Three birthday celebrations, one Father's Day, seven t-ball games, zero days of preschool, one July 4th, one Wichita visit, two houseguest visits, 450 swims in our big metal cow trough, one ladies' weekend, one wedding shower, 59,459 games of Sorry, and one dead computer later, I post.
Ian had a nightmare. Our conversation discussing Ian's vivid dream went something like this:
Concerned Mommy: What happened in your dream?
Scared Ian: Coowkie Monstew came into my bed and twied to fight me.
Appropriately frightened Mommy: Oh, my, what did you do?
Brave Ian: I had to get out my sword and fight him.
Laughing-under-her breath Mommy: Who won?
Proud, but Honest Ian: Well, I did. But the dweam still scawed me.
Sympathizing Noah: Yeah, one time I had a dream that Bert, you know the one that's friends with Ernie, came into my bed and it really scared me, too.
Here's Ian's trademark for-the-camera grin:
Here's our stab at mirroring his winning smile:
