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.

Superstars!

The Universe has a message for you.

Two messages, actually.

The first message is that racing home after Sacrament meeting to eat peanut M&M's is totally okay, especially if you are preparing to teach the Miamaids that being a wife and mother is not routine and boring.

The second message is that people are amazing! Yes, they are also stupid, annoying and weird, but amazing, nonetheless.

The Universe has been poking me and prodding me all week to tell you this, which is why I'm telling you this!


(Now BACK OFF, Universe, before I smack you!)


Wednesday morning the universe shook me awake. I bolted up and peered at the clock . It was 3:45 a.m.

John Mayer was in my head telling me to say what I need to say.

But for gads sake, is there ANYTHING you really need to say at 3:45 a.m?


I went back to sleep.


The universe shook me again at 3:50 and then 4:00 and then 4:10.


Finally at 4:15 I dragged myself out of bed.


I sat at the computer.


I sat. And I sat.


There was nothing I needed to say.


But there was plenty I needed to do so I pulled out my class stuff and started grading.


I graded. And I graded. A task which usually makes me cranky and irritable, but for some reason I was off my game and my stone cold heart heart filled up with overwhelming awe for each of my students. My tired, puffy little eyeballs swelled with gratitude that I could wake up at 4:15 a.m. to think on them.

This feeling of amazement and awe then moved to my children and my husband.

I had to slap myself silly as a reminder that my husband and children are annoying and that I hate grading more than I hate tatortot casserole.


I tried, I really did, to be realistic and crabby, but I just felt magical.


When I walked into class that morning I was actually giddy--like I was surrounded by a bunch of Jack Johnsons. I wanted to wrap my arms around each of them and say, "can I have your autograph?"


So here's my point: Everyone is beautiful. In there own way.

No, that's not exactly my point. My exact point is this: Everyone is a superstar! Inside. A beautiful, amazing, annoying superstar!

You may live 2 doors down from a superstar and not even know it.

It happened to me.

This is my neighbor, Spencer. I didn't know he was a superstar.

I thought he was just an ordinary kid who I see everyday in the hood.

Normally when I see him I think of the Turkey Trot because every year he runs it and even though he never wins he always has this sweet smile on his face.

Now whenever I see him I'm going to think what an amazing, beautiful superstar!

Last night he rocked my world as I was sitting in the BYU-H auditorium watching him play Jo Jo in the most fantabulous musical ever (second only to Spamalot) Suessical the Musical.

Jo Jo reached out and gave my soul a squeeze every time he opened his mouth and sang.

I added my two favorite songs from the musical to my playlist--Alone in the Universe and It's Possible. (Track 60 and 61).

I want you to go listen to these songs and then walk to your neighbor's house and give all of their children a hug. Don't forget to ask them for their autographs because they are all beautiful superstars.

(And then can you tell the Universe to leave me alone already!)