Brain Dump & A Rip Ryder Mailbox Man

Potty Dream

Last night, I dreamed that I was married to Matt Damon and we had a toilet in our dining room.

Matt Damon sat at the dining table and told me he knew we would be together forever when we picked out the toilet because he thought to himself “this toilet will last for the rest of our lives.”

I know why I dreamed this.  I think it had more to do with the toilet than the Damon.

I needed to get up and go, you know?  It was the 4:00 a.m. calling.

My befuddled brain tried to embarrass me awake.

Pee, in front of Matt Damon?

Never.

Eyes open.  😯

Wide awake now, thanks.

And back to real life, very real life…

Dearly Departed

A couple of my friends from high school recently lost someone very dear to them.  Their experience got me thinking about why I started my blog.

I blabbed in the beginning about my childhood friend, Betsy.  She died of breast cancer in 2003.  We were both 38.

Even now, I wake up everyday and instantly think of her.  She is on my mind as I fall asleep and she is sometimes in my dreams.  I also see her in every young mom with a ponytail.

I talk to her constantly and sometimes feel like a fool for doing it, but I do it anyway.  And sometimes I hear her talking to me and I take her advice, or I roll my eyes.

She still informs all of my major life decisions and many of the teeny ones too.  I knew her a long time and I usually know just what she would say.

I’ve written about her a lot – for example, here and here – but coming to this post today, I realize I don’t know if I can write about her very much more.

The rest of what I know and think and feel about her, and myself, and our friendship, is all kind of private.  I can’t have it taken apart by anyone on the internet.

I don’t know why I feel compelled to mention any of this, except that I feel I somehow owe an explanation to Betsy herself.

She was the one who always told me to write.  I’ve been thinking about that a lot this month and I decided that if I don’t write about her, then I have to write for her.

To that end, I entered NPR’s Three-Minute Fiction contest.

Three-Minute Fiction

You know that moment after you leave a big school exam or a job interview and you realize exactly how you sank yourself?  Entering this contest kind of worked like that for me.

I was thrilled by the writing challenge, I got exponentially more excited after I submitted my piece, and I was glued to the Three Minute Fiction Facebook fan page for a good three hours afterward.

Then I started re-reading my story.  I read it over and over and over again.

I saw its flaws unraveling before me and I got kind of depressed and embarrassed.  😦  It wasn’t good.  It still isn’t, and of course, there is no opportunity to edit.  I hit “submit” and now NPR editors are seeing it (and me) with all imperfections exposed.  Ugh.

Several days have passed and I am feeling a little better about it.  I can see what I did wrong and I am learning from it instead of turning red.  It was a good exercise and I will enter the contest again.  You should too.

And speaking of good exercise…

An Update On The Boy

I have been trying to write about him this month, but nothing feels quite right.

There is progress, but there are set-backs too and I can’t think of the best way to talk about all of it.

Instead, you get a video of his favorite activity.

And yes, the video ends because I sneeze.  🙂

Happy Wednesday!

♥♥

Woofers in the Wind

I have to go to the dentist today.  I don’t wanna.

Last time, he sang along with the radio, right in my ear, while he was working.  I actually didn’t mind that.  At least he has a decent voice.

I just don’t want to sit there for an hour, unable to speak, unable to move, while someone pokes my gums with sharp stuff.

It’s about control, really.  I hate handing it over to someone I don’t know well, even someone as professional and courteous as my dentist.

I cherish my freedom and I just don’t like having other people tell me what to do.

I dreamed about freedom a few nights ago.  I was jogging.

With a bad foot and crappy knees, I don’t jog when I’m awake, so this was a good dream for me.

I felt strong and athletic, but I was still my full-figured, curvy self.

It was great.  I could run!

Did I mention I was topless in this dream?

Yeah, I was jogging with great joy and no shirt.

Blissful, confident, total abandon.

Unfortunately, there was another person in the dream.

This person didn’t harm me physically in any way, but he made it perfectly clear with cat calls and criticism that I should cover up.

I felt defeated and held a piece of cloth across my chest.

The dream sort of faded out at that point, but the meaning was clear to me when I woke up.

I felt free, someone judged me, and then I didn’t feel free.

Isn’t that odd?

I think I dreamed it all in anticipation of the dentist today.

