The Blow-up Brush

I grew up in a house with a mom, a dad, three sisters, one bathroom, and one brush (actually, my dad had a brush also, but he [wisely] didn't share it with the girls. And I have a brother too, but he wasn't born until after I grew up).

To say it was a little nuts in the mornings before school would be an understatement. It seemed that whenever it was time to go somewhere, the brush was MIA.

One morning I went into my parents' dim bedroom to ask my mom if she knew where the brush was.

"It's right here," she mumbled groggily. I could barely see her hand reaching out to me in the dark.

Relieved, I made my way to her bedside to get it from her, but was startled when I touched her empty hand. "Mom," I said, "Where is it?"

"It's right here."

"No it isn't!"

"Yes it is. It's a blow-up brush." She had never talked to me in her sleep before. I began to laugh uncontrollably as I left her room to continue looking for the brush.

She called after me, annoyance in her voice, "Stop laughing at me! You don't understand. It IS a blow-up brush."

I laughed even harder. I couldn't help it.

I don't remember what happened after that because it was such a long time ago. I don't even know how old I was, but it is one moment from my childhood that still makes me smile.

I read a blog post by a lovely writer who said that "hearing someone [talk in his/her sleep] is so funny it's like a little treat for being human."

I agree completely.