Taking the Bad Dreams Out | A Little Magic Before Bedtime

Bedtime at our house is...

Well...

It's an adventure.

If you've ever tucked in one child, you've probably tucked in seven.

There's always one more drink of water.

One more bathroom trip.

One more question that absolutely couldn't wait until morning.

Someone can't find their favorite blanket.

Someone suddenly remembers they forgot to tell you something incredibly important.

Someone else is convinced they're definitely not tired.

And somewhere in the middle of all of it, you'll hear a familiar chorus echo through the house.

"Gooooooo to bed!"

More than once.

Probably more than ten times.

Bedtime is loud.

It's messy.

It's wonderfully predictable.

But no matter how chaotic the evening becomes, there is one tradition that never gets skipped.

We take the bad dreams out.

Every night.

Every child.

No matter how old they are.

It starts the same way.

One of us sits beside the bed.

The room gets quiet.

Little eyes close.

Then, with the utmost seriousness, we carefully reach over and begin plucking every bad dream out of their head.

One by one.

The scary ones.

The sad ones.

The worried ones.

The ones about monsters.

The ones about being alone.

The ones they don't even have words for yet.

We gather them all up in our hands.

Then the child takes a deep breath...

And blows them far, far away.

Gone.

Just like that.

Then comes my favorite part.

We reach into our own heads.

Very carefully.

Because that's where we keep the good dreams.

We pull them out one at a time.

Dreams about adventures.

Dreams about dragons that become friends instead of enemies.

Dreams about flying.

About laughing.

About family.

About cozy cabins in the woods.

About running through open fields without a single worry in the world.

About knowing you're loved.

Then we gently tuck those dreams into the little head resting on the pillow.

Safe for the whole night.

Sometimes another adult comes in afterward.

Maybe they weren't the one who tucked that child into bed tonight.

Maybe someone just wanted one more hug before falling asleep.

Those children never seem to worry that they've already had their good dreams.

They simply ask,

"Can you put your good dreams in too?"

Of course we can.

Because I don't think it's possible to have too many good dreams.

Sometimes I wonder if they'll remember this tradition when they're grown.

Maybe they won't remember every bedtime story.

Maybe they won't remember how many times we reminded them to brush their teeth.

Or how often we lovingly called down the hallway,

"Gooooooo to bed!"

But I hope they remember this.

I hope that years from now, on a night when life feels especially heavy, they'll close their eyes and remember that someone once taught them they didn't have to carry every scary thought into tomorrow.

That it was okay to let some of them go.

I hope they remember what it felt like to believe, even for a few moments, that someone they loved could take away the scary things and replace them with hope.

Maybe that's why we've kept doing it all these years.

Not because we believe we can actually reach inside a child's head and rearrange their dreams.

But because we can remind them of something just as important.

That they never have to face the dark alone.

There will always be someone willing to sit beside the bed.

To listen.

To comfort.

To stay just a little longer.

To help carry what feels too heavy.

Maybe that's what love looks like in our house.

Not grand gestures.

Not perfect parenting.

Just a quiet promise whispered night after night.

"You don't have to keep the bad dreams."

And honestly...

I think that's a tradition worth holding onto.

So tonight, before you turn out the lights, maybe take a moment to imagine reaching into the mind of someone you love.

Take out the worries.

The fears.

The doubts.

Then replace them with courage.

With hope.

With joy.

With the reminder that tomorrow is another chance for something beautiful.

Because no matter how old we get...

I think we could all use a few more good dreams.

Until next time, there's always another chair by the fire waiting for you.

— Cara