Are You Even Ready For So Much Beautifulness?
21 September 2013
Two nights ago Enzo had a bad dream. He was crying pretty hard. “I don’t think I’m going to get over it this time.” I climbed up to his top bunk and lay down. He told me, disjointedly, about the dream. Something about Teresa leaving him and Trevor (the little brother of someone he went to preschool with) chopping the heads off of babies.
“Do you think you feel anxious because Teresa’s going to visit Grandma Frances?”
He would never have a bad dream because I was leaving for a few days. He’s used to it. But Teresa’s always there. (Who knows if that’s even why he had the dream. I probably just put the idea in his head.)
Last night he slept with me in the big bed because Teresa’s gone, and this morning in the early dark he woke up and told me that in his dream there was alligator fifty-six feet long—the part that wasn’t submerged. It was a good dream. And he went back to sleep.
I got up and in the hallway almost tripped over his pajamas where he’d flung them during the night. Now he’s awake, naked, playing Beyblades in the living room. I just suggested that he put his pajamas on, and he said, “I’m all right.”
A few more Enzo notes.
“I think I’m just going to be distracted for the rest of my life.”
Loud crash from his bedroom. “I didn’t do that! In fact, I did. I’ll clean it up.” (He must have meant eventually.)
Last night Enzo asked what we’re going to do today. I outlined our itinerary and concluded, “And I challenge you to a epic pillow fight…epic…epic.”
“I don’t really like “epic” anymore.
Looking through a book about newly discovered species that my parents sent him. He wants to show me something but hides the page for a moment. “Are you even ready for so much beautifulness?”