Inside the Minds of the White House: Part 2

Dreams.  The sleeping kind, not the life-goal type.

#2 is sweet to let #5 cuddle.
(He's not strangling her, I promise.)

Am I the only one who doesn't want to hear anyone else's dreams, but who likes to tell others my own cool dreams?  I think there are two reasons for this.  First, when someone else wants to tell me a dream, it usually becomes obvious in the re-telling that the dream was too wacky and didn't make enough sense to be worth re-telling.  But, second, I so rarely have interesting dreams that when I do, I want to share it.


I have bored myself awake at least half a dozen times that I remember.  Dreaming about watering the houseplants just isn't as exciting as actually watering them I guess.  I type this at 4:24 a.m. after waking myself at 2:15 from a dream in which I was shopping at DI.  ~Snoozer!~  (Or, rather not, since I'm no longer snoozing.)


Kent frequently dreams about saving the world or being a secret agent or a battlefield hero.  He used to share his dreams with me, but has mostly given that up since I clearly don't care about his motion picture-worthy slumber adventures.  (Or maybe he doesn't want to make me feel bad about my lame dreams.)


#1 has not yet internalized that I don't want to hear her bizarre dreams, either.  But maybe the world does.  After repeating her dreams in mind-numbing detail to her sisters, her friends, and anyone else who will listen, she turns to the computer and turns them into novellas.  She has six such in the works.  Maybe I shouldn't scoff, though.  She might be the next Stephanie Meyer, who was inspired by dreaming of a glittering man.  If #1 ever publishes one of these books and then signs a corresponding movie contract, I'll eat these words.


Last week at breakfast, #1 was telling #3 about a dream within a dream where her friend had dreamed the same dream.  (She hasn't even seen Inception yet.  Hmm...maybe her dreams are movie worthy.)  I was cleaning up the meal and had the "pleasure" of experiencing her long-winded dream for about 20 minutes.  #3, who is slow-going in the morning, sat through the whole re-telling.  When #1 finished, #3 remarked, "I never have time to have that much happen in my dream.  I usually dream about myself just standing around waiting for the dream to start."  Upon clarification she confirmed that yes, she literally dreams of herself just standing there for a very long time, then the dream gets going...and that's usually about the time I wake her up to start the real-life day.  Poor kid.


If dream material is genetic, then I guess we know which parent passed on their dream traits to each daughter!

Inside the Minds of the White House: Part 1

Allow me to take you back 20 years.  My family moved to a new house and city when I was in high school, a difficult thing to be sure, but I'm not going to complain about that.  (If we hadn't moved, I never would have met Kent.)  The new house had more rooms, and as the oldest child, I was given my own bedroom for the first time.  Not only did I have the room to myself, but it was the room that doubled as the guest bedroom, so I was upgraded from a twin to a brand-new, queen-size bed.  I carefully selected the new bedding to be the focal point of my sunny room, and it was beautiful!  Suddenly, I morphed from being a sloppy teenager to being quite tidy.  I probably took it too far.

My friends loved to play a game that I think was meant to mock me, but I took it as a compliment.  I would leave my bedroom and they would remove a little nick knack from its place on my shelf or dresser or even closet.  With one glance around the room, I could identify what had been taken.  When that became boring, they would leave everything in place, but just turn or slightly move an object.  Because I knew the exact distances and angles of everything in proportion to each other, I still had no trouble identifying the thing that had been upset.

Don't think my OCD was restricted to nick knacks, either.  When I had achieved the perfectly made bed, I wanted to keep it that way.  The sheets were smoothed and tucked tightly with their hospital corners; the comforter hung evenly down all sides with just enough of the top turned down to reveal the reversible pattern; the pillows were plumped; and the ruffles of the bed skirt brushed the carpet exactly enough...to hide the sleeping bag I kept stowed under the bed.  That's right.  I pulled out my sleeping bag each night, took off the foremost pillow on the bed, and curled up on the floor. After all, I saw no reason to ruin a perfect thing, so I wasn't about to climb into bed and MESS IT UP!

No one ever complained about my clean room.  My parents were probably grateful for my tidiness, which extended to my college years.  My roommates would tease me a bit and plan future reunions at my future house where they could play the "Neat and Tidy Game" in any room.  But we had forgotten one factor of that future. We hadn't considered the havoc of kids in those reunion plans.

I spent the first five years of motherhood fighting for an immaculate home.  It took a lot of tears (my own and my children's) and yelling and general frustration to maintain cleanliness.  Eventually I grew up and decided it wasn't worth it.  I could have either a clean house or emotionally healthy children.  After much deliberation--just kidding!--I chose the children.  That's not to say I don't look forward to the day when I can deep clean in the morning and the house will still look about the same at dinnertime. In fact, we're getting there.

My sister took three of my children home with her on Sunday night and kept them until Tuesday.  With the two youngest gone, the house stayed remarkably cleaner.  So I figure in four more years, I'll like how it looks again.

You may wonder, though, "What about the master bedroom?" Well, maybe I've let some of my neurosis sneak back in:

Kent's napping spot.  

(Why didn't he close the door on his dresser?!)

Taking YouTube by Storm

My kids keep popping up on YouTube. You might recall #1's role in the Techno Jeep stop motion video. Well, I didn't recall #2's part in a String Cheese Ad that was filmed at her school. Have a look. She is in the background at 14 secs and 21 secs (on the right, behind the kid stringing his cheese).

 

Over the weekend, a friend sent me a link to the new Salt Lake Pops Orchestra music video featuring David Osmond's voice and Aubree Oliverson on violin. It is a remix of Katy Perry's "Firework". I like the remix way better than the original. David's voice is great; I like what the SL Pops is doing to make classical instruments contemporary; and I like that they are featuring young, talented musicians. The day after I first watched it, #1 casually mentioned that the music video she had helped with (as a background person) was up on YouTube. We looked it up, and there was this Firework video again! (July 4 seemed like a timely release.) She pointed herself out in the school's hallway, and then it panned to a shot of David singing. I asked her if he had been there actually singing his part while they filmed. "Yeah. So?" "Did you get his autograph?" "No. Why?" "Because he's Utah famous!" She had no idea who he was, so I reminded her that he had been on American Idol (not top 20 or whatever, though), but she didn't seem impressed. She agreed that he has a nice voice, but that's where her fanaticism ends. In frustration I flopped down on the couch: "This reminds me of the time your dad said Beto Cuevas [the lead singer of La Ley, my favorite Latin band and possibly my favorite band ever, which is saying something] and Adam Lambert have stayed and sung at the very same orphanage we stay at in Mexico, but we always miss them!"

All these little brushes with the few people I care about in the music business, and my family members treat it all oh so casually. I should just stick to revering Vivaldi and Liszt. Then I'll never get worked up about possibly ever meeting them! (They're dead.)

Anyway, here's the music video. The links to other Salt Lake Pops Orchestra videos and Lindsey Stirling are good, too. Look for #1 at 9 secs (her backside) and 18 secs (now walking behind the violinist) and 23 secs. She's wearing a white T-shirt. The other 4 min. are worth watching too!