Daring to dream.

My quarterly insomnia is here again.  Yay. 

And maybe it’s my cue to hit the gym and consider that crazy Fat Camp detox thing that I did for 5 whole days back in April.  Maybe then, I could sleep again.

I am in bed and it is dark and cool.  (I may be stingy with the heat but I refuse to sweat when I eat.  Or stand up to do anything.  Or sleep.  I am willing to fork over a few extra sheckles for summertime comfort.)  I am not hungry.  I don’t have to pee.  Yet. 

My baby has been given an eviction notice.  After she turns 4 (a mere 3 weeks from today), she will be required to sleep in her own bed.  But, for now, she is breathing softly into her mangled and dirty well-loved velour doll and the thin, natty equally well-loved yellow thermal receiving blanket is wrapped around her fingers.  Her curls fall over her forehead and she, still deeply asleep, brushes them out of her eyes.  Or maybe it was I who brushed her forehead lightly, just to see how her eyelashes sit on her cheeks.

The littles are on the cusp of a new year.  Ella will be 6 years old (I have kept someone alive for 6 whole years?) this week.  Amelia’s, as I mentioned, is in early August.  How did this happen?  Where did the time go? 

And yet, I cannot imagine a day without Ella.  I really don’t remember much before her.  I know Will was before her but his memory is softening and their cries all mix together in the sound bytes of my thoughts.

I wish I would have had a video camera.

Or, maybe I’m glad that I don’t.

I saw something today that said (and I’m paraphrasing) that there should be no regrets in life because the decisions we make seem like the right ones at the time.  Or something to that effect. 

What about the decisions we did NOT make.  I suppose that too is a decision.  Deciding not to decide.

I do that a lot.  It goes with not answering the phone.  And letting the mail stack up.  Not listening to the answering machine for weeks at a time. 

I might actually have a problem.

Anyway, so I’m awake.  And I contemplate the age-old “If I won the lottery…” question.  I mean, I won’t win because I hardly ever buy a ticket and, even so, I might actually be the unluckiest person on the planet.  Or, at least the unluckiest person in the 33 powerball states.  So I’m not going to win.  Not even a little bit, not ever.

But…if I did…

First up is a little travel.  That’s what everyone says.  But I’d leave as soon as I could get the paparazzi off my lawn.  Maybe sooner.  I’d get one of those tour busses like a rock star.  I’d hire a nanny and a driver and we would be gone.  I’d buy that video camera.  And a real, grown up camera that doesn’t come in pastels or fit into my jeans pocket.  One that needs its own backpack.

I’d go to some resort in New Mexico and de-stress.  I’d have Lasik done and that boob job that I dream of daily.  And I mean…all day. 

My littles would be dressed head to toe in organic cotton Hannas.  I’d have Steve Jobs make me an iphone in mint green. 

I’d pay someone to teach me to play the guitar.  For real because I’m already a Guitar Hero on Wii. 

We’d have to settle down which means buying a homestead somewhere in Minnesota or Michigan or Vermont.  We’d have goats and chickens.  I’d sell eggs and learn to make my own soap.  My littles would go to an arts charter school where they could dance and sing and draw all day. 

I would have a writing nook which would be all yellow and white with a big window that faced the trees on one side and the sunset on the other.  Hardwood floors.  Gauzy curtains that are just for looks because the nearest neighbors are miles away.

I’d fly Molly out to my house (which has a mini-gym workout center in a separate, 68 degrees all the time, building out back) once a week to kick my ass.  She has me doing pull-ups now.  Did you know that it isn’t often that a girl can do a pull-up?  It’s true.  I cannot.  I can only lift about 100 pounds of my body weight.  There is a machine that helps with the rest.  Where was that when I needed it in Junior High P.E? 

Oh man.

Is it any wonder that I cannot sleep?  I mean, I can almost make myself believe that it’s real.  Almost.

And then I wake up with the taste of toothpaste still in my mouth. (That’s how you know you had a short night.)

The littles are fighting over real estate in my chair;  they are getting too big to share it and it is a daily battle.  There may or may not be Cheerios all over the carpet and juice spilled on the table.  Dishes are still in the sink from dinner last night.  I can’t remember the last time that I actually showered.  The mile long to-do list is staring at me.  Laundry to fold and put away. 

I try to be a peaceful parent but I’m usually just barely a “parent” much less “peaceful”.  I lack direction, focus and follow through.

Today, I also lack a dollar bill to buy that lottery ticket.

Which decides my fate for me.  I know I won’t win.  And that’s an outcome I cannot regret.

I like the dream.  I want to go back into that dream where I can dare with wild abandon.  I ignore the child ramblings and demands and float my way through coffee preparations.  Still kind of asleep.


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