when their kiddie conversation came into auditory focus:

Munchkin 1: Do you know why he doesn't look like himself?
Munchkin 2: No?  Do you?
Munchkin 1: I think it's because his soul has left his body
Munchkin 2: Yeah, so it isn't really him anymore... just his body.

I had the urge to stoop down to eye level and grip their shoulders gently and tell them that he didn't look like himself because the mortician in this joint isn't worth shit and has clearly never heard of blush or hair gel... but as I exhaled, the psycho urge passed and I realized that (of course) these children were wiser and more balanced than I.  Truthfully, kids just don't have the baggage that we do.  They don't usually bring their accumulated insecurities and fears into the room; or if they do, their accumulation is miniscule as not to even register.

When my mom saw Jake at the funeral home, she tried to hide from me that she was a little freaked out, asking several times, "Aren't you worried that he will have nightmares?"

And here's the thing.  Jake already has nightmares.  He's just like his freakin' moms.  A few weeks ago he crawled into our bed and told us he dreampt that there was a fire and he was trying to save Milo.  [A FIRE?!?! Seriously?  Where did that fear come from, Disney?!? I promise, we've never talked about fires around the dinner table...]  And last week, he was crying because he dreamed that his grandparents left without saying goodbye.  Some kids have more bad dreams than others.  I've got to try to find some books to see if there's a way to teach or talk your kids out of bad dreams, because I was one of those kids.  At a very early age, I dreamed scary, stressful things.  I still think that is part of the reason I stay up so late- Some of those dreams are sad and exhausting- maybe it's better just to stay awake.

Anyway, I've come to believe that 1) My dreams are not necessarily premonitions.  2) Bad dreams are not something that always happens because of unrest in your conscious life.  It doesn't necessarily have anything to do with your perception of safety or security.  I know this because I was a very safe, protected, nurtured, sheltered child.  And so are our boys. 

Jake is a thinker and he reasons things out.  He likes to be prepared.  And even though Milo is comparitively our "spontaneous frat boy"... He also is a thinker, and a dreamer. 

"You are not quite right" is what I've heard in response to the explanation that this first wake was a "dry run" for Jake.  He will have to see some people he loves in coffins in the coming years and decades and this was his first.  I'm sure we will have follow up conversations and clarifications, but he came through the event without a flinch or twitch or question.  This was just an experience to him.  Not positive.  Not negative.  Not even that big of a deal.  Just something to stash away in his mental filing cabinet.

My working theory is sometimes (maybe) the sheltering and protecting that we do for kids is unnecessary. Sometimes (maybe) that "protecting" contributes to anxiety and unsettled emotions.  (Emotions like, "What if I am not good enough? What if I can't handle all that I am asked to handle?") Trying to pad the sharp corners of the world isn't what I want to accomplish as a parent.  Life is full of struggle and sadness, disappointment and grief.  Our job is to teach them how to deal with downsides, show them that they can handle uncomfortable situations.  Create a time and space where they can safely learn to be vulnerable and successful in struggle.  I kind of believe that is the only way to fully appreciate joy and love.

Uncle George's wake was the perfect opportunity for Jake to see death. To see a body that was without it's spirit. Someone that he didn't know. An event that had no personal sadness or confusion attached to it.  He observed a portion of the ritual without experiencing the associated loss/discomfort.

And when a kid that cries in the morning trying to decide what pants to wear (because he sometimes has trouble making decisions). When that kid tells me he wants to put on a tie and come with me to a wake, I'll go ahead and take him at his word.  I won't tell him he can't handle it.  I will stand next to him and let him see one way death can look.  Because I trust Jake.  Even at this young age, he is so trustworthy.

And I trust myself.  I know if we stumble into a room or situation that upsets him, I will be able to talk him through that discomfort.  I know Katy will always help me with that.  I know she and I will resist the urge to remove painful obstacles so that our boys can learn to overcome difficulties (at least a bit) on their own.  It won't always be easy.  Sometimes we will fail by doing too much for them and protecting them too vigilantly and either forgetting to let them struggle or losing our steel when confronted by the reality of their discomfort.  But we're lucky...

These boys already have the minds and hearts of strong, wise men.  I'm so proud of them.

The week in review

In the last 7 days, Obama freed the gays*, North Carolina outlawed them, we've celebrated/endured nurses' week, mother's day, and gone through a 12 pack of ginger-ale**.  In the last seven days, the boys have worn their raincoats, their winter coats, and their bathing suits- so swings the weather in these parts at this time of the year...

