As a mom, I have few dreams anymore. When I do dream, it might be bizarre or random, or have people I know in it, but now days it's rare to have all of that, and they're usually short. Last night was an exception.
The dream started with some sort of large-group, sightseeing trip in a large city. It could've been New York, but it had the feel of St. Louis. Then we were inside a dimly lit Hobby Lobby.
The old boxcar (that Mama and Daddy own in real life) was parked in an aisle, and a few people were standing on chairs or ladders to use it as a table for coloring pictures. I wanted to join, but someone told me there wasn't enough ladders. "But there's plenty of space. If you could just find a way to climb up..." I responded with a confident, "Oh, I can get up there." I parkoured my way up with various rusty bolts and half-hinges. We were parked in a floral department and were surrounded by fake ferns. It gave me the impression I was on the set of A Midsummer Night's Dream (1999). I started drawing with pastels. It was a dinosaur (the exact one, in fact, that's on Andy's new favorite shirt. In real life, he can't stand not wearing it when it's dirty and I have to hide it, or he'll pull it out and ask, "Di-NO, DiNO"). Someone warned me to hang on, and it got super-windy. I didn't fly off, though, and when the wind was gone, I was dressed in my swimsuit, and everyone else started pushing the boxcar really fast down the cavernous store. We turned out of the fern-aisle and flew down the side towards the framing department where a class was being held (It was obviously after hours). A guy from Halstead that I've known since first grade (who, in real life, goes to our gym now) was taking the class and winced when he saw us coming. I was worried I had a wardrobe malfunction of some sort. We turned and moved towards the front of the store. A random girl winced. I knew I should be lucky to be in a swimsuit, and that dreams are known to be less kind with wardrobe changes, but all the same I shouted that I wanted down. Miraculously, I got my wish. The boxcar was gone, I was fully dressed and on my feet. I started making my way to the front of the store with Aunt Anne. We were trying to figure out how much money was owed to whom from the trip, specifically how much I owed for the orange chalk I was coloring with. It was tough, really, because one bill was actually a two-dollar bill, and another was Canadian, and tens and twenties kept appearing that weren't there before.
Out of the store, in the dark parking lot, people were all meeting up from our trip to get into their designated cars. "Oh! I was assigned to ride with Eden and the Caplans." I hurried over to Eden's car. (The 90s Acura she drove a long time ago) The interior bore the unmistakable signs of the end of a long road trip, with trash and food and shoes stuffed in all the available space. Ryan and Alicia were in the back and little Elliot was sleeping peaceful in his car seat in the middle row of seats (apparently this was no muggle vehicle!) and I slid in next to him. Eden was waiting in the driver's seat. I could tell they had just been discussing what a great baby he was. Everyone had that placid expression on their faces associated with gazing at a sleeping baby that you're fond of.
It was getting lighter outside. To avoid turning left near a busy intersection, Eden zoomed around the parking lot to the rear of the store, slowing down only to locate the side street. On the opposite side of the road was a tall privacy fence, and down below was a large amount of rainwater. A small river had formed, taking up half the road. I yelled "EDEN, WATCH OUT FOR THE WATER!!" My sister showed no signs of hearing me, but slammed her foot down on the gas pedal. We lurched forward, hydroplaned, and careened through the fence, splintered wood flying everywhere. The crash didn't slow us down, and we burst through a front door. I had just enough time to take in the cluttered living room and see a boy throwing his x-box controller in the air in his haste to get out of our way, before we flew past into a bedroom. The door flew open with a bang, and we stopped right there in the only clear patch of old, dirty brown carpet.
Everyone immediately turned to the baby, then relaxed when we saw that he was awake, but unharmed. He was sort of coo-ing and taking in his surroundings. No one was hurt. I began to laugh hard. We went outside to take in the damage, and I kept giggling like something was wrong with me. We were standing in an old trailer park. All the homes were completely made of wood with peeling paint. Most had rooms added on at odd angles. (I think my subconscious got the idea from a little cobalt blue home near the river that always catches my eye on my way to church.) I pointed to one built AROUND a telephone pole with an extra room on the top of the house. "That one looks like a freakin' pirate ship!" I completely lost it again and doubled over laughing. I genuinely liked the home. I don't know why I thought it was funny.
We went back inside and wondered why we didn't destroy the house. "Oh!" said Eden, "It's because it was only a Lego car." Sure enough, the car in the bedroom had been transformed. It was now a thin vehicle frame supported on tiny wheels made entirely of legos. "Whelp! No harm done..." We started heading out, but the man who lived there ran in. (He looked like James Franco playing a deadbeat role.) He saw that nothing was broken, but he wouldn't let us leave until he knew that we weren't trying to steal anything. He began to make sure all his prized possessions were still in their hiding places. I suspect he was really trying to show off his inventions. Out from under the bed, he extracted two game controller light sabers. They had no resemblance to Star Wars props, but they were more like a sabre you'd see a buccaneer wielding. They did however, light up, and Lem (from Better off Ted) was in the room with us long enough to push his glasses up his nose and make a comment. "If it weren't for the x-box buttons, I would've been convinced they were real!" When we turned back to the Franco-guy, he was holding a four-foot-long weapon. It resembled a folded-up patio umbrella, sans canvas. The bottom had a handle with a trigger, and the whole thing was red, blue, and silver. "This is my actual web-building, Spiderman device, with real spiders!" He boasted. Ryan said, "Wait! Those aren't spiders; those are cockroaches!" But James only shouted, "What ISN'T a cockroach?!" and pulled the trigger. Before we could react, the spokes unfolded. I imagine, that in James Franco's mind, the "spiders" were supposed to weave strands of web between the aluminum arms. However, dangling from the end of each of the umbrella spokes was a fat roach (of the Madagascar variety) cocooned and tangled in a mess of web. They wriggled around, hissing angrily. We all were screaming and ducking, trying to dodge the swinging insects, and praying that none would come loose. Meanwhile James Franco stood in the center of the living room, holding his invention up high, cackling like a maniac.
When the absurdity of it all reached an all-time high, I couldn't take anymore and I woke up laughing.
