What Dreams May Come

Last night I had an extremely enlightening dream. While I was in tears through most of the dream, the realization of what it meant left me smiling when I woke.

In my dream, it started on a Friday afternoon. I'd been in a co-worker's room, laughing and telling stories with her and another friend. This was a very normal day for us. But, when I returned to my classroom, my assistant-principal was standing in the middle of my packed up room. I was extremely confused as it was only halfway through the school year, and I hadn't packed it. He informed me that on Monday morning I was supposed to report to a local high school, which would be my new teaching assignment. I was stunned. I asked him what I had done, why I was being moved. He shook his head, frowned, and walked out.

My dream then skipped in time to that first day in my new classroom. The classroom was gorgeous. It had every kind of technology I could imagine, with tons of windows and storage space. In the back was a huge closet on one side, and my own office on the other. The office was filled with bookshelves to create my own personal library. I should have been in heaven! But instead, I kept breaking down in tears. I didn't want to be here. I was anxious to meet my kids, hoping they would make this awful change better.

I had not planned my lesson, but had been provided ready-to-go curriculum. The lesson of the day was the issue of shame in Shakespeare's Hamlet. Okay, so this was my very favorite term paper I wrote my senior year of college. The kids walked in. They had done the reading they had been assigned and the class flowed beautifully. They were extremely intelligent and engaged. The discussion could have been taking place in a college classroom. I realized that these were kids who were preparing to score well on their entrance exams and to attend top colleges. This was, without a doubt, my dream job.

However, as the class filtered out, I felt an incredible emptiness. I missed the boisterous noise of my middle schoolers. I missed the way they had so many questions I could hardly get through my directions for an assignment with them. I missed the affectionate "Miss" that I probably heard fifty times in a class period. I missed my teammates that I have come to love so much. As I looked around this perfect classroom that had just held my perfect students, I desperately wanted to go home.

The Tickle Monster

For quite a while now, my nephew, Daegan, has made this funny little sound over and over again. I've not been sure how to emulate it, and I had no idea how what it was he thought he was saying. He is without a doubt an excellent mimic, so it was surprising to hear a sound repeatedly that seemed to have no meaning behind it.

One of our very favorite games to play is tickle monster. I attack him and tickle him down to the ground. It started several months ago when it was the only way to get the full belly laugh out of him that soon became "the best sound in the world" to all who love him. He still laughs until he can hardly breathe. On a rough day, it's the best medicine. With the loss of my beloved grandpa this past week, we'd all been tickling him a little extra to get that healing sound.

The trip to Omaha for the funeral didn't even begin until 7:00 at night. I worried how he would handle it, but he played with a favorite toy I gave him for Christmas. This toy is a favorite of both boys. It sings to them, plays games with them, and calls them by name. The adults' favorite part is that it can be set to play 2, 5 or 10 minutes of bedtime music (which can also be personalized.) Shortly before playing his own bedtime music and falling sound asleep, I caught him making that sound...as he tickled Scout and tossed him in the air, just like I do with him. I laughed, suddenly realizing the sound was "Tickle, tickle, tickle, tickle."

Once we recognized the word, we repeated and used it every time we tickled him. His word became clearer, pronouncing the t more clearly. By the end of the week, it was what he did with anything he really liked. The dogs almost got tickled to death. He even tickled his fries at the fast food store. It was abundantly clear that he had learned this tickle game was a sign of affection.

During our fourth rough night in the hotel, Daegan woke up crying once again at 3 in the morning. Because his parents were sharing a much smaller bed than usual, and I was sleeping alone, I let him curl up with me to fall back asleep. He cuddled against me all night, and at 7 a.m., I was awoken by tiny little hands and the words, "Tickle, tickle, tickle."