This conversation 20 minutes ago.
Seth: Mom, what are dreams?
Me: Dreams are what we see when we are sleeping. There are good dreams and sometimes bad dreams
Seth: And then they happen?
Me: sometimes they happen, sometimes they don't.
Seth: Mom, I want to sleep in your bed because I have bad dreams.
Me: Seth, any time you have a bad dream you can come get in bed with me, okay?
I had nightmares as a child and they would haunt me into the light of day. I still remember a particularly horrific one to this day. There were these super tall farmers--probably five or six of them wandering around our backyard in New Mexico. They were about twice as tall as our house. I was the only one home at the time (in the dream), I remember. It was really frightening. Now, recounting it, I'm not sure why, but it was.
It is rare that my boy will share his "feelings" openly with me--especially voluntarily. I really want to be there. When it happens. Just to be the someone upon which his fears can fall. I don't think I do a very good job most of the time. I get caught up in my own tangled life and forget why I'm here. Not to get the dishes put away or dig into that yummy pint of Ben & Jerry's in the fridge, or even publish the third post of the day. Not these things. But to make a place for him, for Seth, in the world. No matter how much it cuts into "my" time or how often it produces sleepless nights. To scooch over in bed, let his knees dig into my side and melt his fears away in the warmth of my own sleep disturbed.
A safe place. Just make a place.