Of Nightmares

A week ago, the night before I was admitted to the ER for an allergic reaction, Philip and I were settling into bed when we heard a scream through the baby monitor (and through our door) - not the typical sound of a toddler crying out into the night, but a truly terrified scream, the likes of which we had never before heard in our home.

Concerned, we rushed across the hall, flipped on the light and found Micaiah sitting up, frightened, on her pillow, crying about a snake which had bit her.  As neither of us had seen a reptile slithering away, we were pretty confident it was a nightmare.  Philip examined her for signs of this alleged attack while he questioned her further.  Finding nothing and having finally calmed her, he was ready to pray over her and put her back to bed, but, first, he questioned gently, "There wasn't really a snake, was there?"

"No, but the dark made a snake."  Wise words from our very logical little girl.

Meanwhile, during the whole of this process, taking place in the brightness of their fully-lit room, mind you, I glanced to the other side of the room to see this:

Not even disturbed in the slightest by the entire ordeal, this little guy slept through everything.  Oh to be able to slumber so soundly.

The same little guy earlier today, playing hide-and-seek in the laundry basket:

What a crazy-fun boy we have.