Talking in My Sleep

Lying in bed on Sunday morning after a long, NATO night, the bed shakes slightly indicating that someone has crawled in with me. I can't even open my eyes, I'm so tired. I'm having a dream of Mad Men, (which I've never seen) that takes place in a model train layout, acted out by Barbie dolls. I don't want it to end. I know that it's absurd, and I'm enjoying it.

"I really like science, Mom."

"Mmm."

"I want to talk about why I like science. I think I'm going to be a scientist."

This is obviously important. I need to make an effort to be a good Mom and listen. "Hnh," is the best I can do.

"I like thinking about things. Science is a lot of thinking. You know, sometimes when I'm alone, or people think I'm not doing anything, I'm really thinking. I think about a lot of things, and science always gives you new things to think about."

"Srr...argle...mulfta."

"I'm going to be an astronomer. I know it's a lot of school and stuff, but school isn't bad when you study what you want to learn. I know I have to work on math. I'll need a lot of math. I'm not fast at math yet, but I will be, and then I'm going to be an astronomer. I think that's a lot of years of school."

"Ya...gompra...habbuti."

"I know that I might not be famous being a scientist, but I'll be doing important work. I think it's important to do work that's important. That might help people. I don't know what kind of astronomer I want to be yet. Maybe study gamma rays. You know a gamma ray burst can destroy a whole planet? I want to make sure that people are safe. I don't think I want to travel in space though. I'd miss you. I'd miss Earth."

"Me too."

"Okay. I just wanted to let you know." Pause. He's too old to kiss me unprompted most of the time, but this is normally where I would prompt him.

"I miss talking to you," I tell him.

"Okay."

"Love you."

"Love you too." He slips out of bed and I lay there, wondering if I just agreed to pay for twelve years of graduate studies. Then I fall asleep. Two more days of NATO ahead.

Wednesday afternoon we are driving to Hannah's dance class. Caleb picks up a thread of conversation where he left off several days earlier. "Mom, how do scientists get paid?"

I don't know what to answer. I think I tell him that he should affiliate himself with a research institution and apply for lots and lots of grants. Then I remember that I'm a teacher. I plug my specialty: "You could write articles and books."

He sighs. "That's what I was afraid of. Well, I guess I might have fun anyhow. I'll try."

The scientist with his circuit. It makes noise, and is light activated. Hence the darkened room.