I have so much courage, until someone tells me to sit still.  Then I’m a big, angry, socially anxious mess.  😡

I hate being told to sit still or to be quiet or to wait.  And I’m a grown-up.

I realize as I’m typing this, that these are the things I constantly tell my son.

Sit still.  Be quiet.  Wait.

Stand here.  Wear this.

It’s never ending, this list of things I expect of him, this list of controls.

And these things are so much harder to do when you’re a kid.  Poor little boy.

I feel like I’m a fairly calm mom about most stuff.  My house is a playground, not a showcase.  He gets to do a lot more than other kids I know.  I have rules, but not as many as my friends do.

Kids need order and routine and an understanding of the authority in their lives.  I know all that, but I still feel bad for him.

I wish I never had to tell him to sit still, be quiet or wait.

Wouldn’t it be great if no one ever had to tell him that?

Wouldn’t it be great if he never felt the pressure of societal constraints?

Of course, there is irony in my dream and consequential feelings about freedom and my son’s happiness.

I am, after all, the girl who prefers no public nakery.

Go figure.

Shall I eat my cake or have it?

And which thing shall I teach my son?

Such a conundrum.

Jogging topless did seem kind of fun…

P.S.  After shedding tears of dread in the dentist’s office parking lot, I sat nervously in the lobby for two minutes and was horrified by the opening sequence of the movie on the waiting room dvd player.  When the dental tech opened the door and called my name, I was relieved to go inside.  Funny how dreading a new thing can make the old thing seem like no big deal.

Happy Thursday!

♥♥

Dreams, The Boy, and Squash

Last night I dreamed that someone needed my help finding a program on t.v.

The program was called “Breathe” and it was showing on the Oxygen network.

I couldn’t help them find it.

Then I dreamed I had to pee, but there was a circle of well dressed white collar smarties sitting at their desks all around the entrance to the restroom.

I was forced to make socially awkward small talk to get through.

Once I got beyond their dark shiny desks, I found bright yellow caution tape surrounding the restroom hallway and door.

It gave me stressful pause, but another woman made her way past it with an air of authority, so I followed her in.

The restroom was in shambles and the ceiling hung down from the rafters like an asbestos laden curtain in my path.

I had to push it aside to get to the stalls.

It was dirty and the dust of it showered me as I tried to get through.

“I can’t breathe” I gasped toward the woman in front of me, but she was gone.

Then I woke up.  In a sweat.  With the covers over my face.  And I had to pee.

It left me wondering, yet again, if I really dreamed all that or if someone just sent me an uncomfortable vision to roust me from a stupor.

Maybe dreams and planted visions are the same thing.

Either way, it sucked.  I shook it off and took care of my business.

“Breathe”?  On the “Oxygen” Network?  Seriously?  What the…?

When I walked back from the bathroom, I heard the little boy laughing and talking in his room.

It was only 4:20 a.m.  Darn time change.  His little body thought it was 5:20.

What kills me is that he normally gets up at 6:20, so no matter how you measure it, I got duped out of some sleep.

I told him it was far too early to go downstairs and that he needed to look at the clock and wait for the six to appear.

I spent the next hour lying fitfully on his bed while he played in the room around me.

At 5:50 or so, he started a clamorous minute-by-minute announcement of the time.  I gave up trying to sleep.

At six sharp, we headed to the kitchen.

The little boy was mellow and wanted only to find a snack and sit quietly next to mommy on the couch while he ate it.  Not a good sign.

Can you guess where this is going?

That’s right, he’s home from school AGAIN.

The sniffy nose kept him awake or woke him up early or whatever, and now he is standing at the table with his little blue scissors making little blue ornaments.

And singing.  He’s always singing.

Thursday and Friday are school holidays, so it looks like he’ll have a two-day week, one third of his classroom instruction time spent making paper shapes and hanging them in anticipation of Christmas.  Sigh.

I wonder if the school will ever give up on us, you know?  I wonder if they will ever say they can’t justify an aide for him because he misses too much time.

I’m mentally preparing myself for that moment.

I feel it coming.

Maybe by next year, we will have a slightly better track record.

I hope so.

Thank goodness it’s raining again today.

Just in case your britches were itchy for some more squash rot, here are the latest pix…

Day Eight 2010 Pumpkin Demise

Happy Monday!

♥♥