Where’d you hide the pot, he shouted out in his sleep. My eyes popped wide open from a deep slumber and I sat straight up in bed, wondering weather I was having another one of my crazy dreams again, or not.
Wake up Thumper!? You’re grounded, I said loudly into his 13 year old face. That was the moment we both knew that the innocence of our mother son relationship as we knew it was over and Thumper vowed silently to never crawl into his moms bed again when Baddy was out of town.
He’d always been like that, our Thumper, a restless cyclone of a sleeper, yelling out his dreams while sticking a foot in your face. We worried that he might have some sort of REM behavior disorder like Mike Birbiglia in the movie, “Sleepwalk with Me,” and although a total chick-magnet, he might prove to be an impossible bedmate for all of his beautiful girlfriends.
I used to do that too, when reading to the boys in an exhaustive state I would drift off and instead of reading the book would begin to tell what I was dreaming about. The boys would elbow me and state with a giggle that I was dreaming again.
I often wonder what has brought me to this life I am living now. A life filled with boys, chaos and an empty bank account. Has this always been my destiny, or my creation? Am I living somebody elses dream and they just haven’t woken up yet? Does this all even truly exist?