Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream...

As I was wiping the sleep out of Zach's eyes this morning I was suddenly hit with a memory from childhood I hadn't thought of since, well, probably childhood. One of the many great things I'm finding about motherhood is that it brings back so many memories of your own from when you were little.
When I was young, I'm guessing about 5 or so, my mother used to warn me that if I didn't go to sleep the Sandman wouldn't come. In all the naiveté of a 5 year old I would dutifully obey because I didn't want the Sandman NOT to come. I had no idea who this Sandman guy was, or why it was that he made a business out of delivering sand to children while they slept, but that didn't matter. My mother would deliver the line in such a way that it made it clear to me that I surely did in fact want the man to come.
Note to self - it's all in how you deliver the line to your kid to get them to buy into whatever crap you are giving them.
So my mom would turn out the light after we said our prayers together, kiss me goodnight, and leave the room. And I would lie there trying to picture this Sandman, and he was always HUGE with a sack slung over one shoulder. He was also redheaded with a big bushy beard, and wore clothes like he was something out of J.R.R. Tolkien book. With his sack in tow he would leap in my window, nimbly sprinkle sand into each corner of my eyes, and then out the window he would disappear on to the next child's house.
Why on earth I pictured things this way is beyond me. But I look forward to sharing the same fun with Zach when he's older.
And somehow figure out how to explain to him that while the Sandman is allowed in his bedroom at night, if he actually SEES a man (other than his dad) in his room at night that he should react by kicking that man in the balls and asking questions later.
If it turns out to be the Sandman, then we'll just deal with that when the time comes.