When your kid’s adoption triad looks more like a hexagon, it can be difficult to not be frustrated with one corner or another. So, I’m a tad frustrated right now. I want to write about it, but . . . maybe in the future. He’s been hurt enough, and on the off, off, off, off, off chance that somebody finds my blog? I don’t want it to cause further hurt on either side. There are two sides to every story, and six corners to every hexagon, so I’m trying to put myself in . . . a lot of shoes. Some of which really just. don’t. fit.
And? I haven’t written anything funny in a while. So? Instead of venting? I’m going to share a dream I had last night. Hopefully it will be funny. I mean, it was quite disturbing when I was dreaming it, but in the light of day? Ha! I think.
Begin dream sequence: (I need some kind of ripple font for that)
So the fam and I were on vacation in Florida, and we just happened to run into a fellow adoption blogger and her husband. We stood there (wherever there was — it certainly wasn’t Harry Potter World, so I don’t even know why we were in Florida), when her husband asked me if I could go help him with something.
“Sure! What do you need help with?” I asked. I probably asked because, you know, my studly husband was standing right there, and surely he would be more help at anything than I would.
My friend encouraged me to go with her husband, so I did. We were in some kind of . . . parking lot. But, like, in front of a hotel or something. You know, where they have those little half-moon pull through spaces so you can park there while you check in? So there was this big van in that space, but it was somehow elevated just a bit. The blogger friend’s husband told me to just stand there for a minute and he’d let me know when he needed my help. He then proceeded to stack luggage in the back of the van in a very specific way before closing it up, walking around to the front, and hitting the hood of the van, thereby making it flip completely over and land on its top. I quickly realized that he had just pulled off that prank that had been going around social media (you know, the prank where you stack luggage like Jenga in the back of a vehicle to get it off balance in just the right way then slap the hood so that it flips over onto its top — you don’t know that one? Of course not. I dreamt it).
I had absolutely nothing to do with flipping the van onto its top, but I was panic stricken because, at the exact second he slapped and it flipped, he magically transfigured himself into a horse and trotted off, and I was the only one standing anywhere near the van. I knew I would be blamed, and I knew nobody would believe my defense of, “There was a guy here, but he turned himself into a horse so he could leave the scene without looking suspicious.”
Because hotel front doors are such equine hotspots, to be sure.
Oh! I just remembered something! He did tell me to stand back and watch my toes right before he flipped it. Nice that he cared about crushing my foot bones. I wonder if he was worried about the van landing causing injury, or about his impending hooves? Oh well.
Anyway, as I knew would happen, I was blamed for the whole thing. I tried to run from the scene of the prank/crime, but I think that made me look more guilty. As I was fleeing, before the authorities caught me, I saw my blogger friend again and I was almost, but not quite, yelling, “You set me up! Why did you do that to me????” She then proceeded to inform me that the new blog I’d started to document Spuds’ adoption and adjustment? The blog called Crossing Styx (which doesn’t exist, by the way) (or, if it does, it’s not mine) was offensive to her because Spuds’ previous adoptive mother, who I actually referred to as Styx on the blog, was her friend.
“Did you ever read the blog Snowflakes in December?” she asked me. “That’s Styx!”
I had, in fact (that would be dream fact), read Snowflakes in December (which, just to make sure we’re all on the same page, doesn’t actually exist as far as I know), and I had no idea that it had anything to do with Spuds’ last family. I thought that was a pretty sad commentary on the blog and the mother, given that it was an adoption blog and nothing about it ever would have hinted at Spuds being in their family. I tried to explain to my blogger friend that I had read the blog, that I didn’t know that was Styx, and that it wouldn’t have made any difference because the things that I wrote about were true, and true is true. I can’t change that.
She didn’t particularly care for my argument, and then the dream switched scenes. I was back home, I think. Maybe. Regardless, it really didn’t matter where I was because no matter where I was, I was being tailed by a grumpy, bitter parole-officer-type-woman whose job it was to document everything I did and said in order to make sure that I didn’t go pulling the slap-and-flip vehicle prank anymore. She wouldn’t believe me that I didn’t do it, and I knew that if I told her about the guy turning into a horse she’d have all my kids taken away from me. Maybe she wasn’t a parole officer. Maybe she just worked for DFS or something. And? She was naggy. It was like being followed by Dolores Umbridge (she had a clip board), a DFS worker, and a live-in mother-in-law all at the same time. *shudder*
Now I feel compelled to clarify that my real-life mother-in-law is not a nag.
Anyway, I woke up before anything bad happened. I mean, that’s assuming that you don’t consider having your privacy totally invaded and documented by some government minion to be bad. I was pretty happy to wake up, personally.
Ok, even if it wasn’t funny, it was weird, right? And now? It gives you all something to go arm-chair-psycho-analyze.
Tewt the Newt thinks you don’t need a degree to figure some of this out.