Charlie woke up crying last night–frightened, we think, by his new big boy room. Over the sound of Wade’s snoring, I heard him sobbing and calling, Mommy! Mommy!’ I suspect that he woke up and went looking for me, but since the new room is on the opposite side of the hall from his old room, he ended up in the living room, not in our room, and beat a hasty retreat to his bed–and started yelling.

This morning I asked him why he was crying. ‘There was a tiger in my room,’ he said seriously. ‘Two tigers. They live at Target.’

‘Really?’ I said.

‘And a lion. He lives in a cave. In the sitting room.’

‘In our sitting room?’

Nodding, still seriously. ‘Yes.’ He thinks. ‘The tigers names were Henry and Charlie. And the lion’s name was . . . HARRY POTTER.’

Charlie practiced saying, ‘Shoo, tigers! Go back to Target!’ today, and at bedtime we practiced walking from his bed to my bed (which I am sure I will regret at 2:00 am when he can’t sleep). And we mused about why the tigers would like living at Target, and how the lion came to live in our sitting room.

Just another typical evening at my house.