Last night my wife, daughter and I had a nice simple Valentines night. I bought a good cheesecake from a local whoopteedoo restaurant (lines of people outside waiting to get in); complete with fresh whipped cream and strawberries. We made a heart shaped pizza and had slushies (read margarita for the adults). Simple without stress.
Around 1 am, my wife and daughter were sleeping in our room while I rustled around our kitchen cooking. Suddenly I heard the peal of my daughter's scream. I paused; listening for the sounds of my wife waking up. When my daughter continued to wail, I rushed to our room.
My wife had awoken and was on sitting in the middle of the bed cradling my daughter in her lap; warm crumpled blankets piled around them. My daughter was moaning as she was trying to talk and cry at the same time. She pointed at the pillows on the bed.
"It's there!" she cried, her eye wide with fright.
My daughter has been known to sleep walk and talk in her sleep. So my wife and I found ourselves watching my daughter closely to see if she was still asleep. I looked from my daughter to the pillows and back. She scrambled up higher onto my wife's lap as if to escape rising waters.
"What?" I said "what's wrong?"
"There!" she replied, pointing to the pillows.
I quickly flipped the top pillow. Seeing nothing there, I quickly flipped the pillow beneath; my imagination kicking in with images of huge fat spiders or the tail of a snake slithering off and under the bed.
Nothing but a rumpled pillow.
"There's nothing there honey." my wife said
My daughter's finger stabbed at the second pillow, "right there".
I looked closer at the pillow. Now my imagination expected wily bugs, dark writhing things with legs and antennae, zipping out of view again. I flipped the pillow quickly back over.
"THERE!" my daughter screamed, squirming up higher still.
God damned if I wasn't getting the heebee-geebees myself. I notice both my wife and I edging back.
Nothing, but wet drool marks.
"Right there", she emphasized, "it's a frog".
"A frog?"
...
I looked at my daughter again to see if she was awake. She was. She looked right at me. It was like one of those movies. You know the kind. The heroine is sitting in the living room of her apartment trying to tell the police that she's not crazy. While the cop's eyes might say "sure", their minds are thinking "where's the Valium". She's telling the cops how the man lying dead on her living room floor really did tell her he was part of an international plot to assassinate The Ambassador - just before she stabbed him with a handful of really sturdy fake flowers. The only part the cops seem to be buying are the several Gerber daisies and Babies Breath sticking up from the dead man's sprawled body.
...
"It was on my leg" she replied.
I had stopped looking at the pillow as my wife cuddled my daughter closer, rocking her gently and whispering reassuringly to her.
My daughter again looked at me with serious, frightened eyes; daring me not to believe her.
"He looked at me and said 'he-he-he'.", she added; sounding like a Jon Stewart impression of President Bush's snicker.
And so our pleasant valentine's night turned into a long vigil; my wife and I tag-teaming my daughter back to sleep. Valiantly she struggled against slumber. We took turns trying to soothe rattled nerves; describing what dreams are and how nightmares fit the picture.
"Dreams are like rewinding the VCR and watching what happened earlier in the day."
If my daughter had been 20, it might have made some sense. Given that she was only 4...most of it seemingly fell on deaf ears. My daughter would nod appreciatively as if accepting our sage advice. It was like we were telling her that that getting a shot from the doctor wouldn't hurt; even though through practical experience she knew better.
"I know that it was just a dream and not real. " She'd offer bravely; and then add "but I still want to sleep on the couch."
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