So, I haven't really had a memorable dream in a long time. Then, after being up with Bobby around 5am, I decided to sneak in one more hour of sleep, rather than just calling the night over and going downstairs for coffee.
I had one of the worst dreams. Ever.
In it, I was watching Jack and Charlie at football practice. The coach... for some insane reason... lined up the boys for tackling drills, and paired each of them with a member from the varsity squad. These kids look like giants next to my two -- who happen to be two of the smallest on the entire team. (Of course, what they lack in size right now, they totally make up for with heart. They're like the "Rudys" of PAL football. But I digress...) So I'm watching this with a very uneasy feeling. The older boys grab my boys' hands and each pair take off running for the tackling dummy. KA-POW! The older kids shrug off the impact, but my boys are left lying on the ground. Charlie manages to get up, takes off his helmet and starts walking away, but Jack is still and not responding. I leap from the bleachers and have the moment I have always dreaded -- which kid do I go to first if they're BOTH hurt? I glanced over at the trainer and coach attending to Jack and sprint after Charlie. He looks dazed, but relatively coherent. I tell him we need to go check on Jack, who is now conscious, but is completely out of it. I ask him what year it is, and he responds, "1932." Then he proceeds to tell me about how he and his friends are graduating from high school... At that point, I commence freaking out. There's a doctor who "magically" shows up (as people often do in dreams) and tells me to take him home and keep an eye on him. I'm all, "I don't think so. I mean, my child thinks it's 1932!" I begin piecing together any bit of head injury knowledge I have EVER picked up, and realize a brain injury only gets worse before it gets better. I begin obsessing over swelling, brain bleeds and cranial pressure. And I am convinced that Jack will not make it.
Soon after that, I woke up. My first thought is that wave of relief, realizing it had all been a dream. The second thing I realized is that I was crying. Really? Crying in my sleep? Never had that happen before. But oh. my. gosh. What a crazy dream!
About 10 minutes later, I went to the boys' room to make sure they were getting up. Charlie got up and came downstairs with me. I gave him such a tight "good morning" hug, and kissed the top of his head. I contemplated telling him about the dream, then decided against it. They are the most high-spirited, give-it-everything-they-have little guys. They run hard, tackle hard, go for the ball... I wouldn't want either of them to hold back simply because "Mom had a bad dream..." After Jack and Sam joined us downstairs and they were all getting ready for school, I did tell them both about the dream; but I made sure I told them that I love the energy they bring to the field, and I still want them to have fun and play well...
Just. Be. Careful.