sueeeus

a hummingbird in December

I’m taking it as a sign of some sort.  It will present itself eventually.  I hastened to clean and fill the feeder, in the hopes it will soon return.  My mom loves birds.

~*~*~*~

I’m going to tell you my dream, Mama.  And some of my thoughts.  I want to hear about your dream, Mama, and what it looked and felt like from where you are.  We will compare notes!

We are in the spirit, so we present ourselves in joyful child form, sparkling little girls.  You with your platinum curls, golden eyes, and milky white skin, me with my wispy brown waves that won’t stay out of my face (I get that from you, by the way).  We are wearing fluffy dresses and roller skates, regular Shirley Temples!  I take your hands and we clasp them criss-cross.  We are in the spirit and I assure you that we can do this.  After all, I saw it done at Teatro Zinzanni!  We are on a circular pedestal and we begin to skate in a spinning circle, round and round, faster and faster.  We are joyful little girls, skating our hearts out, giggling with delight.  I’ve explained to you that as we spin, we are weaving a web of light, and we are opening a portal to heaven.  Because we are getting ready to do some healing work.  We need a strong beam that will serve as a funnel, a tornado of light that will draw the poisons and sufferings out from our beings and incinerate them with the fire of heaven.

We spin together, round and round, faster and faster, and we weave a funnel like a beehive, with thick honey golden coils, but it’s not enough.  We need a pyre with the strength of a hurricane for what we are to do.  The dream changes, and we are no longer little girls.  I’ve summoned the siblings and we are all here, your tribe, all of us, in the spirit.  We are joined together hand in hand, encircling you, tenderly.  You are a slight and elder form, seated on a cushion or a couch, maybe your hospital bed.  You glow with an ethereal platinum light, and we, your tribe, glow brightly with a golden white light.  You are not strong and we radiate a cushion of warmth that surrounds you and holds you so that you can rest and float and allow the poisons and sufferings to flow out when heaven’s gate is opened.  Our hands clasped, we form a tribal circle and dance around a blazing fire.  It’s a magical display, a joyful pow-wow.  There is so much energy as we dance and celebrate and rejoice and love.  The fire blazes stronger and stronger and the golden tendrils of light weave together, stronger, tighter, stronger, tighter, forming a blazing tornado of golden white light.  The tornado blazes, tended by the tribe.  You and I are back to little girl form, two Shirley Temples, seated in the center of the tornado, where it is quiet and still.  My arm is around you and I’m the big sister now.  You feel lost and afraid; you are small.  I hold you and comfort you and assure you that I will protect you, that you don’t have to be afraid, you don’t have to know what to do, you don’t have to know who to be or how to be.  You can just rest and I will hold you and take care of you.  I’ve got you.  We are in the spirit, I say.  See?!  You relax and melt into my embrace.  I brush a wisp of your platinum hair from your sweet face.  Now we are ready.  I hold you, you beautiful, pure, innocent and precious child.  You are wrapped in my embrace, and we are wrapped in the holy blazing embrace of heaven.  We are in the still place where time and space have no meaning.  The space between.  Where our molecules and our energy are distinct, and we swim about through the waves and fields of the essence of our being.  Here we find the poisons and sufferings and draw them out, out, out, like the way a log jam collects and grows and is gently yet persistently carried downstream towards a waterfall, the poisons are pulled through the blazing tornado, seared, clarified, and absorbed into heaven’s embrace.  We swim and stir up the waters to release more sufferings.  We extend our reach to embrace those near us, our beloveds; we are all in the spirit in this cosmic goo, so we beckon their sufferings out and away, to send them back to become one with heaven, too.

There were other dreams.  So many dreams.  I showed you my chedvah place with the bright pea pod green grass and blue blue sky.  I showed you my sleeping diamond-skinned dragon mother-ship.  We climbed inside the ship, two little girls, and hid and played.

And I helped you see, from my eyes, how worthwhile your life has been, how you always did the best that you knew how to do, how your part brought about deep and widespread blessings, and how thankful I am for you.

~*~*~*~

Somewhere in the night I had a moment of conviction in which the clear act of faith is to go ahead and book the vacation rental house for our summer celebration of life and family, and to boldly assume that we will celebrate her birthday together in February as planned.

I hope she feels strong enough to continue earthly living.  For myself, I think about the sunset years, and there is a hope to share the sweetness of age with my dear sisters.  I wish for my mom and her sister to be able to share more of their sunset together.

