Impossible Dreams

Last week I had a strange and unusual day (with a moral attached to the end).

It started with a cockroach and it ended with a cockroach.


At 2 a.m. my husband jumped out of bed and began beating the life out of his pillow. And then he did a strangle-hold on the covers.

What the helk? I cried.

"There's a cockroach in bed with us!" he cried back.

Ewwww.

I jumped up and we both commenced upon the task at hand: smacking our bed senseless.


Later that day another strange and unusual thing happened. I picked up 15 tacos at Taco Bell to feed my daughter's history day group. The cashier's forearm sported a fierce tatoo of a gigantic dagger dripping blood. When he took my order he called me beautiful and told me he wouldn't tell my husband our little secret.

"Thanks."

(That was all I could squeak out in reply.)

Things just kept getting stranger from there--my daughter used the word undulated in a sentence during dinner. And then later my 10 year old son, who was supposed to be in bed, came down the stairs with an open library book. He was READING!

Did you hear that, Peeps? I said, HE WAS READING!

And he asked us if he could read to US because apparently he really liked the last page of his book.

And so we sat with our jaws in our laps and our eyes filling up with strange and unusual drop of wet amazement as he read to us about Tony Dungy's impossible dreams:

I'm glad I had parents that helped me to dream. I'm glad they taught me to pray about the things that were on my mind (like the Steelers winning the Superbowl--I added that part, btw) My parents taught me to whatever we dreamed about we should tell God beacause He is the one that can make those plans succeed.

When he shut the book, he smiled and said again, "I really like that last page."

That would have been a beautiful ending to a strange and unusual post, don't you think?

But there's more. This post is not over until the fat cockroach sings. (Or until the skinny cockroach surfs.)

As I was mounting the stairs to go to bed I looked up and there, on our painting of Pounders beach, was a skinny cockroach trying with all his might to surf those acrylic waves (bless his skinny little heart).

I didn't have it in me to squash his impossible dream so I just walked on by and left him there undulating.