One of the benefits of having an eleven-year-old daughter with a sense of humor is that she writes down what I say while I’m sleeping. Here are her notes from last night. And yes, it’s become sport (for her and the rest of my family) to track and discuss my nocturnal ramblings:
Daughter: Mommy, where’s the bandaids?
Me: Hmmm. In my purse in my wallet which is in my red and white sailor dress.
Daughter: (Looks for dress, then realizes Mom is “crazy talking” again.) Mom, you’re crazy talking.
Daughter: Mom, yes. Now where are the bandaids?
Me: Blue Harbor Monte Carlo.
Daughter: Okay, but where are they?
Me: BLUE HARBOR MONTE CARLO GOMEZ!
Me: That’s where I got them. Blue Harbor.
Daughter: No, but where do I find one? I need one.
Me: (Sing-song-y tone) Some are in the bushes. Some are in the trees.
Daughter: Good night, Mom.
Me: Feed the bunny, honey.
Daughter: Mom, you’re scaring me.
Me: Nightie night.