Having a Bit of a Walkabout!

 

Another entertaining dream with a twist. Or was it twisted?!

These details aren’t as clear as those of some of my dreams, but I do know it took place in a cemetery and I was staggering, trying to loop my arm through that of someone nearby to help me. The trouble was that he was invisible, and my arm kept going through his body. I pretty much reached the end of my rope, so to speak, when the back of my right hand hit one wall, and the front of my left hand hit an adjacent wall. I had truly walked into a corner! I wasn’t quite awake yet, so as I “looked” down the wall, it appeared to be very long with two doors. I woke up at that point to see that I had walked myself into a corner: I was indeed looking at the entry door and the bathroom door. My right hand only stung a little.

This had a better outcome than when I last walked in my sleep two years ago. I had basically run in my sleep, hitting a closed bathroom door head-on; in other words, I “stubbed” my head into my shoulders! My head and shoulders hurt for several days. And I scared the dickens out of both Steve and myself because I screamed. I screamed loudly. He was still awake and when he came running, he found me dazed on my hands and knees.

It's never a dull moment here because I do seem to talk, walk, sing, scream, and laugh--perhaps more in my sleep than I do when I’m awake.

Analyze this!

 

Hello! Long time no see!

Another crazy night passed me by with another crazy dream. I dream often, and I remember some. Unfortunately, I mostly have nightmares, but this particular dream was very entertaining.

It started with me trying to take a multiple choice test set up like a survey. You know how surveys are often set up as something like this: “Strongly dislike, dislike, don’t care either way, like, or strongly like?” Well, my multiple test answers were: “will, who, and should.” For instance, a sentence was presented: “So and so needs dental work. Will or should he get it?” Of course, the sensible answer would be both will and should. And I imagine I even knew the who! But the directions clearly stated that only one answer was allowed. So I was truly befuddled after answering three questions and left the classroom.

I went to the kitchen where I proceeded to sort the flatware because there was a whole bunch of it in a pile. Despite knowing that the person in charge of the flatware wouldn’t like my interference, I did it anyway. There was a very wide tray that would accommodate all the flatware, so I sorted that way. But then I sorted the plasticware as well. I thought I was just going to be able to put all the plasticware in one Ziploc bag, but it did indeed require three separate bags for forks, knives, and spoons. When I was satisfied with a job well done, I returned to the classroom (and I do believe the teacher was my English teacher from middle school/high school, Mrs. Claphan, who taught us every other year—she was pregnant in the off years).

I tried to explain my confusion to her, but she didn’t really understand; however, she let me retake the test. She couldn’t find a spot for me in the hallway, so she set it up to project on the ceiling while I lay down on the floor. The test was difficult to read because the ceiling was too far away, and I was getting frustrated all over again. But my problems were solved when I realized she was going over the test with the other students!

I woke up a happy student!

Kid Talk 3

The second child often gets overlooked. There's lots going on with two kids, but I tried to document Rachel's antics as well. I did the best I could.

She was going to a babysitter on a semi-regular basis the year she turned three. In March of that year, she got her head caught in a Barbie’s dollhouse. Marlese said she didn’t cry but softly and worriedly called, “Marlese, Marlese.” Marlese had to knock a piece out to get her head free. Rachel said, “I be not ‘posed to.”

Also in March, I was cradling her in my arms and looking into her eyes. I told her it reminded me of when I used to nurse her—when she used to get milk from me. She innocently asked, “When you were a cow?”

At age 2 1/2, Rachel knew her left from her right, and she drew faces very well. She also dressed herself, expressing it this way: “I how know dress.”

In July 1988, I caught Rachel and Nathan arguing about best friends. He claimed he was her best friend, and she insisted he wasn’t. They shared the bath at times, and he washed her face that night. She told him, “You’re a friendly guy.”

Nathan’s granny and grandpop took him with them for a week after visiting here first. When he was saying his farewells, he told his dad: “I’ve gotten used to the way these trees look.” I think he was a little nervous. When the week ended, I went to Cincinnati to meet him and bring him home. He was delighted to see me, but Rachel had missed me terribly. (I think I was gone two nights.) For a few days after, she’d scream pitifully, even getting to the point of sobbing after me: “I love you, Mama!” I asked her once why she cried so much. She said, “I don’t know, Mama. I like you and don’t want to cry.” What a dear!

Very early on, Nathan wanted to ride the bus. He got on the wrong bus once through no fault of his own and rode for an hour instead of 30 minutes. He told me he “cried to death,” but he didn’t really seem to mind. But the bus-riding stopped in November when a substitute bus driver left off all the elementary kids and picked up all the HS kids – while Nathan still rode around. After those kids all went home, he finally noticed Nathan. I was panic-stricken and called the principal every 15 minutes. He finally made it home two hours late!

