Running Away in a Dream

Sometimes, I need to run away.

Just take a deep breath and escape.

I dream of quiet.  Total complete peace.  A warm, sandy beach.  A gentle breeze.  Brown sugar sand between my toes. The smell of fresh, tropical flowers.  The soft sounds of the ocean and birds singing in the distance.  No television. No toy sirens. No children’s music blasting from a cheap toy.  No screaming.

I dream of walking on that beach, watching the waves alone.  Not worrying about a child running into the ocean water, getting sand in his eyes or a sunburn.  No worries about routine or schedules, therapy or meltdowns.

I dream of an uninterrupted phone call in a posh hotel suite where I can hear the caller and respond in kind with no distraction, no talking over me or screaming underfoot.  Of a long conversation with a good friend about her day, or her dreams, or mine.  Of a call when I do not have to say trouble is brewing and I must hang up.  Of time on my computer, uninterrupted.  Time when I do not have to relinquish my position for a video game of basketball.

I imagine a sweet, tropical drink and a spritz of water on my face, as I lay on a lounge chair next to the ocean and stare up into a blue sky, until I fall asleep in the warmth of the sun.  No sippy cups knocked over and spilled.  No pleas for candy and ice cream.  No scathed nerves, refereeing a child knocking over the chairs next to me or wandering away.

I dream of a dinner, seated at a table in an obscenely, extravagant restaurant next to the water.  Of dim lighting and a candle on the table covered with a white tablecloth.  Of ordering gourmet food from a menu of exotic choices and leisurely sipping wine.  Having adult conversation and relaxing.  Buttering warm slices of fresh bread, calmly waiting for my entree.  No worries of how much battery life is left on an iPhone to keep the native from becoming restless.  No worries of bagging up food and making a run for it to avoid the dirty looks of my fellow restaurant patrons.  No worries of my child melting down before the appetizer arrives, or emptying the salt and pepper onto the table while knocking the silverware and water onto the floor.

I dream of a day spent shopping for me, looking at art and books, jewelry and clothes.  Trying on shoes and makeup and being pleased with the person looking back at me in the mirror.  No tired eyes,  dry wild hair, or old clothes, wondering how I had aged.  No shopping for toys or riding escalators and buying that one item that will prevent a full-blown meltdown in the midst of a crowd.

I dream of the luxury of reading a book from cover to cover, engrossing myself so completely that I become one with the characters and their dramas come to life in my mind.  No drama of my own.  No hands filled with paint or goo to grab the pages of the book away from me.

I dream of taking out my old telescope and pointing it at the stars on that beach.  Finding Saturn again and viewing its rings with my own eye through the telescope like no photo can do.  No child grabbing the lens and moving it away from the object of my desire.  No one to take it out of focus.

I dream of sleeping fully over one half of my bed, without a crawling boy who pushes his way under the covers and against my back, forcing me into a tiny corner of the bed, flinging his arm in my face in the middle of the night.

But dreams are just that.  All little wishes of escaping the pooped pants, the laundry, the screaming and tripping over toys, the chatter, the messes, the worries the scares and the loudness.  When I really think about it, that kind of life is one of absence.  For me, it would be lonely, empty, void, and shallow.

Those characteristics that grate on my last nerves, like fingers on a chalkboard, are all a part of love to me.  The love of a little boy whose tiny hand reaches out to grasp mine, to share sirens and screaming cries and hunger and thirst.  A little boy who depends on me to help him navigate a world which is scary and unknown, exciting and an overload to his tiny little system.  A tiny little voice that says, “I love you, mommy!” in repetition now 25 times a day.

I would not trade even one grasp of that tiny little hand in mine.  Not one of the “I love yous” for all the perfect beaches and dinners in the world.  I simply would not do it. Not in a million years.

But sometimes, it’s still nice to run away in a dream.


About solodialogue

I'm a lawyer and the mom of a 6 year old boy with autism. I work part time and spend the rest driving here and there and everywhere for my son's various therapies. Instead of trying cases, I now play Pac-man and watch SpongeBob. I wear old sweaters and jeans and always, always flat shoes to run after my son. Yeah, it's different but I wouldn't change it for anything. The love of my child is the most powerful, beautiful and rewarding aspect of my life.
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17 Responses to Running Away in a Dream

  1. Lizbeth says:

    Sooo true. My husband and I did just that—jumped on a jet plane, went to a private beach, ordered expensive drinks and sat on the balcony looking at stars. We tried to escape. We so needed a break. It had been too long. We were there, got all settled in and I looked at him and said, “I want to go home.”

