No time, but that will change

I really loathe the song “No Time” by The Guess Who, and it has found its way into my head again. Once every few years is entirely too often. I know it’s because I barely have any time to myself lately. Or maybe I heard it via a TV ad but I really don‘t see how the song could be used to sell a car. Either way, I’m looking forward to summer. Maybe you’d think life would be even more hectic with the kids out of school, but it’s quite the opposite. At least until August, when this evil thing called ‘boredom’ sets in and I consider trading away kids for things that are much more useful. For example, I’d like to get a man-maid just to see what the hell it is and discover all of its capabilities. It made an appearance in one of my dreams a while back, but I left him at the house to go out and dodge bombs so my questions were left unanswered. Anyway, with less than a month of school left our summer begins on Memorial Day Weekend, and I’m getting excited. Here are some ways I’ll have more time during summer:

The kids won‘t have homework. Thanks to the internet I’m always soaking up info but when it comes time for my brain to retrieve it, this is where I have a problem. “I can remember reading about the Mayans and when they predicted the end of the world, but sorry Son, it may have been 2012 or it could be December of this year. One of them is right, so just use both in your report to be safe. Or was it the Aztecs?”

Again, thanks to the internet it doesn’t take too long to find out but I’d rather have a photographic memory for the time-saving benefits.

They love to play outside. I get more done when they’re not in my face every ten minutes needing something. We know the people who live on our street and actually like two-thirds of them. Some of them have kids around the same ages so they all play together, then I don’t hear from my own until chow time or some one gets hurt. Usually it is only feelings. It doesn’t really matter unless blood is drawn, so I don’t let their squabbles rob me of my time. I tell them if they don‘t want to play I have some work they can do, which has quickly healed their broken friendships many a time.

They will spend more time with their dad. Their father rotates all shifts at work, and his days off are so varied and unpredictable it would take three rocket scientists with an 8-ball of cocaine to make an accurate prediction of his next schedule in advance. So throughout the school year the kids and I never know when he’ll have a weekend off to take them. During the summer it doesn’t matter - they can be whisked off at a moment’s notice on any day of the week, and I have no complaints.

I‘ll be doing less laundry. We’ll be wearing shorts and tees every day and when you compare that to bulky sweatshirts and jeans I guess it‘s pretty obvious. My sons wash their own clothes, but I don’t even like washing my own clothes, so I’m really excited about doing the wash for myself and two girls who spill everything they eat on themselves less often. I just can’t wait for summer.

Hurray for the grill. That means fewer pots and pans to wash. And it is always fun to draw a crowd only to send them away hungry. What happened to the pot luck concept? Someone bring me a dessert, damnit. I have lots of burgers to share, but someone please bring a good dessert. If I‘ve slaved over a hot grill it‘s the least you could do. And for God’s sakes people, stop sniffing the air and saying, “Ummm.” If you can’t contribute in some way, just step away from the grill. And keep moving ‘cause if I can see you, you’re too goddamn close.

So, how will I spend the extra time this summer? I hope I’ll be gazing upon the millions of stars up there in the sky like the wannabe hippie-slacker that I am, but most likely I‘ll be training our new dog to behave himself. But that is another blog entirely.

Are you looking forward to summer?

Sick of Dreaming

I’m talking about dreams today, and not the kind that when achieved give you a massive ego, and the next thing you know you’re invading other countries in the name of ‘peace’ rather than fixing your own. No, I mean the other kind of dreams - the sleep kind. I wish that every night as I slept it could be a quiet, still darkness until I awoke because having dreams nearly every night is exhausting. If you go to sleep and your mind and all of your senses go to sleep with you, all I can say is you are one lucky bastard.

My dreams are so realistic I’ll think it’s real life until something so weird and over the top happens that I’ll realize it’s just a dream and either get pissed off or be relieved. How I feel about it depends on whether it was a good dream or a bad one. But lately I’m always pissed off when I wake up. I’m pissed off because I had a nightmare. I’m pissed off because I had a good dream then had to wake up. I’m pissed off because I had a good dream that morphed into a nightmare. I’m just pissed off that I keep dreaming, period.

Last night I dreamt that I started meeting up with a realtor because it seemed like as good a time as any to buy a home. The realtor and I became friends during our visits while I was house shopping. She apparently grew tired of me shooting down every suggestion with, “Can’t afford it.” So she somehow talked an old rich couple into lowering the price on a home she thought was perfect for me and the kids. When I went to check it out I was a bit skeptical because it was an old home and we all know what happened in the movie The Money Pit. But the place had wood floors so it started out on the right foot, as I’m allergic to dust mites. There were four huge bedrooms on the main floor. The bedrooms and dining room all had old faux wood paneling which made those rooms dark. The living room was a cheery room with white walls and lots of windows letting the sun in, but it was smaller than the other rooms. The kitchen was pretty basic, nothing special about it. After scoping out the main floor I climbed an old, wooden twisting staircase that creaked on every step and made me uneasy but it led to a gigantic room that had a wood floor and a huge almost wall-to-wall window that was 6 ft. high and overlooked the backyard. There was a long short seat built into the floor in front of the window so the kids and I could sit there and watch the stars at night. That was pretty cool and I was sold at that point. Then we went down to the basement. It was newly remodeled and quite the opposite of your average basement. It was all very bright - white from the floor up to the ceiling, with tons of white cupboards with violet trim and teal knobs. There was a kitchen, bathroom and a door leading outside so it was a place of its own.

The strangest thing is most of my dreams, overall, take place in houses and each house is different from the next. But this is the first time I dreamt of buying one. What could this mean? Well, it obviously means I need to get out more. And maybe I should be designing homes for a living. I know it doesn't mean I'm ready to buy a home. How absurd!

Well, back to the dream. After deciding I wanted the house my ex-husband Slick came over to see the kids and we got back together. That was the moment I realized I was just dreaming. WTF?! Now that I knew this wasn’t real life things got chaotically crazy. We got a man-maid (what the hell is that?) and a female nanny to take care of the kids, then Slick and I went on a road trip. When we drove through the Res Slick picked up a drunk Native American who just happened to be hitch-hiking. Then as we continued down the highway we kept seeing explosions as bombs were being dropped all over the mountains. Big, bad firey explosions. Great balls of fire! We could feel the ground shake every time a bomb dropped, and I swear I’m not a Vet. That shit finally scared me awake. And this was one of my milder dreams.

I guess this also means I need to take a road trip. And maybe, that they all should fear bombs on the Reservation.

Do your dreams wear you out? Ever?