And selfishly, we all wish for Mom to want to hold on, because we’re just too tired to process more loss right now.

I wonder at what point in my life I became a be-yotch.  My boyfriend says that I am.  (Sometimes.)  I generally don’t think of myself in those terms, but I was looking through pictures of myself recently, and the face looking back at me doesn’t look all that nice.  I’m not quite sure how I’d describe her.  She doesn’t look very happy.  The smile doesn’t look very convincing.  If there’s a smile at all, that is.  I scrolled through my Facebook pictures, months, years back, looking for a reflection of happiness.  There are some photos where I’m snuggling with my kiddos.  Those photos show the me that I think I am.  So many photos I thought were pretty when I posted them now look empty and frayed.

He often says that I’m mean to him.  It always baffles me that he feels that way. He says that I should be nicer.  Again, I’m baffled.  Well, maybe not so much.  I’m finding myself once again at a distance, behind a safety wall that continues to grow.  So I suppose it’s not a stretch to say that I should be nicer.  I would very likely be nicer if I weren’t hiding behind that wall.

I would like to figure out how to stand tall with no walls.  To move about freely.  This is who I am.  I am standing here, in this space, right now.  This is where I am.  I can be here.

Ugh.  I’m so exhausting!

I had a dream last night in which I was single, and was attending some sort of work-related social function.  It may have just been a lunch break.  I was seated at a round table with two guys.  We are all professionals, but I’m not sure their respective fields, but they are friends.  One guy is doing most of the talking.  We are having some sort of conversation, but he is doing most of the talking.  He’s very smart (or at least he talks a good game), and he’s not bad looking either.  We’re wrapping things up, and I say to him, “You’re smart.  You’re young.  You’re cute.  I like you.”  I thought I was complimenting  him and letting him know I’d be interested in seeing him again.  I followed it up with, “Normally I’m not so direct and so succinct, but I’ve got so much to do and have to be going…”   …his response took me by complete surprise.  He was offended and said that the way I spoke to him was abusive.  I was remorseful for my abruptness.  The thoughts that spun through my mind were along the lines of regret that what I said had ruined any chances I might have had for a future with that guy.

Crazy.

Now that I write it out, clearly it’s a rehash of my boyfriend’s sentiments.  And mine too, I suppose.

I had a dream last night in which I was getting away by myself, taking a long, fast-paced walk.  I was in the country or a hilly park, and I was moving quickly.  It might have been early morning or nearing dusk, or it may have just been an overcast day.  I passed a couple of men who were approaching a field, and they may have been on their way to go fishing.  I noticed a bear in the field.   A young grizzly.  I made sure to stay clear of it, and vaguely wondered how the men would fare, as their path was more in direct line with the bear.   I actually thought to call out to them, to warn them, but I thought that might do more harm than good, since it would alarm the bear.  I concluded that they would shortly discover the bear on their own, and would likely steer clear of it as well.  I hoped all would be well for all of them.

I thought it was strange to see a bear in such a place, but not completely unheard of, as I continued forward.  I was much more surprised to come upon three lions, hunkered in the grass.  One was a big male, with the full mane, and the other two were females.  Again, I steered clear, and tried not to catch their attention.  They showed no interest in me.

When I stumbled upon the rhinoceros, I thought to myself, this is a bit much.  I’m not in a zoo, so why on earth would there first be a bear, then lions, and now a rhino in this area???!  The rhino was running away, clambering out of a water hole and up the far bank, in a hurry.  So I wasn’t in any danger.  I suppose it might have been a hippo.  It was large and grey.  It was moving fast, and wanted to get away from me, whatever it was.

I rounded another bend and spied a tiger in the grass.  Only this time, the tiger spied me as well.  We locked gazes.  Oh crap, I thought.  What am I going to do now?  I continued, as nonchalantly as I could, keeping as wide a berth as possible.  I kept my eyes on the tiger, and he kept his eyes on me, but he didn’t pounce and he didn’t charge, but he looked like he could at any moment.  I didn’t have adrenalin coursing through me, and I wasn’t terrified, but I was concerned for my predicament, that could very easily end very badly.

I woke up, distraught, and heard myself narrate the dream out loud.  I don’t know who I thought I was speaking to, but for some reason, I felt like I had to give voice to the dream.