When Rachel started University Preschool in the fall of 1988 she was very proud of herself because the first week there, she got to hold the flag for the “Pledgiance of Allegiance.” She especially liked flushing the toilets there. (Apparently, ours at home were too loud for her tender ears.)

Rachel said that the best thing about preschool was that she got to be with her Julie Booley, her best friend since birth.

At age 3 ½, Rachel thanked me for giving her part of my chocolate chip cookie from Hardee’s: “Thank you that it’s got chocolate in it, Mama.”

When Rachel graduated from her first year at preschool, she hopped across the stage to receive her award for Good Citizenship. Her classmates voted on her because she’s the one who always tried everything.

At 4 years of age, I caught Rachel tossing her shirts out of her drawer one by one. I asked her what she was doing, and she said, “Looking for my chickenhead!” What she really wanted was her turtleneck.

At age 6, Nathan didn’t get the Ninja Turtle Sewer System he had wanted for Christmas and was worried that he didn’t get it because he had spelled sewer incorrectly as “suyer.”

Nathan became a Cub Scout, and Rachel was very much looking forward to becoming an “Oreo.” She meant Brownie.

Tying up the kid talk for now ….

Kid Talk 2

An earlier entry documented my son’s vocabulary between the ages of two and three. I was still an avid journal keeper when he was between the ages of three and four. My daughter started speaking as well. There’s not much I like better than observing a child’s speech development!

Nathan was nothing if not articulate. Just short of three, Nathan refused to eat a banana before his cookie. The bribe didn’t work, and I ended up giving him the cookie. He let me know he appreciated that: “It was very nice of you to give me that cookie without eating a banana.”

As Christmas approached, we kept a small number of ornaments in the cookie snowhouse. When Nathan wanted to see them, he told me that he was feeling housey, treesy, angely, or candy caney.

Another time, I lay down with him, and he said, “I’m with you. There’s no need to be afraid.”

When he tried to dress himself, he said that he wasn’t very useful with his shirts.

When he started University Preschool, he told us in the first week of school that his teacher was teaching the alphabet out of order. He wondered if that was because we lived in the U.S. where we were free to do anything we wanted.

At 3 ½ years old, he loaded spaghetti on his spoon, saying, “It’s enough to make a person angry!”

Shortly after, Nathan wanted his dad to do something for him. He said, “I encourage you to do it, Dad!”

Just shy of four years old, Nathan made a pronouncement: “Never will I eat crusts again.”

Nathan often tried to experiment. He told me, disappointed, “My invents never work!”

One time, Steve and I were in separate cars, and I honked at him. Instead of saying, “Did you scare him out of his pants?” he said, “Did you honk his pants out?”

Unfortunately, I pushed him on his bike a bit hard and he fell. Crying, he said, “Mom, I wish you wouldn’t ever do that again!”

I asked him where he wanted to go for lunch and never one for brief answers, he said, “My request is that we go to McDonalds.”

Nathan and I were talking about careers. He said he wanted to be a bug doctor, but he’d have to learn how to be nicer to them first.

Rachel stuck her tongue out at Nathan. He said, “That looks like a hog in your mouth, Rachel. It’s embarrassing.” 

When he was five, Nathan had a very high fever. When I told him that we might have to go to the doctor, he said, “Mom, it’ll pass; it always does.” He was plagued with so many ear infections when he was growing up, so, unfortunately, he knew the routine.

When he was still in preschool, he said that if his friend said something he didn’t like, he put his fingers in his ears and said, “Blah, blah, blah.” He claimed, “It really entertains the girls, Mom.” 

More to come as Rachel had learned how to make her presence known  ….

Kid Talk

It’s so hard to know what to write about these days because there are so many topics to cover. I could write about the dismal state of attempts made to reverse Roe and all things sane, the dismal state of “news shows” that spread lies, the dismal attempt to ban books, the dismal art of war, the dismal approach to gun control (or lack thereof), the dismal act of growing older and getting frailer until, like a magician, I perform a disappearing act. (And, considering this outcome, I have to wonder why I get so worked up about all these other circumstances.)

But today I choose to document my son’s vocabulary between the ages of two and three (more to come with the birth of my daughter). And this is something I can talk about with confidence because I used to keep journals.

My son started talking in complete sentences before he was two. Steve used to tell a story his dad told him when he was growing up. It concerned Itsy Bitsy Bamboo Hieroglyphic Pompom Nesia and his brother Joe. Who could say this name at 23 months? Nathan, of course.

He held up two pieces of bread and said, “This is a sea. This is a boat. Do like this.” And he put the boat on the sea. At 24 months, he said, “Baby’s inside Mommy. I can’t see him very well. Baby’s drinking a bottle.” Now, that would be a feat!

