Sleepwalking and Fire!

I’m glad I can spot these slippers in the dead of night.  They’ve been getting a lot of use lately.

It used to be that I was the only one to sleepwalk and sleeptalk.  I once woke my mom to ask if I could watch a movie.  I once said, “Shame on you. Shame on you.” I had no idea what my parents were talking about the next day.  When first married, I still carried on talking.  Once my husband placed a sound-activated tape recorder by my bedside.  The result was very entertaining.  I kept telling a bus driver that we wouldn’t be riding with him.

But once I had my own children, I seemed to stop… unless you count the automatic response to a call of a baby/child.  I don’t seem to fully wake up before I’m already in their rooms.

My children, however, seem to be just entering this stage.  Sam came down the stairs when I was shutting down the house.  “I wish, I wish, I wish…” he repeated.

“Sam, what do you wish?”

He blinked suddenly and stared at me, confused. “I don’t wish anything!  What are you talking about?”

“Go to bed, Sam.”

He nodded.  “Okay.”

I found such episodes cute and amusing, until this week when he woke me up in the middle of the night.

“Fire!”

I’m sure that ranks as one of the most terrifying things you could hear in the middle of the night.  I jumped out of bed, heart racing, and sniffed, expecting to smell smoke.

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