By Annabelle Hawes, from Vermont, writing about her two youn children.
My children come into my bed in the morning. They press themselves on both sides of me and I breathe in their warmth. Their sighs stretch out and their limbs grow limp when the fall back asleep. I wake them again in time for school and ask about their dreams. Elizabeth often remembers hers, they are elaborate schemes of animals and natural events. Bradley dreams mostly of places we have been and things we have seen, but he doesn't recall the details often. He dreams of monsters sometimes. Elizabeth fears holes. They both believe that there is a certain pink stuffed animal monkey in our household who is responsible for bad dreams and they refuse to have this creature in their rooms. I love to listen to them speak, to hear what is meaningful to them. But that is how we know anyone, isn't it? We then discuss breakfast or the weather or the plans for the day. "It is cold today, Elizabeth you need to wear a sweater." Or,"Bradley you have library today, do you know where your book is?" It's nice (this morning meeting) before we toss back the covers and attend to the day.