Calla woke Joe up this morning about 2:00. I know when it must have been, because I was up with Corrie, but somehow didn't hear the screams that got him out of bed. When he finally calmed down the tears enough to ask her what was wrong, he made out "I spilled my bubbles!" He was able to get her back to sleep by assuring her that her new bubble solution was safe and sound on the porch. As it was.
Sure enough, when he asked her this morning what happened with her bubbles during the night, she remembered. "I spilled them!" Amid all the scary things we can dream, it's the loss of bubble solution that inspires true panic for Calla these days. Or, like this afternoon, when she wept in sorrow because a picture of Dora (touting the return of our census form) got wrinkled in the car. Real tears.
Part of me is amused. But part of me understands: it's the loss of those things most precious that are the stuff of nightmares. For Calla, at least last night, that was her bubbles. That I know it cost $1 at Walmart doesn't make it any less dear to her.
Wishing you all sweet dreams tonight...
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