~*~*~*~*~

Now that I’m awake, a song from Les Mis comes to mind (I dreamed a dream).  “And the tigers come at night, with their voices soft as thunder.  As they tear your hope apart and they turn your dreams to shame.”

Interesting, only just now I realize the name of that song is “I dreamed a dream”.  It’s also interesting that neither the bear, the lions, nor the rhinoceros posed any threat.  The tiger was the only one to be wary of.

I shall have to ponder this more.  Perhaps I can map what the animals represent.

I don’t sleep enough.  I would very much like to sleep more.  Some things can be done to improve this — the part where life’s a balancing act and something has to give.  I can always work on rebalancing, and not giving up sleep in lieu of ‘me’ time or other things.   I’m not sure what can be done about waking children.  If it’s not one, it’s the other.  I want them to always feel safe and secure, and shield them from any turmoil that churns within me.  I want.  I don’t always succeed.

I was in the middle of a dream when I heard LB crying this morning.  It was a dream about the dating circuit, I think.  I was on my way to meet a man.  He had a name, but now I can’t recall what it was.  Mike, possibly.  I parked my car at a bar (a little more cadence and this could be a grown up Dr. Seuss style book — Doctor Sueeeus…  Ha!  Note to self:  tag for future sarcastic writing /  art project…)  and at the same time a very clean cut biker dude was walking by, to enter the bar.  He had unscuffed pale cowboy boots that were very close to his skin color.  He had a bearded face, but the beard was short and tidy.  There was not a bit of roughness about his look — no weathered skin, no beat up leathers, no ink or visible piercings, no bad ass attitude.  He had a bottled water and was complaining there was no place to properly recycle the bottle top, as he threw it in the yard.  (This annoyed me.  He could have put it in a pocket or dealt with it later or in another less offensive and more responsible way.)  He was self secure and there was no hint of lacking confidence.  Even though he dressed like a biker dude and was entering the venue of a biker dude, he seemed out of place by appearance, but he was fully confident and not subject to external influences such as the expectations of what a biker dude should be.  I noted all of this in the once over I gave him, and concluded that he’s a boring engineer.  I said “Hi.”

I must have asked him if he knew the man I was going to meet (who lived next door –yep, next door to a biker bar), wondering if I had the right address.  He confirmed, and actually knew the guy.  Next scene, the two of us approach the house.  There is a screen door and I can see through the house to the back, there is a man outside near a short chain link fence (this is turning out to be a biker bar residential trailer trash neighborhood, it seems).  I wave to him in greeting, and he comes into the house.  Meanwhile, the biker dude opens the screen door and walks right in as if he owns the place.  He has a six pack under one arm –I think it was beer, and remember noting that it seemed out of place because neither guy seemed like the beer drinking type, and I am certainly not myself.  The date looks at me, at him, and a fleeting expression of ‘WTH is this guy doing here with her’ crosses his face, but he masks it quickly since he’s a very nice guy.  They exchange hellos, since they know each other, and I walk up to the guy and give  him a hug, introducing myself.  “Hi, I’m Sueeeus.”  He is very short and very slight, but lean and wiry, somehow more masculine than the pseudo biker dude.  I could crush him.  He has dark brown hair, a pleasant face, and intelligent eyes.  I take note that I have no physical attraction to him at all.  He explains that he had planned for us to watch a movie.  I can see that he is internally scrambling to adjust his date plans, with the addition of the third party present.  He describes the movie –it’s a children’s movie, G rated animation.  “Oh, I know the one!”, I exclaim.  “I like that movie.  Iron Man.”  (In the dream it made sense that it was an animated G rated Disney or DreamWorks type film, even though it was Iron Man.)

I can see in the instant expression that crosses his face that he is disappointed.  Disappointed that the other guy showed up.  Disappointed that I’m not into him, and that this will be a first and last date.  He’s a nice guy, and puts on a smile anyway.  He doesn’t seem to notice or perceive that I’m not into the biker dude either.  The pseudo biker dude is just there, oblivious to the situation that he is actually intruding upon a date, being inconsiderate to his friend (and me).  I size all this up and decide that it doesn’t matter that the biker dude came along, since I’m not into either of them; there’s no relationship potential.   I’m not sure why he came along, in the first place.  He doesn’t give any impression of being into me.  He may just be socially oblivious.

The dream ends with the three of us preparing to watch the movie.  More might have unfolded, but I heard LB crying.

