Dreamer

Is it genetic to have crazy vivid dreams? I am a pretty wild dreamer. I work out all of my anxiety while I'm sleeping. It's often not very restful, I have to say, but it is always interesting.

Lately A has been waking up telling the strangest stories about adventures that we're sure she's never really had in this life. She woke up one day talking all about what Dora and Diego were doing, and another day telling us all about Curious George. It's like she picks up where she leaves off with the bedtime stories.

Sometimes she says things that are kind of disturbing. The other day, she was telling me that Daddy was crying. Yesterday, she woke up crying, telling me that Old Daddy had a blue face and he was looking at her. It kind of freaked me out!

If she is seeing into the future, I'm hoping that rather than a premonition about her Daddy's death, maybe he is going to find his true calling in the Blue Man Group. Those guys have blue faces and they stare pretty good! It could happen, right?

I can tell these are going to be tricky waters to navigate, but being a wild dreamer myself and with all my beliefs about waking and dreaming life, maybe I can help her sort it all out as she gets more aware of things. We'll see, I guess.

Deep Thought of the Day

I'm sitting in a room right now with several bajillionaires. I had a fleeting thought about checking my bank account, and then I had this thought, which I'm kind of stuck on: I bet these suckers have a hell of a lot more than $600 in their checking accounts.

And this led me to another thought: I work damn hard. I support my family and live a pretty average middle class lifestyle. I don't go on elaborate vacations, especially the ones with sand and surf. In fact, I have very little leisure time at all. I don't own any expensive fancy toys or have a nice wardrobe. My kid won't go to private school or get a brand new car on her 16th birthday. Right now I'm trying to figure out how to get enough money to get the 70 ft tall trees in my yard trimmed so they don't fall on my house. So what does all this hard work get me? Survival, I guess.

I'm not going to say that I work as hard as some of the surrounding bajillionaires, and I certainly don't take the risks they do to get to that position. And that's ok. There's a trade off for having a bajillion dollars, for sure. But the thing that gets me is that I'm essentially working for the same thing they are - to make them rich. It's my job to make sure they look good doing their jobs.

I've had a pretty satisfying and steady career in the corporate world, and the corporate world is set up as a hierarchy. It's not set up for the common man to get rich. I get that. But at the end of my day, I can't help but wonder what it's all worth.

And that, is my deep thought of the day.

Fathers

I called my dad on Father's Day. He didn't answer. I left a message. I don't expect a call back, but I am glad I tried.

When I was 6, we were closer.

I am happy to celebrate Father's Day these days with my own Baby Daddy.

 

Some of my favorite feelings in the world are when I get a text at work saying that he is walking her to the library, or taking her to the book store or the park. I get the sweetest images in my mind of big tall J with a proud, beaming smile, holding his little girl's hand or carrying her across the street to keep her safe.

This is how it should be. I hope they are pals forever, even when she's grown and has her own life away from us. It means a lot to a girl, more than she may ever know.

Egg Battle

My house is a disaster about 99% of the time with toys and books everywhere. Several times during the day, and especially one last time at night, I attempt to recruit the little one to help me clean up. If we're going with statistics, I'll say it's about 80% successful. (Sometimes it's just not worth the battle, ya know?) I do want her to get in good habits with her stuff by learning to clean up and be a respectful domestic citizen. We're getting there.

Yesterday I set her to a cleaning task while I helped out with something else. She's got a collection of multi-colored plastic eggs that end up in halves all over the place. Some of these eggs have a cool felt "egg yolk" that corresponds to the shell color. (Her caregiver is very clever, and put these together for her.) I was putting these eggs back together and I was almost done when she came over and started ripping them apart.

"What are you doing??" I say to her, "Stop it! I'm trying to clean up! You are not being very nice to Mommy!"

But she didn't stop, so I physically removed her. I wasn't harsh with her or pissed off, just very matter of fact. This behavior is not cool and it isn't acceptable, and she knows it. She was just being a pickle. I started to fill the tub for a bath. The day was o-v-e-r.

She paused on the way to the bathroom, totally un-prompted, and she said, in a humble voice, "I'm sorry Mama. I'm sorry I broke your eggs." And she walked over to the eggs and started to put them back together.

I had a little party inside my heart right there. This is so awesome! I try to be very intentional with discipline and not yell or get crazy with her, even though it's super frustrating. I try to keep a cool, rational head and just speak to actions and consequences. I want her to learn, but not to feel like she's a bad person. Could it be working?