Monday, March 29, 2010


For the past week or so, I've been having crazy, beautiful, vivid dreams that seem so real. At first, I thought it was just because my husband has been subjecting me to "Lost" every night.( I mean, who wouldn't dream about Sawyer?) But now the dreams have started containing more people I know and less movie stars. (Dang it.)

What do they mean? Why are there random people invading my precious moments of sleep? And why can I remember the ones I would like to forget and forget the ones I'd like to remember? I am sure there are plenty of answers out there. Something simple and not too exciting, but since I've been tossing and turning and not sleeping like I'm used to, I'm going to pretend it has to do with something else.

Like a glimpse into a life I could have led, if I had done just a few things differently. For instance, based on last nights dream: I would be going back to college to get my Master's (in what? - that's not clear) and would have time to hang out with people I barely spoke to while in college the first time. I would know about flowers and understand why a friend looked guilty when telling me the name of one since it was growing in her garden and not mine. And (get this) my ride would be a truck on over-sized tires, complete with the dual smoke stacks out the back. This means I wouldn't have children, since the cab seats three, instead of six...

In reality, I'm in love with my life. (Yeah, yeah, I know - completely ridiculous to hear.) I only wish I was closer to my family and that we owned this land we are living on. Seriously. Those are the only two big things that come up when wishing things were different. So it's interesting to think that my dreams about 'what could be' are actually reinforcing my happiness with 'what is.'

Silly truck, flower knowledge and time to hang out with people. Nope, I'd rather have my sensible six-seater, a sieve for a brain, and kiddos. But it's still fun to see who I'll become the next time I lay down for a few hours of stillness. And perhaps while I am dreaming about a different life, someone else is dreaming about my way of life. And thanking their lucky stars that their hot rod is still parked outside in their driveway.

Now, if I could only incorporate a little more Sawyer ...

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

I LOVE coffee (aka my newest addiction)

Ever since I was a child, I have loved the smell of coffee. To me it symbolized old people and a pace of life that included sitting around the table in the early morning because you wanted to, not because you had to. When my brother and I used to spend the night with one set of our grandparents, he and I would fight over who got to put the scoops of coffee into the automatic coffee maker at night. No matter who won, the other one would hover excitedly at the shoulder of the winner, simply to be there as the can opened to take that first delightful whiff.

My parents never drank coffee, or if they did it wasn't consistently enough to own a coffee pot. I dabbled in drinking it in college, mostly because my boyfriend was addicted to it, but also when I needed it for the random all-nighters I pulled about once a semester. But it never had a strong enough pull to entice me over to the dark side for any longer than a cup now and then.

Enter children.

Coffee can make me feel like I can take on the world. I can do absolutely anything after a cup of joe. Chase the pig that got out again and put it back in the pen. Fine. Read twenty books that I just read yesterday to the girls. Check. Clean twelve dozen eggs. That's nothing. And to hear me speak - it's like my brain is on overdrive and if I don't voice every thought that is frantically running through it, something bad will happen. Yes - it will and it does. Voicing every thought is NOT a good idea. Lucky for me, when I first started drinking it more regularly, I drank it in the wee hours of the morning. My journal and occasionally my husband were the only recipients of those rambles.

Coffee and I still had an on-again, off-again relationship until the birth of my third child. Now, along with fantasizing about a bathtub all to myself for longer than five minutes, I dream about when I can have my next cup. And it's not diminishing this time. I've decided to give a little slack to all of those out there who NEED coffee each morning/noon/night. I'm slowly crossing over and becoming one of you.

And I think I am okay with this. Yes, I'd like the be the type of person who drinks coffee for the bitter flavor (according to Tim, he likes his coffee like he likes his women: bitter and murky; funny guy, he is), but I'm not. I like it because of the chance to sit down in the early morning, waiting for the sun to rise. I like it because of the feeling I get drinking it and then again after I'm done. I love to watch the cream as it swirls through the black liquid. But mostly, I like drinking it because when I do, I can see myself in thirty years helping my grandchildren count the scoops as they clamor to see which one gets to help this time.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Our 8th anniversary

Tim and I just celebrated #8. Eight. As in years. How can this be possible? We're still only 23. So that means there is no way we could be raising our glasses to toast these past eight years. A dream, perhaps? A wild, crazy dream in which we have been riding the winds of change through moves, babies, yurts, dogs, farms, births, friends, travel ...

I honestly can't remember most of my vows to Tim - or his to me. I can remember snippets of that day in Wales, surrounded by many people who did not even know us. I can remember the wind swirling around us, pushing and pulling. I can remember looking at a picture someone had taken of us from a distance, but I don't exactly remember what I was feeling at the time. (This would be the picture of him dropping me onto the ground. In it, he looks like Bigfoot; I look dead.) Do most people remember their wedding day in detail? Or do people look at a picture and make it into a memory? And why do I remember that he ate most of my breakfast that morning, but not what color our handfasting cloth was?

People talk about living their life over: what they wish was different, what they would have changed. I've been thinking about this lately and have come to my conclusion. In regards to these past eight years with Tim, I'd do it all over again in a second. As corny as it sounds - he is my best friend, my lover and my partner. I would almost go so far as to say he is my "other half," but only if we are talking about opposites attracting... And while I know I'm not his 'soulmate' because he doesn't believe in things he can't see, I feel he is mine. So while we don't share a "single thought" our hearts do "beat as one." (I thought this came from Shakespeare - apparently it's Keats.)

What a ride it's been. And eight years - hell, this is just the beginning. Lechyd da, babe...