Hi Nate:
So while Theodore searched for the man who dreamed in murder mysteries, your Dad discovered that “The Secret Lives of Snores” was poking out of Theodore’s back . . .um . . . well I guess it was a pocket –that is, if Snores wear pants.
“Where is the man who dreams in murder mysteries?” Theodore demanded.
But Theodore was so engrossed by his quest that Dad managed to quietly and deftly pick Theodore’s . .. um . . . pocket without Theodore noticing. The book was back in our possession. Immediately, Dad started flipping through the pages.” There’s just one little thing I want to look up.” He explained.

But Dad needed to hurry. Things were starting to get very dire.
“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation.” Theodore said. “Either the man who dreams in murder mysteries gives himself up, and I become his Snore, or I will break up into a thousands of little pieces and you all will be snoring tonight.”
There was a collective intake of breath all around Ravinia. Everyone on the lawn drew back on their picnic blankets in fear.
“No!” Cried the first patron.
“Even the women and children?” Asked an agonized second patron.”
“Feel free.” Said the cranky patron. “Just ask the snore that’s already there to move over and make some room.”
“Theodore,” Dad said, “Let’s talk this over, before you do something you might regret.”
“Ha!” Theodore said. “I will never return. Never!”
“Theodore,” Dad started. “Has it occurred to you that even if you find a host with more exciting dreams, eventually, they will become dull to you, as well. Perhaps you should stop seeking fulfillment through another’s dreams, and look to yourself for fulfillment.”
Theodore looked at Dad. An odd expression crept over his face. Perhaps Dad had gotten through to him?
“Yeah, like I’m going to fall for that bunch of hooey. Ha!”
Ok, so Dad had not gotten to him.
“Who’s dreaming in murder mysteries? I’m giving you to the count of 10 to give yourself up, or it’s noisy nights for all of you. 1. 2.”
“We’ve got to do something!” I said.
“I’ve got this.” Dad assured me. “Theodore!”
“That’s enough out of you Captain Boring Pants. 3.4.”
“But I really am dreaming in sports games.”
“5.6.” Theodore paused his counting. “Ok, I’m mildly intrigued.”
“You see, every night for the past month I’ve been writing to my son at camp about everything that’s going on in the sports world. I’ve read so many articles, and caught the highlights of so many games, that I’ve started to dream in sports games.”
Theodore eyed Dad carefully. He walked over to Dad, looked up at him, and extended his arms towards your father. And just as your Dad was about to pick him up, Theodore slapped his arms and stepped out of reach. “Psych!!” He shouted. “I don’t want your stupid old sports games. I want murder mysteries. 7.8.”
Will Dad save the day or will Highland Park become renowned for it’s eerily noisy nights? Find out tomorrow.

Love and kises,

Mom