The Ta-bar pool opened today at a crisp, cool 76 degrees. (We all went in but Katy). And I predict both these boys will be swimming without "swimmies" by the end of the summer (Mac and Cam are already there).  Softball starts tomorrow.  I have a lot to write about, but I'm so very sleepy.

The new job is absurd.  Good, but a little like being a lost kid at a big fair... Except, I'm not a kid, and I have a map, but they change the fair grounds every night... and there are a lot of emails... And I keep staying awake every night wondering if I should suggest to my bosses that maybe they should keep the fair grounds looking like the map they hand out.  Also, I find myself wanting to shout a lot, "THE EMPEROR HAS NO CLOTHES ON!" 

*OBAMA did not actually free the gays, but he did publicly state is personal support for marriage equality which as Joe Biden would say, "...is a big fucking deal."

**Jake was vomiting last weekend and I spent Friday night wondering how my body could eject the contents of my stomach with such force that jet engine blasters seem comparatively ineffectual and weak.  

I'm not going to have to join Tumblr now, am I?!?

I don't really know WTF Tumblr is except it is a different platform for posting info...

Sort of like a cross between Blogger and Twitter, but I came across this and it made me cry... I read it several times and several times I just couldn't help but squeeze out a few tears.

Go Ahead, I dare you not to weep a little at the obviousness of these parental instincts and the "Well sure- it is about time" rarity of something written so simply, so honestly...

[CLICK ON ABOVE] to visit the page...

A few additional thoughts...

1) This is what is good about the Internet- there are so many options for creation and beauty. You can't focus on the debauchery without acknowledging the space (enormous space) that exists as it never has before to CREATE...

2) This was this mom's FIRST Tumblr posting. She likely told a few friends and within 2 days 37,500 people had commented on the post (that does not include the heaven-knows-how-many of us read it without comment)

3) This type of "going viral" is sort of appealing to me... it's like a "gold rush" for the "twenty-tens". You never know what shit is going to take off.

Go to bed, already.

Tomorrow, we will try to spend the day demonstrating pleasantness in the midst of our anxiety and discomfort.

Tomorrow, we will try to remember the spirit of women who were pretty damn good role models even before the mantle of sainthood was placed on their memories.

Tomorrow, we will let our bodies and minds fight it out... Our minds want to be in charge of our emotions, but grief and anger have a way of marking you physically. And "the body" sometimes has a more accurate memory than even "the memory".

Tomorrow, we will cherish our children.
(A little more than we do every other day.)
Tomorrow, we will try to be gentle with each other.
Tomorrow, we will try to be generous and a little more patient than we usually need to be in our interactions with others...

But TONIGHT, before I go to bed, I'm going to check every window and every door (like Katy made me promise to do) to be sure they are locked. And I'm going to say a silent, but heartfelt "fuck you" to the psychotic criminals who killed our friends 3 years ago...

Then I'm going to wash the destructive anger off my face, and brush the bile off of my teeth, and try to shake the gnawing anxiety from my core. And THEN, I'm going to hold my wife close- hoping that my love and concern can keep bad dreams at bay- and trying to convey to her through my actions that no matter what, I'm here with her and I love her... and I'm sorry for the losses she has endured.

------------
Our church benediction:

Go out into the world in peace
Have courage
Hold onto what is good
Return to no person evil for evil
Strengthen the fainthearted
Support the weak
Help the suffering
Honor all beings
Amen.

New Petri Dish

JB is sick.
Mucus production high.
Random grabbing at ears and head.
Crying in his sleep.

We didn't even try to keep him out of our bed because he kept waking up, totally disoriented, and so unable to answer any of our questions that we weren't sure if he was asleep or awake.

We tried to give him the words in an either-or:
"Do you have pain or are you just "nose runny"?"
or, a multiple choice format: "What hurts- your ears, throat, or head?"

No luck he woke up every few hours shouting out and crying.
He was a whirling dervish in his sleep, twirling horizontal at us and pushing us toward our edges with his jabbing limbs, and flapping head. It was a friday night- TGI the weekend- so I was glad that we could have this night without really worrying about being up all night.

He woke up slowly this am, but seems better now.

ML has a runny nose too. Thick snot- not the regular, "day care clear drip" that is a fact of life. Oh, and flushed cheeks - though that could be from his new tendency to drag his face across
the floor when his arms tire out.

Day cares are germ labs.
Each one is different and the only choice is to let your kids BUILD UP IMMUNITIES!

We saw this coming a mile away!

Ear tubes

I'm home from work 'cause we didn't know how yesterday would go, so I took 2 days off.

It went pretty well.

