It's the little ones you hafta watch.

Bath Pingu also frightens me.

I am easily frightened. I think we all can agree on that. However, the other day my bravery reached an all new low.

I was taking advantage of a quiet/resting Nora by doing all sorts of exotic and glamorous activities in the upstairs bathroom; brushing my teeth, using moisturizer, contemplating a braid.

Glancing up into the mirror, I saw into Nora's open room through the reflection. I saw her crib, I saw her lovies, I saw...her miniature face staring at me through the bars, in a position she had clearly been holding for a good while.

She giggled at being seen. Maybe she also laughed at how hard my heart thudded against my ribcage. That's right, I was completely freaked out by the image of my own kid. The idea of anyone staring at me without my knowledge, no matter how related they may or may not be, still gives me a chill. Yup, even typing this- chill. And I don't know, but I'm pretty sure catching anything in a reflection is even creepier. Like- oh man, it's coming to get me and I haven't even turned around yet!

This could all easily be traced back to the misjudgment on my part of tearing through the entire series of Twin Peaks in two days. I pretty much always expect someone to crawl out of the furniture or dance backwards or do something equally terrifying.

On a somewhat tangential note- did anyone catch the Twin Peaks episode of Psych? Sheer, awesomesauce brilliance. They nailed it. Cadence, character, creepiosity...and poor P.J. barely saw any of it, due to my squeezing of his arm and squealing of his eardrums about that NAME and oh my goodness that's an ANAGRAM and that was the SONG they...(etc.) But it's okay. He wasn't a thousand percent invested as a) he oddly falls asleep towards the end of Psych episodes and b) he's actually never finished Twin Peaks. He's still pretty sure Laura Palmer's gonna be okay.

Back to the fears.

I really don't have a [shivery] leg to stand on, what with my penchant for scaring the bejeebers out of my poor parents. My Dad likes to tell the story of how I sleepwalked my way into the fridge. Or that time I made it outside. I personally like the time I ended up mid-staircase.

My Mom's zinger came the night I ended up standing over her sleeping body, staring evilly and chomping on something indeterminate. After a lot of incomprehensible babble [on my part] and prying of the jaws [on hers,] it was concluded that I had stolen the toothpaste cap and had attempted to grind it to death.

She put it back. And, I'm assuming, me as well. But man, what a freakish way to be woken!

That is why I- one thousand and two percent of the time- sleep with a blanket over my ears and up to my forehead, making a little tent for breathing room. (I tried to get my sister Kate to help me invent elastic straps to keep sheets securely fastened to the ears- but nooo.)

It's a well known fact that the mere presence of a blanket acts as a barrier to all sorts of undesirables: axe murderers, ghosts, vampires, hooligans, ruffians, and cats.

Okay, it actually encourages the cats.

I really hope Nora hasn't inherited these phobias from me. I'm pretty sure she's okay so far, given that she's the toughest thing around. From falling onto her back [Oh wowww] to laughing like a loon when upside down (something her folks have never and will never be cool with for themselves), she's a Brave Little Toaster already.

And P.J.'s a pretty brave guy, what with the [reluctant] hunting of That Sound Downstairs and going outside at all hours to Have A Word With The Neighbors.

He's already planning on taking big kid Nora to theme parks for their birthday week. I can just see them now- rollercoasters, splash rides, crazy spinny things in the dark...

...And I'll see them just fine from my perch on the kiddie carousel.