In My Dreams

We're in Room 107 of the Cookeville Hampton Inn in Cookeville, Tennessee. Frankly, our coexistence has seen better days as we compete for real estate on the lumpy queen bed we're sharing. My body jostles as you jump, flap, jump, flap, scoot, rut, flap, flap, flap. Jump. And make sounds that aren't exactly neighborly at 10:45 pm.

On top of that, I've pulled you back into bed four times after you've paced the room trying to burn excess energy. Being cooped in the car for seven hours with the occasional sporadic nap has not made bedtime easy this evening, and that's putting it mildly.

We're heading to Springfield, IL tomorrow to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Springfield AMBUCS. Their gala falls on the same night as your third birthday, so Nannie and I decided to take another one of our famous roadtrips.

If I get my wish, you'll live to see their next 100 years. Isn't that what every mother wants for her child? Time?

It's why you're presently trying to find comfort in Cookesville - because your mom just wants more time.

There's something so interesting about the effects of altered perspective. Not ten minutes ago, my shoulders were knotted to my neck, and overstimulation threatened to manifest itself as anger.

Now, I just want to turn back the hands of time and relish those minutes a little more respectfully. But alas, your breathing is starting to match the hum of the heater. You're drifting. Finally.

I'll accept the consolation prize, pull you into my arms and pray I meet up with you in Dreamland.

For a little more of that sweet, sweet time.

See you in my dreams,

Mama