Last week, my daughter woke me up out of a deep sleep and asked, "Mommy, what song were you singing in my dream?" When I protested that I was asleep and had no idea what I was singing in her dream, she chimed, "Don't be grouchy!"
Lately, my daughter has been telling me her dreams, and then asking me what I've dreamed. There is no way that I am going to burden her with the deluge of images and themes that go through my sleeping mind, so I'll tell her only the vaguest snippets of what I remember. "I dreamed I was in high school," I've told her, and "I dreamed I was planting bulbs outside a house that wasn't our house." Once, when I was still just waking up and was willing to say anything in the hopes that I could go back to sleep, I told her that I dreamed we had gone to our favorite restaurant and I ordered an Ammonite creampuff. Despite all that I did to try to convince her that (as far as I knew) no such confection existed outside of my dream, guess who tried to order a prehistoric themed bakery-item the next time we went out to dinner.