June woke up this morning with something very important to say. It was a bit hard to decipher but was eventually unencrypted: "Lala* flied in the sky."
"Louise flew in the sky?"
"What were you doing?"
"I closing my eyes in my sheets."
Do you remember those vivid flying dreams of childhood? I had two I was convinced were real, one where I slowly floated up the red-carpeted staircase and around the upstairs of my childhood home; and another where I drifted up off of a beach, caught up by the wind, until I was hovering a hundred feet over the water looking down at the people below.
Note: Apparently it was a busy evening for magic realism in our household. When Louise was asked if she remembered any dreams from the night before, she responded "I dreamt about Papa except he didn't look like Papa. He was a pig, and we went on adventures together."