We had to be at the hospital at 7am, but it is amazing how much easier is it to "pop" out of bed when it is for something other than work. JB woke up at 4am, but I rocked him back to sleep and by the time we had to wake him to get going, kt was already back from a DD run and Nana was here to help get him dressed.

When we arrived, the place was already packed and I remembered something I hadn't considered: Most kids who get surgery are not that healthy. Most of the kids in the waiting room had physical, mental, or emotional disabilities. There was an adorable boy with a trach that was making playful eyes at JB. You couldn't sit in this waiting room and not wallow in gratitude for all your blessings when your toe-head is toddling around, the picture of sweetness, health, and stereotypical perfection.

The staff at the Children's Hospital was fantastic. The kid hung in there, good-spirited for all the necessary "hanging around". They brought him an oxygen mask smeared in strawberry smelling stuff to play with- that would be the same mask that would deliver the gas that would put him to sleep. Katy elected me "parent that goes in the OR". I'm sure if she had wanted to go I would have let her, but truth be told, I was glad she wasn't interested. This part was harder than I imagined and that's why my wife is (simply put) smarter than me. She knows her limitations and is okay opting out of some things. I barely know what I can do, let alone have a grasp on what I can't (I'm constantly lying to myself and others: "I'll definitely be there by 10am..." Sound familiar to anyone out there?!?) Truth is, I like to be there for the really hard shit, I think it is part of my ICU training/hero complex. But I'm pretty sure watching my baby's screaming face through the mask, and the lolling of his eyes and head before he finally went limp was the reason I woke up every 20 minute in a panic last night. I have a history of processing stressful events (that have already been resolved) in dreams that I only occasionally remember. All through college, I would have nightmares about finals, weeks after the coursework was over and the textbooks were sold back.

Anyway, the staff prepared me sufficiently for the exact events described above (which occurred exactly as predicted). I left the OR at that point only because there was a staff member assigned to walk me out of there. If not, I'm sure I would have involuntarily knelt by his head, blocking the ENT's access.

They also warned us that he would wake up very upset- which he did- AND that after he napped again for a short time, he would wake up feeling himself (which also happened exactly as they predicted.) The staff warned us the bloody drainage would be leaking out of his ears for a few days. That is a little more disconcerting than I thought it would be.

The rest of the day, the kid was really sweet and loving... Laughing, smiling, playing, seeming to want to talk a lot. Until bed time when all of us were pretty exhausted and he had a melt down. He didn't appreciate the ear drops and tried to refuse tylenol (he is no match for the brute strength and resolve of two mommies, however.) He fell into a hard sleep on his back, while I held him on my chest. The tears had stopped but the tracked wet paths on his cheeks weren't yet dry. And the recently placed Otic Solution caused tiny streams of reconstituted blood to drip silently onto my shirt. I transferred him to his crib and when we checked him several hours later, he had not changed position. He slept until late in the AM (6:30 means sleeping in around here, folks.)

Other stories of note from the hospital:

1) The crazy fish of a mom who seemed way too into her cell phone to be bothered to notice her son was having surgery. Before his procedure, she refused to hold his ipod telling him, "I have my own stuff to carry." Though Nana reported to me in no uncertain terms that the mom was not carrying anything EXCEPT her cell phone. Then later in the recovery waiting room, when they came to tell her his procedure was completed, she held up her finger to the hospital staff as if to say, "wait a minute," and spoke loudly into the phone, "Well, I guess I have to go see what is going on, I'll call you back."
Sweet. Really.

2) As I promised my friends, when the anesthesiologist asked, "do you have any questions?" I posed the only one that mattered to me, "You're sober right?" Contrary to public opinion, I wasn't merely being a wise ass. I'm in health care. I know these people (not anesthesiologists, just health care workers in general) can not all be trusted. As I predicted, he dodged the question, not really laughing, but sort of looking annoyed which of course sort of annoyed me. I mean is there any reason why that question shouldn't be taken seriously? I'm not kidding. The nurse laughed and asked him, "Have you ever been asked that before?" and he said no and walked away, but if he had looked in my eyes I would have said, "Hey, I don't know you. You can't deny that's a valid question." I'm going to tell you this- when I worked in the hospital, if someone asked me that, I would have looked them in the eye and stated clearly. "Yes, I am glad to report I am sober." I think it's a valid question. The only reasons I can conjure not to answer it are ONE: you can't truthfully say 'yes', TWO: You think no one should ever question your integrity even if the life of their most beloved is about to be placed in your hands, or a possible THREE: you were drunk or high during a procedure once and you think someone has "found out."

