Timeout

Rachel's baby dolls are in an extended timeout. That's because she woke up at 5:30 a.m., sobbing and trying to open her door. "I want BREAKFAST!" she said as I hurried in.

"What happened, sweetie?" I asked, cuddling her in the glider.

"I had a bad dream," she sniffled.

"What was it about?" I asked.

"The babies were yelling at me," she said.

"They did that before, didn't they?" I asked. "Let's take them out of your bed so they won't bother you. The baby dolls shouldn't be yelling at you."

"Mommy has bad dreams too, sometimes," I added.

"What about?" Rachel asked.

I mumbled something about work. Really, I've been having intense dreams the last two weeks that I'm back at the Oregonian working on a deadline story but I have to hide from the executive editor. Or I meet former Oregonian reporters at a park somewhere and we wind up talking about the paper. Or some of my friends leave the paper to go into academia.

I've also had dreams about editing a magazine.

So I took the baby dolls out of Rachel's bed and stashed them on top of the bookcase outside her bedroom, tucked her back into bed and left the room. I, of course, didn't get back to sleep for an hour, and then overslept. By the time I staggered out of bed this morning it was 8:15. Which means I didn't get into work until two hours after that. Not a good idea.

I was especially perturbed by Rachel's nightmare because she had tucked the dolls in so sweetly before she left for school on Tuesday. She put them on her pillow and covered them with one of her blankets. And now they're YELLING at her?? YELLING at my DAUGHTER? How dare they??

I think this timeout may possibly be permanent.