You're Scary

PP So you are dead asleep, dreaming that you are a ridiculously hot CIA agent saving the world, when suddenly you feel that you are being watched. Your experienced 6th sense tells you that someone else is in the room, silently observing you. You wonder if you should use your martial arts defense tactics or perhaps just whip out your pulsing taser stun gun. Then as the breath of this stranger just ever so slightly moves a hair resting on your cheek you realize that feeling of being watched wasn’t part of your dream. As your worst fears leave you too paralyzed to open your eyes, eyes that wouldn’t do you much good in the dark without your glasses anyways, you quickly think about your real defense options.
P
Swinging fists?
P
A pillow fight?
P
Sex appeal??
P
None of these seem to manifest any courage or real hope, so understanding your chances of survival are limited, you unwillingly open your eyes resigned to death. Before you, stands a very blurry, very pale, little guy with wide dark eyes. Is it a ghost? You didn’t even consider your options for survival with the paranormal. Just as a slight sweat breaks out on your forehead the little ghost speaks. “Mama?”.
PP You rub your blurry eyes reaching for your glasses while turning on the bedside lamp. Phew. It’s just your two year old child awakening you for the third time that night. Your imagination gets a little jumpy when sleep deprived.
PP Lately this happens to Lance and I almost every night. Well, he probably isn’t envisioning himself as a shamelessly gorgeous CIA agent or seriously considering distracting an intruder with sexiness, but he does pee his pants opening his impaired eyes to a silent pale faced Gavin two inches from his face. He keeps waking up to him and whining, “You’re scary Gavin”. It makes me laugh so hard just thinking about it. (He’s been getting up so frequently for probably the last week because he has had an unexplained fever and wants to cuddle. The doctor just thinks it is a virus. Of course.) I do miss the days of the high-gated crib when I didn’t see my child until I chose to. At least we don’t have two little Casper’s floating around playing in the dark. I’m thankful Jackson hasn’t learned to escape the crib yet. And my kids really do need a tan.

P