Today, the sick-y in the fam damily is The Boy. He came groaning into my room at 6AM, complaining of a massive headache and stomach ache. I pushed back a bit, but he was totally not having the “c’mon, you’ll feel better after your shower” pep talk.
His arrival in our room woke me from a dream where Kenzie, who is not allowed in the bed, was sleeping at my feet, keeping them warm.
Is that a sad commentary of my life, that my dream involves me being asleep with warm feet?
Shouldn’t my dreams be something more along the lines of performing water ballet at Sea World with George Clooney?
Or, at the very least, if I’m going to dream about being asleep, shouldn’t the crux of the storyline be about my thousand dollar bill-lined mink blanket?
Not that my dog was actually allowed in the bed?
Sheesh… I need to get me some better dreams.
Maybe I’ll eat jalapenos for dinner!