Sweet Dreams Are Made of This

My childhood memories are what the best dreams are made of.

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We were a family of eight, poor, but never knew it until much later in our childhood. My father worked for the railroad, and was gone days at a time.

My mother, the saint, raised 6 of us, married but, on her own. Financially, she needed to work outside of the home, so she chose to work in the school system. She kind of went through school with us.

Whenever my dad was home, he went out of his way to make up for his absence, and time he missed with us.

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He played like a kid.

He worked like a horse.

And, he told stories like a master story teller.

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He would take on the characters and bring a story to life.

If he was the troll in the story, he held a flashlight under his chin and demanded payment for crossing his bridge. He would chase us giggling down the hall, threatening to steal our piggy bank money.

If he was telling us the story of little boy blue, and tooted an imaginary horn, and tickled us into submission

If he read the velveteen bunny, he was the great and mighty wolf, watching and protecting all of his subjects.

He was the very best at telling scary stories at the campfire. And he was happy to relieve our leftover fears. Being the first father to hunt, catch and free our house and dark spaces under our beds and closets of any ghoul or monster.

He would carry a spray bottle with him, if we played after dark and spray it in the air to vanquish the boogie man and the dapper dinky doodler.

He created lovers of stories and story telling. I believe it is why my children love to read and why I write poetry.

He developed that passion of bringing words to life and introducing us to adventure outside of any monetary station. Adventure knows no boundaries

I have two grown daughters who are very attached and drawn to the creative side of life. One an avid reader, with hundreds of books and the other a fantastic artist

I thank my father for this endless journey of adventures he opened for us long ago.

I am helping raise my husband’s son Grayson, who is 18 months old. I wrote this bedtime story for him

I am excited to have the pleasure of creating new worlds of adventure for him to explore and teaching him that no matter where life takes you, books and stories have no boundaries.

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Let’s go on an adventure

I know you’re getting sleepy

I can see it in your eyes

It’s in your halted motion

And the pause of your replies

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I hear tired in your whispers

And you’re stretching every muscle

Just stop fighting little mister

Come sit with me and nuzzle

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Lets read a book, and rock a while,

I know that kiss me look.

That sleepy, I love you, smile,

you stole my heart just like a crook.

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It sure has been a busy day,

we did oh, so many things.

Told silly jokes and giggled,

all the game’s we played.

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The songs we made up and loudly sang.

And the wrestling we wrestled.

Running like wild mustangs,

spinning like Tasmanian devils.

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We had such fun, we growled and roared.

Like dinosaurs out in the sun.

We tested out our vocal chords,

invented our own fun.

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But now, it’s time to unplug.

Turn down the lights and covers.

Snuggle in deep, like bedbugs.

See what adventurers dreams uncover.

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No need to deny or fight it.

The signs are clear to see.

Just relax and close your eyelids,

breathe deep and sleep, sweet pea.

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Dream of grand adventures.

You’re the master of excitement.

Finding ancient treasures,

of fireworks, bright and vibrant

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You will conquer worlds of fancy.

Design wonders-no one knows.

Lions, tigers and chimpanzees,

even unicorns I suppose.

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So close your eyes, my little man

Rest your sleepy little head.

Drift away to dreamland.

Until daylight comes again.