Before, or interspersed with that, was another dream in which I was at another person’s house. I think it was my daycare, in fact.  I needed to use the bathroom.  Usually I’d wait for the comfort of my own home, but apparently my bladder was insistent.  For some reason there was limited privacy, so I wanted to take care of it as quickly as possible.  I started to go, and saw from the corner of my eye that my sitter’s husband was approaching.  I scrambled, made some noise so he would know I was there and not barge in on me, and flushed the toilet.  Only it clogged.  I was distraught.  How could it clog when I’d only peed and not even finished.  Urgh, what an uncomfortable feeling, to halt that flow part way through.  And then to have to contend with a clogged toilet that I didn’t even clog, and potentially have to excuse or explain myself to him.  It was his house, after all.  I was embarrassed.  I scanned for a plunger, found one, and tried to unclog, working furiously so that I’d have the situation fully taken care of by the time he got to the door, a bit frantic as the water level kept rising.  I was hoping hoping hoping that it wouldn’t overflow and leave me with an even bigger mess to clean up.  I felt irritated, having to deal with someone else’s crap (literally…) which manifested as my own problem.  Just in time, I plunged again, the clog gave way, the water receded and drained properly.  I washed my hands and made my exit, relieved to be over with it, but still strained and stressed from the ordeal.

Obviously, I missed the most obvious.  Like I said, a bit slow on the uptake.

So, the whole oldest profession thing has sort of been gnawing at me, and after another sleep cycle to let my brain rest, it occurred to me that the point may very well be that I don’t have to compromise myself.  At all.  Ever.  (I just thought I did, being caught up in everything, and all.)

Duh.

I am not always the sharpest tool in the shed.  Especially when it comes to matters of a personal nature.  While metaphors may be completely obvious to some, I’m a bit slow on the uptake.  It helps to write things out.  So these are the representations that I’ve come up with.

1. The oldest profession
   Woman compromises self to serve man
2. A situation with no apparent choice; no alternatives
   The decision to file for divorce
3. Office building
   Business, not personal
4. Modern architecture, pecan colored wood with smoked glass windows
   Warm, clean, new, private, not foreboding, not seedy.  Legitimate.
5. Receptionist
   Judge; court system.  The avenue or agent through which the arrangements for a different life are made.
6. Room 3D
   The way to a multi-dimensional life
7. The clientele; young, pleasant people, having fun, comfortable with themselves, on a journey
   Representative of another life, freedom, happy-go-lucky, adventure
8. A black man and a white man
   Things are black and white (or not black and white)
9. Broken glasses
   Flawed perspective
10. Shattered right lens
    The right perspective or view is not available or impossible to see clearly
11. Expensive glasses
    Perspective is valuable and important
12. Skinny blond, getting ready to party
    Representative of fun
13. RV/ATV
    Recreational vehicle is representative of play.  Specifically an ATV; all terrain, flexible, rugged, can handle all situations
14. Condoms
    Safety, care, caution, no compromise.
15. Female condoms
    Take care of self
16. Clear and shiny color
    Obvious, nothing is hidden.  Honest.  Truthful.
17. Two-pack
    Doubly or twice as significant or  important
18. They were the first choice
    This is significant
19. Purple package
    Royal?  External appearance not necessarily indicative of what’s inside
20. Black condoms
    Unclear, shrouded, dark, not fully trustworthy?  –or, over the hill, as in black balloons
21. Arcade lights, corner shopping center
    Vegas?
22. White pjs
    Innocent sex life?
23. Kids left alone
    Where was their dad and why wasn’t he watching them?  Unavailable.  Not there.  Out of the picture.  Unable to count on or depend upon.
24. Allowing myself to question the situation
    Fear and confusion can completely disarm, and trick us into thinking we are trapped with no alternatives
25. Field
    Open.  No secrets.

I think, through this exercise, the thing that jumped out at me the most, is the part about the importance of taking care of myself.  And maybe also that no matter what I decide, whether to go through with this divorce or dismiss it, that it will be okay.

I had come to a turning point where I found myself with no other options, so I opened the smoked glass front door of the quasi-modernistic pecan colored office building (a warm, wooden structure), and stepped inside.  It wasn’t a seedy place, by any means.  It was clean and quiet.  There could be any assortment of businesses operating from within these walls.  I spoke to the receptionist and inquired, in a ’round-a-bout way, how one would arrange a business transaction if one had never done that sort of business before.  It was the oldest profession in the world, but it was unfamiliar territory to me.

