This is a dream that I had a few days ago. I left it private for a few days trying to figure it out. I have now given up on that.
…and so we were at an English boy’s school walking around. This was apparently where a nephew of mine was going to school. There were three of us/them touring the school. (“I” was more in an observer capacity). The school was in Grand Prairie, Texas. It was a Saturday. Why were all the boys in the school on a Saturday? Movie night. Interior of the school looked a lot like a church. Wooden pews, vaulted ceilings, etc. Everyone there (boys & teachers alike) were wearing commencement gowns. (I’m pretty sure I’d been here before in a dream)
Wearing a cardigan, shirt and mini skirt. Charming the jewels off of one of the sisters of the students. Putting them all into a bag after getting her down for the night. Leaving and heading into the nearby desert to throw off pursuers. Being followed by a …?shiek?… Captured by him. He is impressed by the jewels. Married to him.
…waking up in the back of my car as two other people are driving it. (again more observer in dream body). I am Hispanic as are my two companions. Drive past the English school – we are in Grand Prairie. I’d worked the late shift at our resteraunt and passed out in the back of the car. I noticed the dashboard lights were on. An orange glowing image of a dog, shooting a gun to the left –oil about gone. A large, glowing orange image of Charlton Heston as Jesus center of dashboard — water about gone. Pull into a 7-11 — all they have are drinks and they are busy filling the order of another party (football players). We leave in pursuit of the necessary stuff for the car.
I’m looking at my beautiful child. She’s playing with her toys, over by the big window. Morning sunlight is streaming through and turning her hair into a multi-colored wheat field. It lays in wide curls against her waist. She’s got some sort of game involving a bus, a cookie monster doll, floor puzzle pieces, and a shovel going. “Come back Lion!” she cries.
She’s completely caught up in her world. She still hasn’t put on any clothes for the day. She’s sitting on the floor wearing her ‘roos and that glorious hair. Grinning. Telling a story. I’m sure there’s some sort of psycho-babble that covers what she’s doing. Mostly though, I don’t give a fuck what “experts” call it. She’s doing what she does best; what she enjoys doing. She’s playing.
If someone had told me five years ago that I would be weeping with the enormity of feeling (love simply doesn’t cover it) for my child — I’d have laughed in their face.
“It’s coming! Meow! Kitty’s in my house…Kitty what’re ya doing in my house?”
My best friend often tells me that we need to get the film/accoutrements for the digital camera and get all this cuteness on film. I’m really in no hurry. I have her in my head all the time.
Warm wriggly child in the bed at four AM because she’s woken up and needed “snuggies”.
Small, pudgy hands on either side of my face as she tells me that she loves me.
Cries of “Tickle me! wheeeeeeeeeeeeee!” as she giggles and runs away.
Face covered in ketchup from having her favorite san-mich and fries.
“Can I sleep in the Mama-bed?”
“Mama I’m a little hungry now. Can we have brefist?”
“I got an owie. I need a bandaid.” (pointing to a non-existent owie)
“I lub you so much in the whole world”
There’s more…but it’s a location thing. You’d have to be here.