I’ve written before that Sasha has a unique list of fears.
Well, they aren’t really unique…they’re more brain bogglingly practical. Which is why when his uncle had a brain fart and left Aliens on in the room where Sasha was staging Playmobile pirate battles we didn’t have any nightmares or a freaked out child. They were monsters doing awful things, yes. But they were far away in space and you had to take a spaceship to get there. Since we were home, no worries (however his continuing desire to be an astronaut, an army man, and an astronaut army man has me wondering if I have a placid-seeming little thrill-seeker or just someone who hasn’t yet developed any logic centers).
But I digress…
These are some of the tales we’re told by a hysterical child at O’dark thirty in the morning:
“They took my apples and oranges away and put them in the fridge! Get them back for me!”
“He poked me in the eye and now I can’t read! I want to read, Mommy!”
“Someone took my dinosaur toy, Mommy! Help me find it!” (he has no dinosaur toy)
“My icecream! Make Daddy stop eating my icecream!”
And then sometimes something about David Bowie. I really regret both Labyrinth and The Snowman.
But nothing truly terrible. No dream that surpasses a mother’s ability to fix (except, maybe, Bowie). A few hugs, the assurances that he can still read or that we do indeed still have food in the house and that it’s available to him and he’s fine.
Ah, my little oddball…
How much you want to bet that his hell is something like being the Ranger in Jellystone Park with a glam-rock concert going on?