She made me an appointment.  This is a double, she said.  A double?  It’s just as well.  I accepted the appointment.  I needed the business, and even though it was new to me, I had no other options, so I was grateful.  I wasn’t really in a position to give too much more thought to it, other than it was something that I had to do.  Stay the course.

The day arrived.  I returned to the building, and the receptionist greeted me with a nod.  I was feeling embarrassed, starting to question whether I really should be there.  I timidly asked her where I might find Room 3D, and she pointed down the hall, to the right.  I walked down the hall, vaguely wondering what circumstances brought these clients to this place.  Was this their home?  There were many questions, but I didn’t stop to give them much hold.  I knocked on the door and went in to meet them.   I had assumed they would be men, and they were.  But there was also a woman in the room.  I was a bit puzzled, but didn’t jump to any conclusions.

The one who opened the door was a black man, relatively young, maybe in his early thirties.  He was fit and good-looking.  There was a white man, and the woman.  I didn’t notice anything remarkable about the white man.  I was relieved that they weren’t old, greasy, smelly, skanky and creepy men.  They seemed pleasant enough.  Even normal.  Although, I must say, the thought crossed my mind as to what circumstances cause people like that to make these, uh, arrangements.  (It turns out they were going on a trip the next day.  Europe, I think.  This was just a stop, and they were just here for a while, having some fun.  Seems reasonable enough.)

The woman was sitting on a four-wheeler in the living room.  It seemed a bit odd for an ATV to be in the living room, but it wasn’t any of my business.  It wasn’t dirty, or anything.  Maybe that office space was also used as a recreational vehicle showroom or something.  Anyway.   She was skinny and blonde and sort of reminded me of a rocker chick, like the one on Guitar Hero.  She had those low rider distressed blue jeans on.  She said something about going to get some stuff to party with, and left the room.  So I figured she was going to be back and somehow be involved.  I was wondering what on earth I’d gotten myself into, but there I was, and I decided not to get worked up or freaked out, but to just stay calm and not jump to any conclusions.

The black guy was cheerful and gregarious.  He was at the moment concerned with his glasses, which he was holding in his hand.   Look, he said, they’re broken, and it’s a bummer because they’re really expensive glasses!  He was fairly animated about it.  I politely took them and inspected them, turning them over in my hands.  They were heavy, not a bit flimsy, and did indeed have an expensive feel to them.  They were dark stylish metal frames, smooth shiny black with nice boxy lines.  Italian, or maybe French.  Very nice.  The lenses were clear, but the top corner of the right lens was completely crushed.  Useless.  A real shame.  I handed them back to him.

So.  Back to business.  The reason I was there.  I was trying not to sound nervous, but had to ask the question, before any, uh, business commenced.  Do you have condoms?

No.

No?

No.

Well, I didn’t have any.  It’s not the kind of thing I think about.  I’ve not particularly lived a lifestyle that required them.  But this was new ground, and one thing I knew (even though I was completely unprepared) was that it was ab.so.lute.ly necessary.

There weren’t any hard feelings and the discussion wasn’t all that awkward.  Calm.  Businesslike, I suppose.  I agreed to run to the drug store and acquire the tools of the trade.  Amateur.  I sauntered out, and thought to check on my boys, to make sure they were okay.  BB was supposed to be watching LB while I was out.  I peeked in their room, and there was LB, perched high on top of a cabinet, holding a blue dryer ball in each hand (they are used for fluffing the clothes in the dryer –the boys love to play with them).  He had a good hold of them.  Very controlled.  And he was well balanced and didn’t look to be in any danger of falling.  Still.   It reminded me of a scene from Kung Fu Panda, in which Panda was perched on the ceiling beams, in perfect control of the situation, munching happily on some treat.  I closed the door and hurried down the street, thoughts of guilt and abandonment starting to seep in.  I need to hurry up, get this over with, and get back to my kids.  I kept going, until I reached the big store on the corner.  It had dark glass walls, and lots of twinkling lights lining stairs, doorways, windows, and elevators.  Sort of like a dance club, actually.  But it was a shopping center.  Maybe like something you’d see in Vegas.  I’d been there before, in a dream.  I remembered the place — when I’d been before, there was a room on the second floor with racks of pajamas, all white, in my size range, and I was quite pleased to have stumbled upon it, given my penchant for pajamas.  But there wasn’t any time for browsing.  I had a commitment to meet.  I rushed in, past the racks of souvenirs and knick knacks that seem to be present in every drug store, scanning the aisles.  A sales lady approached and asked if I needed help finding anything, just as I spied the rack I needed.  “No, I’m good.  Thank you!” I said brightly.

