One of the “worse” aspects of the “better or worse” marriage covenant for Jamie is having to hear about my dreams. Not the visions of someday living in a house with a white-picket fence but rather, the ones about how I dreamed I rode to a desert island in a shark’s mouth.
Those kind of dreams.
I have very vivid dreams every night. A few times they have translated into gripping nightmares or deeply spiritual experiences. Last year, I wrote how I dreamed about my friend’s ailing mother whom I had never met. The dream was so lucid that I woke up in the middle of the night to drop him an email, letting him know I was thinking about them. I found out the next morning his mom had passed away around the same time as my dream.
Before you think I am some kind of soothsayer, let me assure you that most of the time my dreams follow the same pattern: psychosis.
Case in point: I recently dreamed I was racing my leprechaun teammates from Lucky Charms and I was freaking out because I was the only Big Person.
Could happen.
Jamie has endured such absurdities many times before, only this time he chose to indulge me and came home with a box of this:
One morning I returned home from working out to find my daughter Hadley on the verge of tears.
“What’s wrong?”
“Daddy won’t give me apple juice for breakfast!”
“Jamie, why didn’t you give her apple juice for breakfast? You know it is the only time of day she is allowed to have it.”
“Amber, I know that. But I am sick of her only drinking her apple juice and never eating her cereal.”
I looked down at her bowl of the cereal he was trying to push to better her health.
“You gave her LUCKY CHARMS.”
“And she’d better eat every last bite.”
I'm a Canadian-born mom of two, former Denver Post columnist, family travel writer, editor of MileHighMamas.com and 9News contributor. Expert on all things Utah, Denver, family and travel. Lover of laughter and life. Happily married to a man obsessed with growing The Great Pumpkin. 