One of the very first things we had to do when we woke up as little children, was to find our grandmother and tell her our dreams from the night.
She mentally had the Field Guide to dream interpretation as the backdrop of her mind. My Abuela knew it all; the meaning behind the color of the dress you wore, or whether your hair was loose or pulled tight. You’d present the facts, she’d pose a few questions back to you, and there you’d have it: what your subconscious was trying to tell you.
I’m lucky enough to still remember some of her interpretations and now it’s my children who come to the breakfast table and in between spoonfuls of Frosted Flakes, tell me about the mouse in their dream that tried to come in through the wall behind their bed.
I always begin with the first line of action: information-gathering.
Me: Was it a white mouse or a grey mouse? Or … BLACK??
17-year-old: ::slurp glorp:: ummmmmm …. black. no, wait. grey.
Me: Never kid about the color!! Especially black!! Are you sure it was grey??? Are you SURE?
17-year-old: ::guzzle swallow:: yup. grey.
Me: For sure it was a mouse? Not a rat?
17-year-old: ::gulp chew:: a mouse. for sure. mouse.
Me: Was it scratching at the wall or did it come through the wall?
17-year-old: ::crunch munch:: I could only hear him. but he was trying to get through. definitely trying to get through.
Me: Oh my gosh. Trying to get through. But he didn’t, right?
17-year-old: ::smack lick:: nope. never got through. but I could hear him.
Me: Were you scared? Do you remember feeling scared?
17-year-old: ::pouring more juice:: yeah. scared for sure. my heart was pounding. i tried to call you but i had no voice.
Me: You had no voice?? And you tried to call me? Oh my gah! This is worse that what I thought it would be!
17-year-old: ::wiping mouth to go:: yeah. i only wanted you, mom. i gotta go to school now.
Me: No. No. Wait. Don’t you get it? YOU tried to call ME. It wasn’t about the mouse at all it was about you feeling you can’t reach me. That I don’t help you, that I’m not around. Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry. Let’s do something this weekend, okay? Just me and you. A movie? You want some new jeans? Let’s go have lunch, and then go to Best Buy. You want that new Call of Duty game, right?
17-year-old: ::gets up to go:: sounds good, mom. I love you. this Saturday, me and you. gotta go now or I’ll be late. can’t wait for this weekend.
My 17-year-old kisses me good-bye and leaves. I watch him walk out, grateful that he remembers enough from his subconscious to share it with me.
I watch him leave the kitchen but what I don’t get to see is him, passing his 15-year-old brother in the hallway on the way out, and whispering, “Sorry. I pulled the silent scream for her in my dream one today. You’ll have to use something else, how about the one where you look for her in every room of the house, but she’s not there.”
I also missed the *highfive* they gave each other.
Alexandra is an overanalyzing, oversensitive mother of three boys who somehow found herself named as BlogHer ’11′s Voice of The Year for Humor. She has been a mother since 1994, which means she hasn’t been right about anything since. She blogs of the sweet and the funny while trying to go unnoticed in her small town. You can find her at Good Day, Regular People. Did we mention socially awkward? We should, which is why the internet was made for her.