Daydream Believer

Oh, I could hide 'neath the wings
Of the bluebird as she sings.
The six o'clock alarm would never ring.

But it rings and I rise,
Wipe the sleep out of my eyes.
My shavin' razor's cold and it stings.

Cheer up, Sleepy Jean.
Oh, what can it mean?
To a daydream believer
And a homecoming queen.

You once thought of me
As a white knight on a steed.
Now you know how happy I can be.

Oh, and our good times start and end
Without dollar one to spend.
But how much, baby, do we really need.

Cheer up, Sleepy Jean.
Oh, what can it mean.
To a daydream believer
And a homecoming queen.

~

Well, the Monkees had it partly right. I was, and still am, a daydream believer but I was only a Homecoming Court Princess. No Queen here...


Never-the-less, my daydreams go something like this:

Justin and I in a big log country house with vaulted ceilings, rustic and antique furniture invite you to sit down and curl up with a good book. The mix of soft, faded, love worn fabrics in muted colors against the hearty, solid heaviness of the pine. Horses grazing in the pasture on grass as green as the Ireland hills with a breathtaking view of the rugged Texas landscape. The pinks and periwinkles of the setting sun, mixing together with cotton candy clouds in a quickly dimming sky. A warm fire crackling in the stone hearth, a big pot of beans smellin up the house as they bubble on the stove. My babies, all 20 of them nestled in their own little heavens -- some out in the tree house fighting off pirates with sticks for swords, some on the swingset trying to swing so high that they might land on the moon, others snuggled down in their beds, napping. And always, at least one (or two, or three...) in my lap, listening to me read "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish"

And then I blink, and its all gone. And I'm faced with a reality thats actually *better* than a daydream. My very own son, smiling up at his Mommy that was lost in her own mind for a few moments. He giggles when I blow raspberries on his tummy. He claps and dances when the Wiggles sing a merry tune. He signs "please" "more" and blows kisses when he's trying to sign "thank you"... He reaches up his tiny hands to twirl my hair as I rock him to sleep. And he's R E A L. No amount of daydreaming could ever do justice to just how precious a child that is my baby boy.