So I'm up late again. Meal plannin', listenin' to pandora.com (thank you, John). I'm reading about schooling methods/parenting methods. One can never learn too much. This post, I'm going to talk about Monday, March 9th. It started out slow. Hubby came home after delivering his pharmacies, achy, nauseous, generally flu-like. He called a wonderful friend to work the rest of his deliveries, which he did. It's times like these, that I pull up my bootstraps (if I had any) and get on my single mom persona. I know that I will not have a break from the kids. At all. All day. Am I such a bad mom? I love them enough to take a bullet for them, but also need a break at times. Needless to say, I got a little pushy with oldest son's spelling practices. I got a little snappy at youngest's winey-butts. (That's what we call them).
So I will apologize. That I will do. I've learned that while I am still the parent, I know that when there is wrong--an apology required. Fast forward to Tues. night: I'm thinking that I don't listen to the kids enough. How can that be when we eat, breathe, school together? Maybe it's the mundane. Our voices become boring and common. So we get out a bedtime story, and with Youngest on my lap, Oldest on the swing (yes, they have a swing in their room) we read. After the book, we start talking of dreams. I've known for while that Oldest has pretty vivid dreams. My hypothesis is that he doesn't get much stage 4 sleep, and participates a lot in the REM dream sleep. (I'm yanking this from my college Psych, so if I'm not correct, let me know).
Without getting into all the details, he is having frightening dreams. One that especially caught me: he was being "stolen" if you will, from ghostly hands being on fire with horns, coming down from the clouds. I instantly felt a spiritual attack on him. Just last year, he accepted Jesus, and I know satan would like none other than to take him back. After talking to him a bit more, we prayed. I don't mean a cute little prayer. This was a prayer of a mother telling satan to get the hell out (literally). Even if that dream wasn't an attack, I still wanted to take precautions. I believe, firmly, that satan will not be back.
Well, tomorrow we go on another field trip with our Krispy Kreme group. They have a name, but I will henceforth refer to them as the KK group. (Don't add another K, please). We are going to the Art Center to see American Gothic. Awesome. And this one is at 11am--now that's more like it!
1 comment:
Liv was having nasty dreams of that nature earlier this year. We did the same thing. My mom had pointed out that we had never really gone through the house after it was officially ours and blessed everything. I think it makes a huge difference. I tend to be uncomfortable sleeping in places I haven't prayed for.
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