Back in the day when my children were small, an urgent voice would often wake me out of a dead sleep at night:
I’d jolt up, wondering what emergency brought my five year old daughter into the room to wake up her poor, exhausted mother. Was she sick? Was the house on fire?
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
Instead of saying, “You woke me up for this?” I’d zip my lip. Then I’d crowbar myself out of bed to stagger down the hall and turn on the bathroom light. I knew Camilla wanted the security of my presence. She also wanted me to turn on that light because she was scared of the dark.
I don’t like the darkness either. [Read more…]