I’m still afraid of the dark.
It can be a real problem reassuring your kid that there’s not a monster under their bed when the prospect of bending down and lifting up the dust ruffle to peer into the black abyss in the dead of night sort of gives you the creeps.
My kids don’t help the situation much. I don’t know what other children are like, but Anders and Danica are downright creepy at times.
“Mom, there’s a man in my room. He doesn’t have a face and he lives in my closet.”
Just one example of the hair-raising things Anders has said to me lately. The rational part of me knows he is a kid with an over-active imagination and at times an inability to distinguish dreams from reality. But the part of me that has read one too many Stephen King novels and watched hundreds of scary movies wants to sell our house and move to a place that someone verifies in writing is not built on top of an ancient Native American burial ground.
Any other wimpy parents out there? Let’s unite! (Preferably in a well-lit room.)
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