My son slunk into the kitchen where I stood beside the sink.
“I had a good dream last night,” he said.
I threw the dish towel toward the counter and bent down to hear the scoop.
A smile took over his face. “I dreamed I was reading.”
At 9:45 p.m my daughter met me at the top of the stairs bursting with news. “You’re not going to believe this,” she said. “While you were gone, buddy read his first sentence.”
I hugged my daughter. She would have nothing less. Then I followed her to the book, lit only by a night light, and squinted at the words my son had sounded out an hour earlier. “Cat can dig.”
I smiled real big and patted the head of my dreamer, already in bed.
Too soon–I figure– he’ll say, “I dreamed I was driving…”