I love the glamour of My Domestic Life. I do. I relish waking in the morning knowing I can work in my pajamas, find a friend close by when I need her, have the power to send a child on a field trip by scribbling a permission note with a half eaten crayon I rescued from the dog and occasionally, the leisure time to scour three different grocery stores for the perfect rump roast. But do I have to dream about it?
Last night I showed my husband the size 2T shirts I picked up for Deneen's twins at the Disney Studios in Burbank, CA. I went to bed and dreamt Deneen brought the boys over for a visit. They looked like first graders instead of 8-month-old babies. "Can you believe they're size 6 now?" she breathed, dangling a kid under each arm. It's been too long since I visited those boys. I should have known better. Great, even in my dreams, I feel domestically inadequate.
Prior to the California trip, my girlfriends and I splurged on spa manicures. I went to bed that night and dreamt two days post mani, all but three nails were broken to the quick. The polish on the remaining nails was already chipped and airport security confiscated my polish remover, favorite new polish and German made lifetime guaranteed cuticle clippers. I woke to find my left thumb running inventory over my left fingertips.
What about all those stories you hear about divine inspiration (Joseph and his coat of many colors saved Egypt from perishing in the famine); earth shattering dreams from beyond (Grandma told me where to find that box of gold coins she hid under the floorboard during the depression) and life changing dreams: "Yep, in my dream I saw five numbers come down from the sky; so I went to the Quickie Mart and got me a lottery ticket. Them five numbers won me 98 million dollars!"
And if dreaming about my domestic life weren't bad enough, I dream about other people's domestic lives. Knowing Kelly was going white water rafting the next day, I dreamt about her packing sunscreen, swimsuits and an extra set of dry clothes for each child. Then I woke in a sweat part during the nightmare portion of the dream — just as her cell phone was going overboard after a particularly high whitecap. Now I'll never know if she put it in a waterproof, floatable baggie!
I've been having recurring shoe dreams lately. I'd settle for tripping on stilettos but no, I am, despite the exact same dream the last five nights in a row, still surprised to find I have wheels in the heels of my tennies.
Dirty refrigerators, yard work, grocery shopping, laundry. No subject is too domestic or dull for me. What happened to sweet dreams? Sugar plum fairies, knights in shining armor mounted on pure white stallions? No, I get coupon clipping, yard fungus and the Maytag Repair Man.
