Sometimes I want to put a camera in my daughters’ room.

Because I picture the way Kate must fall asleep, and I bet it’s damn funny.

Flora cuddles under her blankets. She lies down, piles on the comforter, curls around her lovey, and dozes off. Even while her sister continues to chatter and play with other stuffed animals.

I imagine Kate sitting on her bed playing until sleep takes her and knocks her over.

Kate is my unstill child. She wiggles; she squirms; she jumps and dances; she climbs on me during TV time — she’s not quiet.

I watched her at dinner last night, at a restaurant, create a whole story involving a magnifying glass, an action figure, her mac and cheese, and a board book about baby animals. It was fascinating.

I imagine Kate in bed, sending her stuffed animals (only two now) on an adventure, until an errant blink turns into lights out. Because how else would it happen?

She doesn’t lie down on her pillow. She doesn’t pull her covers up. I find her sprawled on her back, an animal sometimes clutched in one hand, occasionally a book over her face. And I know that up until the very second that consciousness departed for the evening, great things were happening. Things were afoot. Stories were being created.

I hope that her dreams take her onward.

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Sometimes the Internet is light and fun and we all kid around with each other in the comments.

Sometimes the Internet is mean, and it makes me want to hold people I don’t even know IRL.

At least most of the places I go aren’t boring though, right?