So this morning at about 7:00AM, a very groggy and disoriented Tyler ambled into my room.
"Dad?" he said, leaning over the side of my bed.
"What's up, buddy?" I answered, yawning and blinking awake (sort of).
"The house..." he began, trying hard to form the complete concept in his sleepy mind. "The house... has shifted."
"I'm sorry? What was that?" I blinked again.
"The house..." (another pause) "...has changed directions."
Aha, I thought to myself. On Friday, all the industrial waste trucks come to collect the dumpster garbage around, which starts about 7AM. Combined with Tyler's occasional somnambulism (and vivid dreaming), I could see what might give him a sense of movement beyond his own body.
"The house hasn't moved, buddy."
"No, it hasn't. Why don't you go back to sleep..."
Then he leaned over further, gave me a hug, and shuffled back to his room.
This is my world of parenthood.