I lay down beside him soon after, and he said, “Mommy, you go sleep on your own bed. I have mine.” Of course, that didn’t continue. Although he was a great napper before that time, he started to hate going to sleep at night! And no wonder! The poor kid had night terrors until he was five!

Nathan was very specific when I asked him what he did at Mothers Morning Out: “Play, eat, drink milk, drink juice, wait for our mothers.”

He had his first successful phone conversation at 26 months. In talking to my friend he said, “Hi, Mary Beth. Do you want to come over for a picnic? I just wanted to say hello. Bye-bye!”

At 26 months, he saw a convertible and commented, “That’s a crazy car; it has no lid on it!”

When he was 2 1/2, Nathan was very pleased when I gave him a fork to eat breakfast. He said, “Oh, this is a good-looking fork!”

When my water broke, I prompted Nathan to call his dad and say, “Mommy’s water broke!” On his own, he added, “Can you fix it?” Obviously, there was a gap of about 3 months before I started writing consistently again.

We used to have a teen come over to babysit, so I could study or catch up on chores. One day, I overheard Nathan tell the babysitter, “I don’t know why my parents have to go out of town.” He saw me and said, “Oh! One parents is here!”

At Christmastime, we rearranged his furniture. He took one look at it, plopped his head on the bed and said, “You poiled my whole yife!” It didn’t “poil” his ability to think things through, though. After going to church, he said, “We didn’t cut the Christmas tree off at church.” Not understanding, I said that we decorated it. But he said, “We didn’t trim it, though!”

Nathan loved to drink juice and milk to the exclusion of food. I told him he needed something solid and gave him cheese. He nibbled on it and said, “Boy, that sure is solid!”

I got angry at Nathan, and he said, “I think I lost her temper!” Who could stay mad at a guy like that?!

He expressed surprise when I told him I was once little: “I thought you were always a grown woman!”

Well, speaking as a grown woman now, I have things to do, places to go. More cuteness in future blog entries can be expected.

I just lost a week of my life to yoga

After writing the previous blog entry titled “Namaste,” I spent the week recuperating. I went to yoga on Thursday, but the pain didn’t move in until Sunday night. 

I realized, after reading for a bit, that I couldn’t get out of my recliner without help. I inched myself forward to the edge, my back screaming all the while. My husband had to come to my aid. The same thing in reverse happened at bedtime.

The pain persisted all week. I couldn’t sit down to write because sitting just made my back crunch up in a most annoying way. The only activity I could manage pain-free was walking. So I did. Six miles a day for four days running. That tired me out enough to sit. But, again, sitting brought back the crunch.

On Friday, I walked to the chiropractor. By the time I reached his office, I could move freely. It’s like taking a car in with a noisy engine, only to find that the noise is no longer audible.

I still want to be flexible. I obviously want to be pain-free. So I’m typing this standing up. And I hope to return to Zumba this week. For some reason, the bouncing, twisting, and gyrating don’t bother me or my back. Maybe I’ll try water aerobics and will certainly re-introduce floor exercises. But I promise you that the word, the thought, the act of yoga will never again occur. It just goes to show you: you can't teach an old (downward) dog new tricks.

Sleepwalking at night tops sleepwalking through life

I talk in my sleep, I walk in my sleep, I scream in my sleep, I even laugh and cry in my sleep. What I rarely do is sleep a nice, deep sleep.

All this activity gets its roots in technicolor dreams and nightmares that stick with me. I remember that they started after I saw “The Blob” at age 5 at a drive-in theater with my family. I was little, so I was literally crouching down on the floor of the backseat, screaming, “Turn it off, turn it off!”

At an older age, my mom said she heard a meow coming from my room. And there were no cats to be seen. I believe her because I woke up recently barking.

My memory from my growing-up years is less than stellar, but I do remember several things about walking in my sleep. I vaguely knew what I was doing but couldn’t stop it. I’d wake up at the top of the stairs curled up on the floor. When I was in the 8^th grade, I’d been working diligently on sewing an apron for myself. Wound up but tired, I went to bed early. Soon after, I walked downstairs in my sleep carrying my blanket. My sister and her boyfriend were there, making fun of me while I put the blanket under the faucet and started “sewing.” As far as I know, that was the last time I walked in my sleep for nearly 60 years!

But two years ago, I had a nightmare. In it, several people were going after me. I lurched over to the door and locked it. I woke up soon after and checked my lock to see if it had really happened. It was locked.

And then last year, shortly after a hospitalization that worried me, I did it again. I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to yell for help. I got up, lurched toward the bathroom door, and smacked right into it. I was moving at such a speed that I basically jammed my head into my neck and felt it through my shoulders. I screamed. When Steve came running, he found me on all fours, dazed.

Despite all this nonsense, I find my dreams entertaining. While they are sometimes annoying, they also make life interesting.

I may not wake up feeling refreshed; but, after the night I've had, I do wake up glad to be alive!