Bad Dreams

I haven't slept well three of the past four nights, which will probably pass on its own, but last night (meaning in the past three hours, because I got up at 5:15) I had three bad dreams. They weren't nightmares, but were scary stories involving not being able to sleep, being separated from my kids, one was losing a little Marty (who was half my half-brother, when he was little, or some made-up kid, because dreams can be that way) and another little boy I didn't even know who was just following me around. We were in Taos. Fantasy, irritating Taos, but still. I came in on a bike and left in a station wagon. Or would have left, but I was separated from these two boys, one who was mine and one whose name I didn't even know. And it was nighttime. And I knew no one.

One involved teenage intruders, three, youngish, female leader, didn't know if they had weapons. They walked right in with me looking at them. Keith's arm is hurt (was in the dream) so I didn't want to go and get him. Kirby was on it, but Marty was reticent (they were both awake too, in the dream).

All dreams ended unresolved, but I would fall asleep only long enough to have an all new disturbing dream of me wandering in the scary dark separated from other people and afraid. Bummer. The emotions weren't fright, but were nervous uncertainty, fear at a manageable level, and guilt.

So I got up, wishing for the days when we all slept in one room, or two adjoining rooms, when checking on kids was just listening, or reaching out, or looking around, and went to check the house. I looked at Marty; he's in his bed. The front door was unlocked, which isn't unusual, but was a factor in the one dream. I went out and made sure all the cars were there (oh... four dreams, one about me parking one car in the neighbor's unused driveway and commenting to Holly that Keith might think it had been stolen, but we could park more in our driveway). All the cars are there. The doors of the rooms where Holly, Kirby and Brett sleep are closed.

Still, though this isn't a "good morning," I'm still aware and grateful that it could be so much worse. I do know where my kids are, and I didn't have heart-pounding nightmares. There are many worse things than losing sleep, and when the kids were babies, I was sleep deprived for many years straight. Maybe it's one of those "exceptions that proves the rule" situations. My nights are usually sleepy and peaceful, and I'm rarely feeling uncertain, afraid or guilty. That's good!