The Dreamcatcher

This morning, while Tristan and I were tending to the patch of dirt near the stone wall that we have designated for fairies and creepy crawly things, I found a long, viney, nearly dead, root.  We were tilling what would eventually be a very important patch of magical plants, and it was my job to remove all intruding vegetation; including long, viney roots. At first, both Tristan and I were enthralled by the ease with which it ripped through the earth, spilling soil like a miniature volcano; but by the time I had pulled all six feet of it out of the ground, Tristan had moved on to more exciting play.  My eyes, however, were still shining. You see, I am a veteran of many an outdoor craft in that backyard, and I know that a vine of that length, toughness, and pliability, is a rare find. I quickly bound it into a circle, intending to make it into a crown for Tristan, so that he might assume his rightful position as ruler of the backyard.  As it turns out, the time for crowns is not yet upon us; the viney circle dropped right to his shoulders, making it more of a collar, which neither of us liked very much.  With a sigh, I removed the collar, and Tristan and I went inside for a snack and a nap.

                         

While Tristan snoozed, I nursed the littlest men in our house, and imagined what I could do with my find. By the time the twins were ready to join their big brother in the nursery, I had figured it out. 

So here I sit, while the boys sleep, amidst piles of laundry and toys that are begging to be put away. I ignore them all, in favor of wrapping rawhide laces around my viney circle.  I'm making a dreamcatcher, such as I remember making long ago, at summer camp. I'm not going to hang it near their beds, however.  I'm not really worried about the dreams that come while my children sleep.  No matter what gruesome and unpleasant sights visit them while they sleep, warm, reassuring cuddles will always be ready to soothe them when they wake. 

Far more fearsome are the dreams that are dreamt while waking.  How will my children imagine themselves, or the world in which they live? What if they dream of power instead of kindness; distraction instead of truth; or worse, what if they never learn to dream at all, and are content to let others do it for them? What if I can't really tell the difference between good and bad dreams, and I pass this on to them? These are frightening thoughts!  Thank goodness we found that root, this morning, and that I was able to turn it into a dreamcatcher.  I will hang it where they play, and worry no more. 

 What relief! Instead, I will gurgle and coo at the babies, and maybe get to that laundry.