  2. Broot says:

    I wouldn’t give up on those dreams – you can have your cake and eat it too. You’ll just have to take them in small increments. 🙂 My mother-in-law always used to say to me “this too, shall change” meaning, that when the children were older, I’d be able to get back to the things I wanted to do. And it’s true. There will come a time when you will be able to have that fancy dinner. And one where you can read the book. There will. They might come in hour increments, but they will come. 🙂

    Great post.

  3. Deanne says:

    I’m thinking it’s been about 15 years since I was on a beach. Maybe more. I’ve found myself yearning for it. Last vacation I had was… 8 years ago I think? I don’t have the money to travel and even if I did, not sure I would be able to travel solo with two wee ones. It’s tough because travel is something I used to do a LOT of. But I can relive it through my blog when I get it started. 😉
    My ideal would be to go, with the boys and with some help. Owen would adore the ocean, he’s such a waterbaby. And I can just see Oliver running up and down the beach and having a complete blast. But wouldn’t it be nice to have help so I knew the boys were safe and I could enjoy some food or swim solo or read a book (I remember those!) or just… be?

    • solodialogue says:

      I so, hear you! It’s been about 11 years for me. If I was rich and famous, I’d go with help on a private jet (so no meltdown worries on the plane of course) – long as I’m dreaming why not go for it all? 😉

    • Heather says:

      I always say that would be my ideal vacation as well- I have a hard time leaving the boys but I always feel so regenerated if I get an evening to myself…so yes a vacation with a nanny would be just wonderful- a little bit of both worlds 🙂

  4. jnettlee says:

    Your dreams have value. Cherish them. Make it a goal to realize them. Even if only a short reprieve.. a 3 day weekend.

    After our grueling 6 month gig with Mutti, this is what we always did. Half way through her stay, I would go online and make the reservations at our favorite beach spot. That in itself helped, Just having made the reservations.

    Then after flying her back to AZ and returning home again, I repacked my bags… and hubby and I took off for a five day stay at the beach. It was so “ahhhhhhhhhhh….”

    Such a sweet release. So refreshing and rejuvenating.

    Hang onto those dreams. If for now all you can do is sit back in a warm bubble bath for a half hour with blissful peace and quite, dream that dream while in there.

    Your day will come. Don’t let go of the dreams.

    xo Jnette

    • solodialogue says:

      I’m so glad you had that trip that I dream of Jeanette. My problem is that I have never traveled beyond a 150 mile radius with my son. The idea of a plane ride with him is too stressful for me to contemplate right now. So the pictures and the dreams will have to do. Maybe someday…

  5. Brian says:

    My wife would tell you, I dream of the video game basketball time uninterrupted. Thanks for making me want to go to the beach even more.

  6. Big Daddy says:

    You did a wonderful job with the pictures of my back yard and describing my life.

    Seriously, you’re right that having and doing all those wonderful things would still feel empty and meaningless without our kids.

  7. solodialogue says:

    Haha!! I thought those pictures resembled a cartoon I saw somewhere.

    You got it. Don’t want any of it without the little guy who drives me to want it!

  8. I am asked all the time, “How do you do it”….you have explained beautifully in your last two full paragraps…:) That’s how, because there is a little boy waiting for the grasp of a hand to lead him and decipher this crazy world. I traveled the world before Ben was born, now I keep a picture of me in my bikini sitting on a beach in Anguilla on my fridge, it’s a picture of the “perfect then”, but carries much less meaning than my “crazy now”….your post is beautifully written, thank you for posting.

    • solodialogue says:

      Thanks, Samantha. It’s funny how we both were able to travel before these little ones came along. I didn’t travel the world but I went a few places that I miss (and there are certainly no bikini pictures of me!!) I could never travel without the little guy – he completes me now and I just love him so much!

  9. eof737 says:

    I loved the dreams and believe you should hold onto them… Reality is stark and the dreams keep us going… Who knows you could find a day to slip one of them into your hectic schedule. Give it time. 🙂

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