What do YOU dream about?

For some reason, reading this post on Evany's blog reminded me of a dream I had early this morning, right before my head cold woke me up.

I was in one of those Extreme Makeover: Home Edition houses, and it was a big party where everyone was going around looking at the stuff and going "Ah! Oh! Wow! This is soooo cool!" And I went through a door at the bottom of a spiral staircase and there was this super cool pub! In the makeover house! With a nifty bar and muted but homey lighting and lots of dark wood and it was did I mention cool? So then I'm sitting in a seat that's kind of like a church pew I think, and the love of my life (at least he was in my dream, I don't think it's anyone I've met before in the waking world) was dressed up as either Superman or Spiderman, and he was telling me that he had to leave me for something or other.* I remember feeling total despair about it, not anger or anything, just like the bottom fell out of my heart. The dream fast-forwarded to a minute later and he was at the exit to the pub, looking back at me (his mask was off and he had John Lennon glasses on), and then the crowd swirled and he was gone. And this, this was the most vivid part: My right hand slowly came up to my face, to shakingly cover my eyes, and I was weeping and wailing on the inside but it hurt so much that I couldn't cry.

And then I woke up and my sinuses were draining down the back of my throat, and my back was spasming from the tension of not being able to breathe well all night (I think I have a little bit of a phobia about that) and I totally forgot about it. Until now.








*Maybe? Maybe! He had to go be a superhero and couldn't let his arch-nemesis know there was anyone close to him. Yeah. That's it.

Taking things for granted.

The Dajamou is in constant pretend mode. At the drop of a hat, she'll ask me to "Play family," which involves acting out some kind of random family interaction with her baby dolls. When deprived of human playmates, she'll "speak" all of the characters by herself. She makes up stories all the time; sometimes, she'll get so into it that she starts to believe them. Last week, on the way home from a meeting, she was telling me that she has a new set of grandparents she'd never met before, and we had to go to the train station RIGHT NOW so we could take a train, and then get on a sailboat, and then fly on a plane, so that we could meet those new grandparents. She got so into it that she was really upset when I wouldn't take her to the train station. "But Mommy, if they don't see me, my new grandparents will be SO SAD!" She cried most of the way home, and I couldn't decide if I wanted to comfort her or congratulate her.

We had a friend over for a play date the other day, and the subject of pretending came up. The other girl's mom was amazed at how creative the Dajamou can be, and it got me to thinking. Is she really that much more creative than other children? Am I taking her amazing powers of imagination for granted? Am I squandering her talent? Should she be in drama school for toddlers or something?

Then I buried my head in my computer and let her watch TV for 2 hours so I didn't have to deal.

The other thing that she loves to do is make up names. At first everything was Deedia, Hoodia (I'm not kidding), Woopia. Then she started adding syllables. One of my faves was Bonitudo Awatulee Fahsa. (You might have to check with her on the spelling someday. I'm guessing here.) There are signs, however, that this is on the wane. The other day, again in the car, I was waving to another driver who let me onto the highway. This is the conversation that ensued:

"Mommy, who are you waving to?"

"The person who let me into this lane."

"What's his name?"

"I don't know, sweetheart."

"Maybe it's Kayo Teewess Kokaya!"

"It could be."

"Or Kaya!"

"Maybe."

"Or Bag!"

Is this a sign? Have I already missed my window of opportunity to channel her creative energies into a Nobel Prize for Literature?

Successories for Moms

I have already professed my undying admiration for Kristen over at Motherhood Uncensored. But her latest invention, Successories for Moms, has elevated it to near-worship.

In case you're not into corporate feel-good lingo, Successories are those insipid black-background-beautiful-landscape-single-word-inspirational-poster things. But lovely lovely Kristen has taken it to a true comedic art form, and inspired like-minded moms to follow her lead. I damn near peed my pants reading these things.

You can see even more in the comments sections of the above-linked posts. And you can make your own, too.

Social Dilemma.

We have painters working on the side of our house this week. Or at least we have painters storing ladders and tarps in our garage. It's been raining so much that that's all they've been able to do so far. Anyway, they're actually here today. I don't know what they're doing, because I have all the blinds on that side of the house closed and I haven't gone outside except to get the mail. I'm feeling a little invaded at the moment. I've never had a problem before with contractors coming. But there's something different about strange men on ladders outside my window.

Anyway. Here's my social dilemma. I have this mental image of me going out there, chatting amiably with them, maybe taking them some cookies or beer or something. Sort of the Happy Homemaker thing to do. Problem is, this mental image never comes with a script that I can follow when I'm actually talking to them. I'm shy and awkward around strangers, particularly men. I still feel like a little girl sometimes, and even though the contractors who have come to the house are often younger than me, I feel like they're the grownups - probably because they're the "experts" or something and I know slightly more than nothing about home improvement.

It's dumb, to the point where I don't know if I should go out of my way to make eye contact and say "hello" when I go outside, or if I should go round back and say hello to acknowledge their presence, or offer them water, or if I should just leave them alone, or what. Is there a Miss Manners' Guide to Interacting With the Hired Help?

Blech.

Clearly, we need to work on gender roles.

Dajamou: Daddy, can you play with me?

Daddy: I can't, I'm going to make supper.

Dajamou: But, Mommy can make the supper!

Daddy: Well, Mommy makes supper all week long, and now that it's the weekend, I'm going to make it so I can give Mommy a break.

Mama: Thank you!

Daddy: You're welcome.

Dajamou: Nonsense!

Filler

Lots of internal stuff going on with me lately. Trying to get my head in a different place, trying to tread some emotional waters, blah blah blah. I haven't processed it enough to write about it...I may never. So here's some more anecdotal evidence of why this lady is my hero:

So tomorrow (Tuesday) is my big day. I meet with an oncologist at 10:00 to find out what the pathologist has to say about last Monday's supraclavicular lymph node biopsy ("Gladys"), and what the radiologist thought about the full body CT scan & echocardiogram. Some of these reports may also give a clue as to the nature of the yet unidentified mediastinal tumor ("Brenda"). Then at 1:00 I meet with my surgeon for a follow up, and to see if he liked me so much he wants to cut on me again. Should I maybe stop being so cute and friendly?

Anyway, for the convenience of your office betting pools, the most likely diagnostic suspects at this point, in order of descending doom, are:

Lung cancer
Lymphoma
Sarcoidosis
Results still inconclusive, meaning even more fun biopsies
That huge wad of bubblegum I accidentally swallowed in the second grade when Chuckie Howell knocked me off my bike with a basketball.