I have a little munchkin that often wakes me up at ungodly hours to complain about one of her disturbing dreams. Once she dreamt that our dog told her to relax and she freaked out because he could talk. This morning was one such case, or so I thought.
“MOM!!! WAKE UP!!”
“Even the roosters are not awake yet, darling.” Not that there are any roosters in our Dubai neighborhood. Or that we could hear them if there were from our high rise apartment. With air conditioning and windows shut tight. But I used it for effect to get her to go back to sleep, the sun was still somewhere over Asia.
“It’s the dream”. She said, squinting her sleepy eyes at me.
“It’s okay, baby. You will forget the bad dream in the morning. And it will be morning after we sleep for a looong time still”.
“No mommy, I want the dream. It just stopped. I want it to go on”.
“Hmpff?” Confused, it was my turn to squint.
“Aston was going to marry me.” She said, almost crying.
“What the…”. “What?”
“Aston, the boy from my class, he was going to marry me and we were together and I was smiling, and then I WOKE UP. OH NO”.
I checked her fever. Nothing.
Has she fallen on her head?
I stroked her hair, trying to coax her back to sleep. She looked at me desperately. “I don’t want my dream to finish. I want Aston to be there, marrying me. He gave me flowers.”
“It’s okay. Back to sleep now.”
“I can’t. My heart is going boom boom boom,…” slapping her tiny hand on her chest to demonstrate the boom boom rythm.
At this point, I put the covers over my head.
Of all the issues I imagined I would have to deal with raising a five year old, a broken dream needing a rewind to recapture a magic moment with another five year old would not have been on my list.
This evening I came home after a long work day, threw my bag on my bed and went to wash my hands. I was accosted by a scene of utter chaos in front of my bathroom mirror. The little Juliette had been trying on my makeup all afternoon. It was as if a family of monkeys on a sugar high had gone through my things. Brushes, compacts, mascara, lisptick everywhere.
I glared at her (the her in question had a red princess dress on, looking all majestic). She twirled and went off mumbling: “I have to look beautiful, I am wearing make up to school from now on. Or else he will start liking Bethany.”
Panadol. I need Panadol.