It’s happened many times before, but it happened again last night:
I was sleeping soundly, my brain floating through the mists of the sort of vague, rushed dreams one has when your consciousness knows that you’ve gone to bed too late – again – and that you’ll have to wake up too early. Yes, I’m multi-tasking even in my dreams.
Suddenly, with a jolt, I felt a clammy hand on my arm. I jerked awake, and the hand’s owner screamed. I screamed back. (My husband continued sleeping soundly, of course.)
When both the intruder and I had recovered ourselves, I realized that it was my eldest daughter standing beside my bed.
“Mommy, I can’t sleep. I’m scared,” she said.