Anyway, I think it's a valid question and I'm almost done perseverating on why he didn't' give me the respect or courtesy of an answer.

Newsletter: Month 11

Dear JB,



Today you are 11 months old.



We are astounded. We cannot believe that there are only 4 more weeks until we are expected to pull together a clever, special, over-the top-exciting-yet-understated FIRST birthday party for you!!! Like most of the events of your life so far, we feel un-prepared. But we feel so excited for this milestone and of course, we feel impressed that you seem to be thriving.



Your mommies are in the middle of watching the Democratic National Convention where Barack Obama is about to accept the nomination for president of the United States. At this point, we have no idea if this is a name and a night that will go down in history, or if it will only end up being a historical footnote or the answer to an obscure trivia question. The election is not until November, but there have been more than a few times this week when I have stopped to reflect. I've wept some tears of pride and amazement, and cautious excitement. My feelings about this election are very closely related to you and what this means for you... You will never know how extraordinary it is that this man should be in line to be elected president. Because of what is happening tonight, sweet boy, you will never completely understand why this is even touching. It will be passe to you and your friends... nothing spec'... You will never fully grasp how improbable this was even a year ago.



You are growing, and our society is growing too. And for that we are grateful.



This month has been amazing. Not only because you didn't even get one ear infection (can I get a Hallelujah?!?) but also because we got a well deserved beach vacation together. When we were at the beach with your cousins, aunt, uncle, and grandparents, we experienced the beach as if for the first time through your eyes... You didn't like the sand too much. You sat with both arms up and usually your left leg up off of the grainy stuff. You might not have minded the ocean, but the temperature was not to your liking. You reacted to the ocean's unwelcoming chill not by screaming in protest (though there were a few tears at times) but by clinging tightly to whoever was taking you into the big drink. They were the best hugs to be found on the shore that week, and your mommies encouraged any family members who were interested to experience the baby python hugs the ocean brought out in you.



Even though you didn't seem as enthralled with the sand and cool ocean, you were pretty zen and spent a lot of time napping in your stroller while we played and rested on the beach. You slept well in the pack and play and didn't seem to have any difficulty with the change in schedule or setting. When we brought you back to day care, your teacher really had missed you and you gave her a big huge hug- which made your mommies feel very happy and proud.





Out of Nana and Papa's 3 grandkids, you seem to be the most cuddly and most eager to find a shoulder to rest your head on. You like to weave your fingers around anything soft, and that includes wisps of hair you find on our necks, ear lobes, and/or shirt collars. You can be twitchy and fidget out of our arms when you decide you don't want to be be held, but this is the first month that you really started exhibiting the signs of begging to be held - as you get tired, you can get whiny and will cry until we pick you up. It's hard to complain about that at all, but "i need my mama/mommy-mania" is a change from the JB that we could sit on the floor to entertain himself when we needed to straighten up something in the next room.



You are exceedingly mobile now. You are not the newly crawling JB of month 10... You are not really doing anything new from last month, but you are so much stronger and faster. You can get across the room without difficulty and before we can blink. You troubleshoot barriers and navigate pillows and furniture I throw into your path to slow you down. When you want to pull yourself up, you lunge at the couch or table. With your arms higher than your head, you take the form of an athlete about to do a pull up: Standing seems to be much more about your arm strength than your legs at this point. Watching you get vertical has made me want to take you outside to see if you can hang from a branch without my help. (Confession: I have tried this, but you are not that strong yet... I think if your hands were a little tougher, you could really do it though, b/c your arms are that strong... but the bark is a little tough and your hands too small to grip like that. I guess this is why there are no infant body builders in the world.)





You are crawling, creeping, bouldering, and lunging from sofa to sofa on your feet. You won't walk without holding on to something, but often, one of our fingers is enough. You are pretty daring, but when you decide something is too far away, you sit yourself back down without incident and crawl there like a lightening bolt.



You now have 4 teeth. The 2 upper teeth are so huge they look like a couple of pieces of white gravel embedded in your gum. "That shit must'a hurt," we keep thinking to ourselves. You had a few cranky days right before they appeared and now if you have a few minutes of discontent, your moms keep expecting the snow capped rockies to pop through your gums next. We employ the ever-useful, rarely-provable, "maybe he's teething" EVEN MORE than we did before. (Read: every time you so much as whimper.) The thing about these teeth, is I guess it will be years before they all come in. So I guess that "life is pain" lesson I was planning on teaching you is all ready underway...



