"Do you ever get rabid thoughts?" asked my seven-year-old daughter in a rather serious tone as I tried again to tuck her into bed last night. We'd stayed up a little late to watch It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown on DVD, and as a result she was a little energized by bedtime. (I would be concerned by the degree to which she laughed at Lucy yanked the football away from Charlie, but my daughter later frown and admitted that Lucy really isn't very nice.)
"Rabid thoughts?" I asked. I was sure I'd misheard.
"Yeah. I keep getting them, and I can't calm down."
Confounded, I asked again. "Rabid??"
She nodded and tried again to find comfortable position in her bed. "You know, like when all these thoughts come into your head when you're not thinking of anything, and they don't have anything to do with what you're doing."
Like an archaeologist deciphering the Rosetta Stone for the first time, understanding hit me. "You mean random!"
In my defense, I was also tired, and so cannot be blamed entirely for the laughing fit we both fell into. Suffice to say I didn't exactly help calm her down for bed.
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