Two nights ago, I had a passing dream about paper work. I had a bundle of official papers, like an adoption dossier, and all of the documents had stamps and seals affixed to them. I was about to mail them out somewhere when I realized that I had the wrong stamps and seals. I panicked and did not know what to do. I wondered whether I should just send them to where they were to go and hope that no one noticed that the wrong seals were on them, or whether I should and could peel the seals and iron flat the raised stamps and start the certification process all over again.
There are more than one type of certification out there. When I was transferring the stock that Cheshire and David owned jointly into Cheshire’s name, I had to get a bank certification which is different from what a notary can do. For our China dossier, we needed to have a notary’s stamp, the secretary of state’s stamp, and finally the Chinese embassy’s stamp. We did the work for Julia’s dossier between the two of us -- David, who worked at the Indiana State House, was steps away from the Secretary of State, and I was working in Chicago and within a short bus ride of the Chinese Embassy. I am not sure why the stress of the dream. I can’t put my finger on some similar stress, but it was important that I get those stamps right and I needed them as soon as possible in the dream.
I am not remembering many dreams. It has been like that for awhile. For a long time, I could remember nothing. I could have said that I didn’t think I was dreaming, but now, there are airy wisps of places or people, whispers of ideas that are like disappearing smoke when I wake up. But this was no wisp or whisper. But what was I reaching for, what needed to get done quickly.
I have no idea.
We had a quick lesson on the place value of numbers. I had been thinking about this a few days ago, but thought it was too advanced for Julia to grasp -- we are still working on “more.” But Julia was playing a Leapster game and she needed to put numbers in the correct column for a game. I gave her a quick lesson, we rehearsed reading numbers in the hundreds and the thousands -- because that’s what the game called for -- and she was able, at least for the moment to play the game. My hat was off to the Leapster game designers who appear to be enticing my child into the world of math.
On another note, Julia continues to pick on her bug bite scabs. I am not a fast healer these days -- ah, old age -- but my many bug bites of the summer are gone. Julia’s arms and legs are full of tiny scabs that regularly get picked off and need to reform. Some of them she makes worse by picking. I am rather at my wits ends on this one. I keep her nails very short. We talk about how bad this is for her skin. we talk about how much I love her body and don’t want her to hurt it. We talk about how she is the only person who can do anything about it. For all the cream, lotions and bandaids that I put on these places, and for all of the time when there is someone with her and can immediately keep her from picking, she is also alone when she goes to the bathroom, gets changed into and out of clothes, or is lying in bed after the lights are off. I am scared that this is becoming a habit and that it will get worse. I have thought that it is a stress reliever. Julia knows that I don’t want her to pick on her skin and when I ask her about it, she lies. Flat out tells those untruths. She is not particularly good at it, nor is she good at lying. she will eventually admit to picking if I keep at her enough, but it can be tiring.
After I complained a few months ago, that when I found my old journals, I paper work, I listened to an old friend tell me to organize my blog fils and print them out as journals. I didn’t intend to print out my pages and pages, but i’ve been collecting old entires in monthly files. Tonight, I got to last July and as sad as that month was, it was sadder still to read the few months before hand when we were so full of hope, so such were had beat death at his own game. We would not have put it that way at the time, but it is the way I see it now. we were foolishly giddy. With experience being the teacher, I see what I did not see then. Not that I could have stopped, or even slowed down events. Events happened as they did, they unfolded in their time. I cried to see how sad I was, and cried again when I was so happy.
I know that I cannot get back there, and I so hope that one day, I can find such happiness again.
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