What Mom Stress Dreams are Made Of

I dream a lot. And I dream some keeerazy, far too realistic dreams which happen to stick with me for half the day. And very often I wake up and have determined that my husband is in trouble for something he absolutely did not do. But I sure dreamt that he did and that’s good enough in my book. My mother used to do this to my father too. My father and husband commiserate over having spent days in the dog house for indiscretions we’ve dreamt up in the wee hours. It’s just one of those lovely hidden traits that spouses find out about long after we’ve walked down the aisle. Sorry, huz.

Anyway, I am usually not into replaying my dreams publicly because come on. What is more boring than hearing what someone dreamt about the night before? My husband gets to hear every detail – because listening to irrelevant dreams is in his husband job description (however fine the print was) I’m afraid. But I try to spare boring the rest. Because really I know, *YAWN* … so to speak.

But I had a dream that is worthy of sharing I think. It offers a unique insight into the mind of a mother. Maybe you’ve had a dream like this before? Well, whether you have or not, the real reason I am posting it is to rid myself of its demons. Because I am fairly sure I aged a couple of years just by having it. It was a doozy. And to start off telling its tale, I must ask you one important question:

Do you know what mom stress dreams are made of?

Well I’ll tell you.

I am riding in the very back of my friend’s red mini-van. And the car is filled with children that are not mine. Where were mine by the way? I have no idea where they are. And where are we going anyway? Oh look. No one is driving the car. That’s right, I am careening down a highway, in a minivan filled with children who aren’t mine, with no one at the wheel. So I scramble over the seats. And as I am doing this, I look down to see that the kids are actually not strapped into their car seats. And some of the car seats are far too small for them. And the kids are dirty. One little girl was covered in coffee beans. Could she choke on those? Holy hell, she has a handful in her fist right now. But wait. The van is still careening down the highway and starting to veer. Must. Crawl. To. Front. Of. Van. Oh no. My foot gets wrapped up in one of those dangling straps belonging to one of those children that isn’t strapped in. And now one is crying. A lot. He is squirming and its clear his diaper is full. Something leaks out the side. Oh this is bad. Finally, I’m in the front of the van, my foot yanked free, hoping to God those kids don’t crawl out of their seats. I grab the wheel. But, predictably, I could not reach the break pedal. The cliched slow motion, walking in syrup moment of it all was torturous. Reaching, reeeeaching for those pedals. Finally I do and I break. Kids fly around everywhere, I feel thudding on the back of my seat. What have I done? Screaming, crying, oh my God are they ok? I find myself stopped on a back road. I push open the door. Where the hell am I? Who are these kids? WHERE ARE MY CHILDREN? Where is my cell phone? I really need help. So I am searching and searching and searching in my bag when I look up. One child has escaped the car and is elbow deep in a conveniently placed trough of manure. Poop was all over her. And she is about to put it in her mouth because she’s just one of those “mouthy” kinds of kids. I grab her, tell her not to touch anything, and where are my wipes? Standing there on the grass, one hand on her, I am frantically searching searching searching my bag for wipes, pleading that she not move. But something does move – its the van. With the van door still open and every child still unstrapped crawling all over the inside, it begins to roll away from me, rapidly picking up speed. They start screaming again, and the van rolls further away, faster and faster and I am chasing it, slow motion AGAIN, with this manurey child on one hip, and I’ll never catch it (- oh shit I left my bag behind -) the van is gaining speed, its just too far away, a shoe just fell out the side of the van or was it a bottle? I’ll never catch it, OHMYGODHELP!!!….

And that, my friends, are what mom stress dreams are made of.

By the way, my children, my wipes, my car, my car seats, my cell phone and my bag are all blessedly accounted for.

Because I checked.