It was the perfect nap. The house was quiet. The baby was sleeping. The early afternoon light coming through my bedroom window was that soft bluish gray that makes me fall asleep the minute my head hits the pillow. I had cranked up the thermostat and piled an extra quilt on my bed so I was starting to slow cook in the little cocoon I had built. I love slow cooking. I could fill the heat coming from my sleeping four year old daughter who likes to curl up at the small of my back.
“Kim.”
“Kim.”
“Kim.”
This was a weird dream. I could swear someone was tapping my shoulder and calling my name. A little voice. A soft voice. It must be a dream because if one of my kids were trying to wake me up it would be more of a, “MOOOOOOOOM!” only louder and more “O”’s.
“Kim.”
Hmmm. I started wondering if it really was part of my dream. I tried to open my eyes, but I could only open the eyes of my dream self. That Kim was wide awake, but couldn’t seem to make the connection to rouse the sleeping Kim.
“Kim.”
“Kim”
I could feel my eyes slowly and painfully start to open. Through tunnel vision I could see blonde curls and blue eyes peaking over the top of my bed. And then I felt that little poke on my shoulder again.
“Kim. Can we please borrow some vanilla.”
Yep. Definitely not one of my kids. Even though Anna was calling me “Kim” all day yesterday, I know if she were to ask for some vanilla it would be followed by “ice-cream” or “pudding”, and after that there would be a twirl, a bow, a salute, and the word (words?) “M’Lady”.
I somehow gained enough control over my voice to yell, “Luca!! Go get Emma the vanilla!”
“Thanks, Kim!”
As the cute little neighbor girl left my bedroom to get the vanilla I chuckled as I slipped back into my coma.
Whims 