I’m not sure what induces dreams, I won’t pretend to be an expert about it. What I can tell you is that I’ve always been an ardent dreamer, both awake and asleep. Lately though, Luke and Leia have been feeding into them more then I’d care to admit. They’ve been morphing my usual pirate ship adventure and kinky deserted island dreams into something much more family friendly.
Last week I had a dream where I was standing in a field of bulldog puppies. The grass was a vibrant acid green as far as my eyes could see and the sky was painted the purple and pinks of a northwest sunset. Who doesn’t love running in a field of puppies while clearly in some Wonderland adjacent realm?! I decided that I would keep one when the owner of said puppies, offered me the litter (of more than 100). I couldn’t responsibly take them all but one wouldn’t hurt. The next thing I know my bulldog pup is talking to me. In fact, I’ve named him and we have full conversations. This doesn’t weird me out, of course, it’s a dream and anything less then a talking dog would be a disappointment. However, when the dream shifts and I’m spending the rest of my night potty training this pup to use the toilet I have to draw a line.
My adventures last night started pretty normal, I was dancing on the cliffs of the Grand Canyon with my dream-life boyfriend. We tangoed, we cha-cha’d, and we waltzed until my phone rang. Weird, my phone never rings in my dreams. In fact, I specifically leave that in the real world as they are far less useful in dreamland. I answer though because clearly, it would be rude if someone went so far as to try and call me while I was cliff dancing and I ignored them.
“Hello?” I ask.
“Miranda! Luke needs you, you have to come back to the house with haste.” (because who doesn’t talk like that in dreams?) said the voice on the phone.
Needless to say, I left my lover and the next thing I know I’m at the house with Luke and Leia.
“Auntie Emmm!!!” I hear Luke call from the bathroom.
As I make my way around the twisting hallways and winding house (because as we all know houses grow considerably in size in dreamland) I eventually find myself in the bathroom with Luke. He has his back to me, and his pants are down as though he’s going to sit on the toilet. He stands a mere three feet from the toilet and starts to squat to take a shit.
“Luke!!! Hurry, hurry, hurry!! Get on the toilet!” I yell at him hoping he’ll stop. Except he doesn’t, instead he reaches around his bottom and poops into his hand. He stands up saying “I did it, Auntie! I went poo-poo in my hand!” He promptly stands up and proceeds to smear feces all over the bathroom as I watch in horror unable to move or do anything about it.
Is anyone out there a dream expert? I’m being haunted at night by monsters!
Chloe, our Great Dane, likes to play keep away. She doesn’t fetch, but she’ll happily keep a ball away from you for hours, running away from anyone who tries to take it. So a couple of weeks ago, Luke is outside playing in the last of the summer’s heat. I’m folding laundry and I can hear him outside running with Chloe.
“I got it! I got it! I got it!” Luke yells. I assume at this point that he’s talking about Chloe’s ball or some toy she’s tried to lay claim too.
I turn to look at the sudden noise and find that Luke has smashed himself against the screen door. “Auntie I got it! I got it!” He is beaming with pride clear as day in his voice. He opens the screen door and only now do I realize he’s got something in his hand but it’s not the ball I was expecting.
This happens quite quickly for the record but my mind nor words are nearly as fast.
At first, I think to myself That’s so weird… Who bought the kids a toy rat? Then it occurs to me that no one would buy them a toy rat because (in my opinion) rats are gross. I think briefly maybe my sister (who they call ‘Uncle Moe’, the brother I never had) did, as she has quite a different opinion about what the definition of gross is.
Luke steps into the house swinging a rat by the tail as he runs to me on repeat, “I did it! I did it! I did it!”
Only when he is three feet from me do I realize that what he is holding isn’t some squeak toy. Oh no, he’s got a dead rat in his hands. I squealed at first out of surprise. “Let it go! Drop it! Drop it! Drop it!”
Luke is literally stunned into dropping the rat, his eyes have grown double in size and he’s not sure why I’m yelling about his accomplishment: getting the dead rat away from Chloe.
Than my pathetic stomach reminds me that a dead rat is vomit worthy. I proceed to not only prevent Luke from touching anything so that I can get him cleaned up and germ-free, but also keep my breakfast from resurfacing.
Damn kids are pushing my comfort boundaries both day and night. Because oh yeah, that last one wasn’t a dream.
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