Last night I dreamt that our bathroom was overrun by lizards. Hundreds of tiny, mosquito-size lizards of every color, leaping all over the place. So the natural solution was to call an acquaintance from whom I bought Tastefully Simple foodstuffs a few years ago, and her advice was to close that door and keep it shut because those lizards were going to GROW. Since we had a houseful of guests, I figured I’d better make sure the bathroom down the hall was usable, and when I opened the door to check, I disturbed two mating tigers. (I didn’t actually see anything pornish; I just knew that’s what they were up to because obviously.) Then the male tiger came out to investigate who had cockblocked him and I was forced to wrestle him to save the children because that’s the kind of badass I am in my subconscious.
After researching dream interpretation on the Internets I concluded that I might as well just ask Maribeth what it all meant. But I can’t because today she is on a field trip, and I was pointedly uninvited to tag along. As in: “From now on I don’t want you to go on any more of my field trips ever again because I don’t need you anymore.” And I am just old and tired enough to be A-OK with that. Because the dust-bowl-hellhole pumpkin-patch field trip in October pretty much cured me of any desire to be held hostage outdoors by the kindergarten teachers’ timetable ever again. (I know we have to stay long enough to make it worth the bus ride, but we were ALL done at least an hour ago.) Though I half expected Maribeth to freak out and beg me to accompany her at the last second, she remained resolute in her conviction that “field trips are special times to be with my friends,” and once I signed her in at the office, she headed back to the classroom without me, “just like a first-grader!”
To that I say, “Whew and thank God!” I did get a mild case of squeezy-heart this morning when she said, “Now remember, if you get anxious of me, you can just look at a picture of me and remember how much I love you.” But whether it’s because of my own selfishness/laziness or a genuine desire for her well-being (probably a mixture of all three, and let’s not analyze the proportions), I am glad to see my clingy little worrywart take baby steps toward independence. Maybe someday “I don’t need you anymore” will sting, but not now, when I still have years of hair combing, sunscreen spraying, to-and-from-school chauffeuring and bedtime tucking ahead (not to mention a long, hot, inevitably “BORING” summer of unrelieved togetherness). Today I can rejoice in Maribeth’s excitement that she gets to tell me about her adventure rather than have me hanging around all day cramping her style (though I am sticking close to my phone, just in case). I can bask in birdsong uninterrupted by the theme to Caillou in a kitchen unpolluted by the dueling stenches of coffee and chicken nuggets. And I can try to imagine a day when feeling unneeded will make me ache, but at this point it’s kind of like a bathroom full of tiny rainbow-hued lizards — barely imaginable and not really threatening. Sure, they’ll gnaw and claw that door down eventually, but by then I plan to be too worn out/demented/busy managing my highly profitable tiger mill to care.