What do Mom’s dream about, when they take a little mama snooze?

The Mom Nightmare

I was scared. She walked in disappointed and angry. My selfishness was surprising, both to her, and me. The lack of memory made it worse. Having no recollection of when I did it or why made my defense strategy difficult to manage. It had to have been a move of desperation. She wore the intensity on her face, as I scrambled to explain. Her wrath, unforgiving and cruel, chased me with a spatula as I ran faster than the Gingerbread Man. With no time to grab a kitchen utensil weapon of my own, I concentrated on my rotation and stride. Each step seemed to grow in heaviness, and she was catching up, spatula angrily wailing, ready to strike my head with full force. I struggled to step, fearing all the things the rubber spaghetti stirrer would inflict. Just when I thought there was no escape, the run transformed. I was flying, swimming in the air, tormented with guilt, but, confident in my escape! “GIVE ME BACK MY BABYSITTER!!!!” she screamed from the land below. Then, with each air filled stroke, the sound of the beat grew stronger, louder, more familiar, but, just as confusing.

My eyes opened.

It was all a mom nightmare! My “too late to take the test” dreams of yore have turned into vicious babysitter stealing mama dramas. The temptation to roll over and wallow in my pathetic subconscious fear was halted by the blaring sound at the bottom of my bed. Still delirious, I called out, “JIm?!” only to find him asleep and drooling, like always.

I mustered up the energy to sit up as the guilt of fake babysitter stealing subsided and turned into real confusion. There she was, at the bottom of the bed. Her curls bounced with every head bang, her fists beating and pounding in the air to each and every beat. She greeted me, without skipping a head bang. “Mornin, Mama! I’m dancin!” as Red Hot Chili Peppers continued to blast from the child-locked iPad. With entirely too many questions for the early hour, I smiled as best as my face allows at 6am. “Good morning, Josie.”

And as I laid back down with the music still blaring, “At least she has good taste it music,” I thought.

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