Zombies

Over the last few years, James and I have really gotten used to sleeping in our own bed, just the two of us.  Gone are the nights of flailing people kicking us in the back…  There is no more crying in the middle of the night, or showing up unannounced, or uninvited.

So when we do get a surprise visitor we are completely unprepared.  We’ve lost the highly refined skill of preventing people from climbing into our beds.  Of diverting them back toward the darkness from which they emerged.  We no longer jump into action at the sound of a door or unexpected footsteps.  Our brains and eyes and bodies no longer work under the cover of night.  We are defenseless.

So on Saturday morning when I woke-up after a horrible night’s sleep to find myself barely holding on to the sliver of bed that was mine, I was even more surprised to find James was gone and had been split into two smaller versions of himself.

At breakfast I confront the perpetrators:

“I had a horrible night’s sleep last night, I’m so tired.  How ’bout you?”

Nate replies, “Not me.  I was so warm and cozy.”

I turn to Jake, “What happened last night?”

“I had a nightmare.  Freaky zombies trying to eat my brains,” replies the kindergartner.

“Freaky zombies?”

“No freaky zombies.”

Freaky zombies?”

“No.  Freakin‘ zombies!”

“Freakin’ zombies?  You’re not allowed to say ‘freakin’!”

And now I’m the freakin’ zombie…

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