I quickly scanned the selections.  There were quite a few choices, but what first caught my eye was a two-pack of clear cylindrical items that were apparently the female version.  Interesting.  I picked up a package and noticed a bowl filled with single purple packets.  I picked one up and looked at the label.  Apparently the contents were black.  Interesting.  They’ll work.  I grabbed a handful, made my purchase and headed back.

And finally, finally, I thought to myself, why am I doing this?  Why on earth do I think this is my only option?  What made me think this was my only option?  I don’t need the money.  I don’t need this.  I don’t need to do this.  I don’t want to do this.  I don’t have to do this.  I didn’t go back.

We were all walking in a field, me, Gadget, BB and LB.  It was late afternoon, not quite dusk.  I turned to Gadget and said, “There’s something that I have to tell you,”  and proceeded to recount what I’d done.

And then I woke up.  And marvelled at the sheer detail of the dream.

In the next installment, I might delve into dream interpretation.  Such an abundance of metaphors.  So many details.  Colors, thoughts, numbers, emotions.  I’m a strong believer in the healing power of sleep, and I also believe that sometimes dreams are our brains’ way of working through things that we haven’t processed completely while awake.  This one will take some thought.

I wasn’t going to bother writing anything today, but some other blogs have inspired me.

Last night I had an awful dream. My babies were taken from me. It was excruciating. I fought for them, but I was helpless. It was so vivid, and I woke up sobbing when I reached that point in the dream where I had reached my limit of frustration and hurt. In real life, my beautiful boy sprung up from his bed (which is along side mine, I know, I know), kissed me on the cheek and said, “Don’t cwy, Mommy, it’s okay.” He then went back to his pillow, but he kept saying, “It’s okay, Mommy, it’s just me, don’t cwy.” I think he assumes that I think there is a ghost or a monster, so he assures me that it’s just him.  No ghost!  No monster!  My heart aches with love for that child.  My beautiful, beautiful boy.

I was afraid to ponder that dream.  I had a girl and my boy.  I was possibly younger, maybe a teenager.  And it seemed that it was my mother who took the children from me.  That makes no sense, really.  Or maybe it does, in some deep place that I don’t want to really delve right now.  My boy was the same age as he is now, and my girl was a baby, maybe one year old or so.  My girl!  I have a girl!  My heart was elated, that these were my children.  My boy.  My girl. But they were taken from me, wrenched from me, and I was helpless, no matter how I fought for them.  I can’t even begin to describe the feeling, the sorrow.

I didn’t want to ponder, because I’m holding on to so much hope for this life that is growing within me.  And it’s terrifying to try to sort through those thoughts and feelings that took place in the dark of the night.

And then, I visited Bec-and-Call.  And today, Bec writes about an amazing dream she had.  And after that, I visited Sooz, in which she writes about an apology, and reading her post brought goosebumps to my skin.  (Sooz, I hope you don’t mind that I’ve copied from your post.)

But I feel the pain of even imagining having my babies taken from me, of being taken from my mother, of watching my siblings ripped from the family hearth.

…The images of forced separation I have in my mind, the stories only recently come to light, fill me with such deep deep sorrow. How can we not say sorry? How can we not see and recognize the hurt felt by those who have suffered what is surely every child’s, every parent’s worst nightmare.

…I cried, cried like a little girl scared of being taken from her mother. And I wanted to say something about that. I am sure my apology means nothing to any of those who have experienced the kind of loss I can only begin to imagine.

And so I wonder if maybe there is no ominous or foreboding interpretation, but simply my heart and my spirit crying out in the night for those others who have had their babies taken from them.  And even with what I felt, it still cannot begin to compare.

I’m humbled.  It’s not about me.

