Posts Tagged ‘Dreams’

I dreamt all three of my children before they were born.


Now don’t click that little x. I am the most skeptical, non-hocus-pocus person you’ll ever meet. Promise. It comes standard with my RBF. (That was for a special friend, but I figure you may as well enjoy a laugh at my expense too.)


So, sanity aside, I did dream up all three of my kids before I ever met them. At three different stages of pregnancy, I had three different dreams about three different babies, at three different ages. My oldest was a newborn in my dream, my middle, three months and my daughter was just shy of a year.


Of course I dream all the time, but these dreams were different. They were tangible. In them, I could see, hear and taste as if awake. I could feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck as the downy silk of their cheeks brushed mine, I understood their dispositions and knew who I’d be meeting when the day finally came.


I would wake changed from when I’d gone to sleep. I’d come to know the tots forming in my belly. I’d been privy to what my future held. I’d been blessed with an extra day of their lives.


I can tell you there were no surprises. My first came early, slipping into our world as quietly as any living, breathing thing could. Our second, on his due date, with a head full of ebony hair and enough breath in his lungs to make up for his brother. The third, our daughter, swooped in on a magic carpet large enough to carry her and her big personality.


And I’d met them all before.


I am reminded of this because I was given another gift last night. Again, an extra day. Needless to say (I really hope it’s needless to say) I am not pregnant, but I had one of these dreams. Different, tangible, unmistakable.


Ava was about three years old. Her hair was cut into the short bob she used to wear and she wore a baseball cap. I could only see the back of her. Her squidgy little feet were covered in sand and she was struggling to get across a rocky patch. I asked her if she wanted me to pick her up and she said; “Could you, mumma,” in that tiny little voice she used to have.

Ava in her "Ash" cap

Ava in her “Ash” cap


My heart skipped and as I scooped her up, she melted in just like she was a part of me. It was one of those good holds. My arms wrapped under her teeny tushe and air could not have come between us.


“You’re the best mumma. I love you so much.” She whispered. And with the bubbles on her lips popping in my ear and the warmth of her comforting breaths, I felt the hair, once again, stand on the back of my neck.


I used to chalk my unique imaginings up to the whacky hormones of pregnancy, but after last night I know, dreams are just wishes your heart makes.





Read Full Post »


There’s not enough. It doesn’t exist.

We’ve all thought that, felt that, said that and believed that on random occasion, specific days and every time we attempt to follow our dreams.

And when we think in terms of days, we’re right. There are precious few hours to commute, work, parent, clean, shop and participate. When we rest our overtaxed heads on our feathery pillows at the end of a task-checking day, we do in fact deserve to sigh a deep sigh of contentment and completion.

Alright, content maybe, but complete? That’s the question of the month, of the year…of our lives, really.

Are we complete?

I truly love what has evolved to be my fundamental flannel onesie. Being a wife, being a mom, being a make-up artist, being what I’ve always meant to be.

But am I complete?

Are you?

I have penned poetry and prose on lined tattered pages, wielding a short pencil dented with teeth marks. I’ve printed my work on dot-matrix line printers and typed on a Macbook Air.

It’s been twenty-seven years.

There’s time.

The time shall pass anyway

Read Full Post »

This is a post I wrote in January of last year. I’d forgotten about it until someone recently repinned it on Pinterest. I decided to give it a bit of a tweak and repost because it’s one of the few things I’ve reread of mine and actually sort of liked and I’m really, really, no stupid busy right now and this is better than not posting at all. I hope you like it too.

Once upon a time…

Today I set out to write a meaningful, poignant tale, light enough to laugh and bruised enough to ache, but I got distracted by the shiny, sparkly WorldWideWeb shouting; “Squirrel!”

With a click of its heels, I was whisked away to a world where there can be, at times, a little too much information. Perhaps you’ve been there…

It’s a land where lies hold truths and certainties can be deceptions, genuine appears false and fake sports authentic. There’s shelves lined with jars of endless hope and stacks of dusty, old boxes containing eternal damnation. And it’s right at our fingertips for mere breadcrumbs and while tasting sweet, it can be ceaselessly damaging.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t have letters following my name or awards in my bio, I don’t have any notable education in writing and I don’t work in a profession relating to my passion and what I dream will eventually become my career.

It’s dizzyingly easy to fall down the hole and find darkness in place of dreams and tempting to give up and let the bad wolf blow our houses down and yes, sometimes irresistible to believe the sky is falling, but the good new is we have a choice.

Finding the girl that fits the glass slipper or coming back from eating that poisoned apple is not easy, but no one ever said it would be. Nothing magical worthwhile ever is.

It does help though, when we know our unfolding fairy tale is being heard by whoever should nestle in to read the never-ending story.

Poisoned Apple

Read Full Post »

%d bloggers like this: