During dinner last night, Little T was devouring my homemade spaghetti sauce and making me feel like Martha Stewart, Julia Child, and Ree Drummond, all rolled into one, and she mentioned that she knew she was going to have a good dinner tonight because her Dream Teller told her so.
Come again, daughter?
Your what?
That's right. She has a Dream Teller. Every morning, after a night of dreaming about cupcakes and unicorns and whatever other lovelies visit her while she is sleeping, her Dream Teller tells her what her dreams mean. Here's last night's:
Actually, I don't want to be a kid again: I want to be THIS KID.
* * *