A piercing scream. I rip the breathing apparatus from my face and leap from the bed as my child emits another shrill, piercing scream. It’s 3 a.m. Hearts pounding. Holding him close. Comforting him. A bad dream? A spider on his face? I tear his bedding apart, looking for any creepy crawly evidence. None found. Could it have been the wispy edge of the curtain, brushing against his face? Possibly. He sleeps like a helicopter. His head may be on the pillow when first he falls, but through the night he turns and twists and ends up under the bed, half on, half off, or upside down. There’s no telling. This night his face was at the foot, near where the curtains fall. It could have been the tickle of the wispy light drapes on his face. Or was it truly a night terror?

Such a troubling start to a Monday morning. My heart aches for what could cause him such terror. Driving back from daycare, through the fog in my brain, I catch a moment of the morning radio show. Health clips. The topic? Night terrors. The doctor explains that virtually all children who experience night terrors are well-adjusted, and that it doesn’t indicate issues with their mental and emotional health. Moreover, children seldom remember the night terror after they fall back asleep.

It was like manna from heaven. Perfect words at the perfect time to set an anxious mother’s heart at ease.

And there’s even better news. We’ve been making great strides in the potty training endeavor. At the ripe age of two and three fourths, he’s starting to get it.

Of course we make a big production of it.

First, the announcement.

“Ohhhhhhhh, I have to go POTTTTTTTTT-EEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

And then we spring into action. “Hurry!” “Try to hold it ’til we get there!” “Let’s get those pants off!” “Hurry!”

And the chorus. “Hurry!!! Hurry! Hurry!!!”

Sometimes there’s a struggle over wanting to bring a companion toy along for the event. Then there’s the decision as to whether to use the stool or not. Or which stool to use. Or whether to use the potty seat, or not. Or whether to have the seat up or down. He used to immediately begin unrolling the toilet paper. Because that is SO much fun. But now he just hands me the roll. He’s conditioned, since I’ve taken it away from him so many times. Often he’ll change his mind about the seat and stool configuration, so he will stand up and insist on changing things up. And sometimes, he’ll actually go. He finds it quite intriguing. As it is.

“WOOK!!!”

This morning I had a dream in which I arrived home one day to find, to my utter surprise and delight, my friend Suse in my kitchen.  With her was her friend A, who had a young son about the age of Suse’s  youngest son.  Both boys were present and very bored.  And hungry.  Being the bad hostess that I am, there was no snack food readily available for the boys, and I was both embarrassed and disappointed about that.  The womenfolk had come to my house to use my kitchen because it was bigger than theirs.  It makes perfect sense.  After all, they live in Australia, and I live just around the bend, in Northwest USA. Sadly, they were just leaving, and couldn’t stay.  They were just packaging up the last of the Christmas cookies they’d been making.  They were so nicely and neatly packaged in vintage Christmas tins.  Very classy.  They left me with a sweet little tin filled with something delightfully delicate and chocolatey, and bustled out the door.  I rummaged about for snacks for the boys, and finally found some snack bars, gathered them up and darted outside to catch my visitors before they left.  I was nearly too late.  They were just leaving, and I had to wave my arms to make them stop.  The car was a purple suede racecar.  It belonged to A, and she was all strapped in and ready to take off.  It was shaped something like a Prowler, only the driver lies on her stomach and wears goggles as her face is so close to the road.  A. assured me that this kind of car is the best for maneuvering in traffic, and a joy to drive.  It was quite something to behold.  The passengers were stowed safely within, all lying down.  The passenger area was somewhat like a bed.  There was no need for safety belts, as the car was much like a pod and once the lid was in place, the passengers were sandwiched in and there was no moving about.  I gave the boys the meager snacks that I’d found, and we said our goodbyes.

Scene II.  Around the block.  I was on my way to a work meeting when I noticed the purple suede car parked on the roadside.  I sauntered over, because of course it was A., Suse, and the boys, and say hello.  Who else would have a car like that   A. explained that she needed a flashlight.  Happy to be able to help, I rushed back to my home to collect a flashlight.  Sadly, it took longer than expected and by the time I returned, they had gone.  On top of that, I was late for my meeting.  I felt a bit bad, but realized that we hadn’t confirmed that they would wait, and I hadn’t confirmed that I actually had a flashlight.  I suspected I did, and said that I would bring it if I could find it.  Meanwhile, they must have found a way to get out of their flashlight-required predicament, so they continued on.

Then I heard my toddler letting me know he was awake and that it was time to change his diaper, so I had to bid adieu to R.E.M. sleep.  I was a bit sad that I had missed the chance to visit with my friend, her friend, and their boys.  That purple car was something else, though, and the cookies were divine!