“I can’t sleep, I’m scared.”
Every once in a while (usually a Sunday night before the new week of school), one of our girls comes into our room and tells us she’s scared. We leave a dim light on in the bathroom and in the hallway, so they can actually see the boogie man.
For the most part, I call their bluff. I say, “They are not scared. They are just mad that they have to go to bed early when they got to stay up late all weekend.”
The reply I get, “Awww. I’ll go lay with them and tell them it’s ok.”
Then two nights later, on that alone night I was so looking forward to, I realize that I left something in the kitchen that I really need. I also realize that I turned off all of the lights because I was going to bed. Crap. I really need that phone charger. Otherwise, my battery will die and the alarm won’t go off and I’ll be sending kids to school in jammies with a bag of chips for breakfast. Can’t do that again.
I tip toe out of the bedroom and peek at the scene. I run to grab the charger. Unlike the girls, I don’t want to see the boogie man. I don’t want to see what’s going on. I prefer keeping the light off and running back to safety without him seeing me. I drop the charger, trip over it and myself and somehow in the dark find my way back to my room.
I woke up bruised, ankle twisted and sore shoulder.
But, I’m alive!