Last night was windy–and where we live, that means it sounds like a freight train is coming over the hill. We lay in bed, listening, and began to hear, periodically, another sound: BANG BANG BANG. Or sometimes BANG. Or BANG BANG.
It was not rhythmic, or constant, as you would expect of something the wind was blowing. And it not eventually result in the reappearance of a child, as you would expect from a kid-created noise. It just kept periodically coming. Eventually, and under some pressure (I was reading The Case for God and planning to comment on it for today’s DoubleX) I agreed to investigate.
I found Rory, in her bed, having what can only be called a temper tantrum in her sleep. She was writhing. She was shouting. She was kicking. She was one peeved, sleeping noodle. Because despite all the noise and fuss, Rory was pretty clearly asleep.
I put my arms around her, and eventually she quieted down, woke a little, snuggled a little, and eventually popped her thumb back in her mouth (hallelujah for that habit) and went back to sleep, but it was truly the craziest thing. It was not a nightmare–or if it was, it was the ever-determined, resolute and resilient Rory version of it, because she was NOT acting frightened. She was NOT shrieking in terror. Nope, that kid was pissed. I don’t know what she was dreaming about, but I hope it wasn’t me!