Mondays are usually blue and difficult days. It is hard to get out of bed. And if they are hard for me, a retired old graybeard with few responsibilities beyond getting the kids out of bed and cooking breakfast and walking the dog and waking the kids up again and keeping the dog from eating the breakfast on the table and waking the kids up again and getting them out of bed for real and … well, they must be harder for kids, right?
So, I had the dog walked and breakfast served and the table cleared and we were getting ready to go to school and drop off beloved daughter at her middle school.
“I had a bad dream last night,” said the Princess. “A zombie was chasing me in a Minecraft landscape.”
“Ooh, sounds terrible. Were you by any chance playing computer games way too late last night? Maybe Minecraft?”
“Dad! It was a terrible nightmare. It made me lose sleep!”
“Did I ever tell you about my duck dream?”
“Aw, Dad! This was a scary dream, not funny.”
“Well, you know, sometimes you can have a dream and take control of it. It is called a lucid dream. If you just realize that you are dreaming, you can direct what happens. You can make a sword appear in your hand and cut the zombies’ heads off.”
“What happens when that doesn’t stop the zombie’s body from chasing you?”
“Well… look at the time. We are going to be late for school.”
“Oh, uh… I don’t have any money left in my lunch account at school.”
“You couldn’t have told me this Friday after school? I don’t have any money on me. We need to hurry and stop by the ATM at the bank on the way to school.”
So, we hurried to the bank. I handed her the twenty dollar bill.
“Um, Dad… I forgot my school I.D. at home.”
“Ah, yes… Monday.”
She made it to school at least five minutes before the late bell with money for lunch and her I.D. on so that she wouldn’t forget during the day who she actually was… well, if she did, she could at least remind herself with the I.D . Whether the zombie apocalypse happens and her dream comes true and my advice about nightmares actually saves her… I have my doubts. But with daughters, there is always hope. You hope that if you continue to feed them and get them to school on time, and talk about their fears, and address their numerous shortcomings with humor and understanding, they will turn out all right. And maybe, just maybe, they will pick a reasonably good nursing home to stick you in when you get so old and forgetful that you are too goofy to wear pants in public.