Your moms are finally starting to get serious about giving you table food options. It's not that you weren't watching every morsel of food go from our plates into our mouths, giving us the signal that you were "ready"... It's not that we haven't been buying little lumps, clumps and clusters of organic veggies and meats to cook up for you... It's that we were not quite ready to put the take-out containers down and start eating food that that hasn't been genetically altered by a fry-alator. (And trust me, if we weren't going to feed you the organic food that we left rotting in the 'frige, then we certainly weren't going to mince our over-salted, tempura, bacon, guacamole burgers to give you bits and bites of coronary artery disease).



So, now, we are finally figuring out how to provide for your expanding culinary needs- you've gotten carrots, cukes, all sorts of beans, avocado, chicken, steak, eggs, cheese, blueberries, mangoes, bananas, apples, grapes, and peaches (and probably others that I can't remember). You are very eager to feed yourself and try just about anything. You generally swallow well and explore many different textures of food. You are a little cookie-monster, though, a lot of the food goes in and comes out of your mouth - maybe only a third of it gets down your esophagus. We are trying to calculate exactly how we are going to substitute sippy cups of milk for your regular bottles of formula; suggested at 1 year of age. Right now, a sippy cup means "water" to you, and a bottle means "milk".



We are trying to do some basic signing: bath, milk, bottle/drink, diaper, more, all done. You definitely understand a lot of what we say to you. If we tell you to put something into something, you usually do. And if we tell you to "drum" you do. If we ask you where your planets are, you look up above your crib and wave at your mobile. If we ask for a kiss or a hug, you often oblige us. On occasion, if I put 3 objects out (say a duckie, a block, and a ball) you will reach for the one I said (though it hasn't happened with tremendous consistency.) If we say "come here" or "stop" or "don't touch that" you ignore us as if we are speaking another language.



Your play is very cute. You LOVE putting things in and taking things out and opening things and closing things. You have stacking boxes that have been a favorite for a few months now, but you can play with these things for hours. Not usually stacking, but "putting in" and "taking out". Also, doors- you will play with the front door for 20 minutes at a clip- trying to figure out how to shut it when you are sitting in the way of its shutting; and when you've finally shut it, reversing the process. You now have an old, defunct cell phone to keep our old TiVo remote control company in your toy box. No matter what we tried, you would ignore all toys if our real remote or phones were in sight. You prefer electronics to any and all plastic imitators.



You have shown yourself to be tough and sensitive. The toilet bowl seat fell onto your hand and nary a peep out of you. You turned your hand over a few times looking at the palm and then the knuckles as if to say, "Hmm, that was strange." But when a stuffed penguin "snuck up on you," all hell broke loose. The animal/toy scared the wits out of you and it took a couple of us 10 minutes to calm you down. We might have chalked this up to fatigue if it wasn't the 3rd time a stuffed animal unexpectedly brushed against your skin and brought on a wave of tears or screaming.



Sometimes you cry out in your sleep, and though you do not wake, we rush in and are forced to contemplate what has upset you so. I'd put money on you dreaming about getting your ass kicked at a Gund store. But your mama thinks it is all about the ice pick shaped tusks poking through the roof of your mouth. It is a little upsetting that you might be experiencing bad dreams. Symbolic to us that already, there are things we cannot help with or protect you from. But we feel incredibly lucky to be the ones watching over you; brushing our hands over your forehead and back, reassuring you that you we are here and you are loved.



We love you,
Your mommies

It takes a village

The night before last, I had a bad dream. It was a dream where all the kids were in danger. Not random, un-named danger, but a specific person threatening JB and his cousins. The person I dreamed about is someone I trust completely, who would never do anything to hurt these kids, but I woke up at about 2am and had a little conversation with myself:

Question posed to self: Are dreams things to take seriously and tuck away as some parcel of indisputable, not-necessarily-provable truth? Should this dream, for example, cause me to revisit what I think I know of a person? Is someone/something sending me a sign from a parallel place? Should I take heed that I might not know what I think I know? or ... Are bad dreams Non Sequiturs? To be "shaken off" and not taken literally or even seriously?

While I was imagining some pros and cons related to both aspects of this question, the baby whimpered 2 rooms away. Worried he was still feverish and wanting to comfort him before he completely woke (or woke Kt) I went in to check on him. My heart nearly stopped in it's cage: he was still asleep, but the side rail was down. He's a climber now, we are careful with side rails, but somehow this danger was waiting for him... like, I mean, someone was waking me, warning me... there's no question in my mind.

I locked the boy in, stroked his hot head, and whispered a prayer of gratitude. Thank heavens for well timed nightmares.