There's pancake syrup on my couch . . .

I woke up this morning trying to think of where to start. No, not with the housework. With the housework there's no good place to start and it's overwhelming whichever approach you take. Not which way to start my day, either, but where to start here.

A lot has happened in the last few days, none of it especially good or bad, just a lot. Lots of random little anecdotes, but nothing story-worthy.

I guess I'll start with my dreams. Three nights ago, I dreamt that our very peaceful and orderly church had a new music group that was going to perform as part of the service. The group of about eighteen black robe-clad performers featured two flautists and a small team of kazoo players (kazooists?). They sang, clapped, danced, blew and shook their tambourines to Creedence Clearwater Revival's Proud Mary. They got down and funky, as they were rollin' down the river.

Of course, the moment Charlie takes off down the aisle in my song, it is suddenly a quiet and somber place again. Fortunately for all involved, when Charlie actually took off down the long aisle during the very quiet and somber part of church yesterday, I was fully dressed, unlike in my dream. And the closing hymn, while I was not there to hear it, was presumably NOT Bad, Bad Leroy Brown like it was in that dream.

The next night's dream was also one of those exhausting, enduring, seemingly unending dreams, but I thankfully don't recall the details. During the real life waking hours, there were no calls from Best Buy and I realized that I never actually applied to the school district, so I finished that form out and Dowlan continued the feeble job hunt. I also wrapped up another scoring project and discussed Kindergarten with the girls.

Kindergarten begins in eight days. I cannot wait. Melody is ready to 'go to Kindergarten and learn my maths and the science and how to become what God wants me to be' while Dixie, in her baby voice, asserts that she will have 'NOOOOO Kindergarten. Only Pre-K. With Miss B forever!'

In eleven days, we have charlie's first evaluation with the school district for autism/asperger's. I've come to realize that a huge part of my overwhelming anxiety these days stems from my concern that they won't see what is going on with Charlie and that he won't get into the program. Because he really needs a lot of help and Dowlan and I are exhausting ourselves providing it.

Once he is in this program, Dowlan and I will have more opportunity to work at random and odd jobs while both searching for careers. It has occurred to me that Charlie won't do well in a regular preschool and that this is our only option for childcare for him, at least of the ones I can see.

So, back to my dreams . . .

Last night's dream involved us adopting two more children. One was a seven-year-old black boy named Terrence and the other, well, the other was my friend from childhood, Walter. Somehow, in my dream, I had adopted a thirty-year-old-man, who was apparently not missed by his wife and two children. And somehow acting six while in his thirty-year-old body.

Fortunately, our house miraculously expanded. The short purple hallway between the two kids' rooms stretched into a bunkhouse that housed the random extra family members. I somehow could never find clothes to fit Terrence. I'd go look in the box of clothes I've bought ahead for Charlie (somehow Terrence, although seven, wears a size 3T) but every time I'd get back to Terrence with the clothes, they were girl clothes or winter clothes or had simply shrunk.

Then it was time to do laundry for seven. I have often said that the reason we do not have more children is simply because I cannot do any more laundry than I already do. I was doing laundry and Dowlan's waffle-making morning ways had turned into something of industrial-kitchen proportions to accommodate our growing clan.

This morning, when I awoke in my normal-sized house with it's five traditional occupants, was handed coffee by my husband who then went back into the kitchen to make green waffles for Charlie (and one with peanut butter and blueberries on it for me) I was already exhausted, but happy to find that my biggest worry of the morning is that, when I sat down to blog, the back of my thigh discovered the pancake syrup on my couch.


Anonymous said...

ah, may your dreams NOT come true. oma

Anonymous said...

Weird dreams ALWAYS accompany the annual Perseids Meteorite shower.....

Love, Papa