I woke up this morning recovering from a dream in which I was late, missing my ID, and unable to remember where the after care program was that my son was in. The dream itself didn’t bother me once I was able to talk it out, but it is interesting how we use dreams to process that which goes on around us.

We are trying to find a school for our son. I had high hopes for this Catholic education. A place where Levi could learn more about this religion that I love than I grew up knowing. A place wehre Levi could grow with a small group of the same students in a nurturing, caring environment. That’s not to say he’d get something similar (sans the Catholic upbringing) from a public school — it’s just saying that’s what I wanted.

It’s become clear though, that the “regular” way in which we teach kids isn’t looking to be a good fit for Levi. It likely wasn’t a good fit for my husband either. They need tactile things. They need to touch. They need to explore. Sitting at a desk reading about life doesn’t teach them about life. Me? I can ponder, wax philosophical, and consider ideas until the cows come home. They need to jump into it. Knee deep. So, where can we find a school like that? And, if we do fine one, how much will it cost?

I won’t home-school. I am not that kind of a teacher. I require different stimulations while the day goes on, and if I don’t get it — I won’t be my best for Levi and my husband.

So, I am… I have been… worrying about Levi’s school. I’ve been worrying about our involvement, or lack thereof. I’ve been worrying about what the next school will look like. I’ve been worrying about the next school’s expectations. I’ve been worrying about managing all the things I’m involved in with the future PTA. I’ve been thinking more and more about how unrealistic 40 hour work weeks are when I have a small person and his own obligations. I’ve been fantasizing about ways to simplify my schedule and stay in line with my own goals: educating people on the importance of a sustainable society.

And, I guess all that thinking translates into a dream. A worried dream where I discard some of my personal belongings, including convoluted Keds, tied in strange knots, and putting myself at risk (of identity theft and getting soaked since I also discarded my rain coat).

Thoughts consuming the night time processing = dreams.

Related articles

• Levi Turned Five (michellelasley.net)
• God: a Religious Query (michellelasley.net)