NOLA Notes

My husband talks in his sleep.  Often, it is things like, “Tell Bob I’ll call him back when I am off the phone with the distributor,” as if he’s going about his normal day-to-day affairs at work.  Does he really dream about returning business calls?

Early on in my discovery of his talking in his sleep, I was reading in bed and he was asleep.  He opened his eyes (they looked very red and dull) and he said, “You put glue in my eyes.”  He sounded like a petulant child with a heavy tongue.  I didn’t understand what he said so I asked him to repeat it.  He did, several times as he rubbed his eyes.  Then I realized what was happening, I chuckled and told him, “Oh, you will find this quite funny in the morning.”  He gave me a glare then rolled over and went to another dream.

Last night as I crawled into bed where he was already sleeping, he looked at me with his red-dull eyes and asked, “Which age?”  Of course, he had his splint in his mouth so I wasn’t sure what he asked and I got him to repeat it a couple of times.  Finally, I asked, “Do you mean how old?”  He responded, “Yes, how old?”  I asked, “How old is what?”  His answer back, “How old. . . cookies.”

Now, I am still not sure of what I heard.  But I guarantee there are no cookies in my house older than a week.  I don’t buy cookies or keep them around.  Maybe he was thinking of the school cookies we recently bought from a friend’s daughter that stay frozen until you cook them.  But even they are only a week old.

I did what I always do: I chuckled.  But this time I added, “Oh, I am SO blogging that.”  Maybe if it wasn’t NaBloPoMo I’d have skipped this story, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.