Then I woke up.

I woke on Saturday to find a veneer from my tooth in my mouth.  I went to the bathroom and was greeted by a tooth that I haven’t seen in 17 years.  I’d had a mark on the tooth, the dentist had filed it back and added a veneer.  17 years without a problem.  Arrrrgh.  I’m just glad I didn’t swallow it.  Hopefully when I ring the dentist at 9.01am today, to demand an urgent appointment, he will oblige.

My dreams on Saturday night/Sunday morning were anxiety fueled dreams.  The first one was that I hadn’t ironed the labels on the children’s school uniform and was, obviously, going to be shot by Gordon Ramsey.

The second dream, from which I awoke in a cold sweat, was that I had set off on the school run in my go-kart, yes … go-kart, only to turn and find I only had one child.  I deposited the child (who had no face) at school and then set off home for my other, no doubt faceless, child. Alas, I tried and tried to get home, but the wheels kept falling off my go-kart.

… and so it came to pass that last night our new neighbours came round with a bottle of Rioja to welcome us and say Hello, only I forgot that my veneer had fallen off, and they were greeted at the door by my big manky smile.  I then invited them in to our house where I had been frantically ironing nametags into school uniform with Gordon Ramsey’s voice in my head telling me TO FECKING GET ON WITH IT.

The Teenager was prone on the sofa surgically attached to her Blackberry, the 6 year old was on the laptop getting irate, The Husband was watching the cricket, the dog who has had chronic whirly splats for two days was doing silent but deadlies in the corner.  In order to hide my manky tooth, the rest of the conversation was spoken through a small gap in my mouth, I must have looked like a stroke victim.  I doubt they’ll come again.

That last bit was not a dream, that was situation normal.

If I can just get this veneer back on, stop the dog crapping everywhere, get the children to school during their first week back then my pint will be half full again.

I just hope that Billy Connolly pops round again soon though, he was bloody hilarious.

A Colobus Monkey

Usually when I’m feeling a bit anxious I have the spider dream.

Due to the pre-move stress I expected to be leaping across the bedroom, in the middle of the night, to escape the spiders.

This did not happen.  Not to me anyway.

The night before we moved there was a disturbance.

I woke in the night and instantly knew something wasn’t right. I stretched out to discover The Husband missing.

Suddenly the bedroom light was flicked on and there in the corner of the room was The Husband in his pants looking befuddled.

He was befuddled, and I was blind … at 3.04am.

The following morning he told me that he dreamt he was being chased round our bedroom by Colobus Monkeys.  He was very precise about the species.

Can you imagine what would happen if the Driver family’s nocturnal behaviour was synchronised … there would be the 4 year old snoring like an old man, the 6 year old screaming like she’s having her leg removed with a rusty butter knife, The Husband being chased by Colobus Monkeys and me scrabbling around on the bed shooing the 100 or so spiders away.

Picture by \\Hayley// on Flickr

I’ve had 6 hours sleep in 48 hours. I must have had a temperature because when I did sleep I dreamt I was sat in a hospital waiting room with the dog for company waiting for someone to come and tell me that my legs weren’t going to drop off.

I have lots of posts lined up in my head, but they need someone with a brain to get them ready to post. Today I am not that person. Today I am Working Zombie Lady with a hint of chocolate biscuit.

Excuses over.  I bring you a post from last year … which, yes, is cheating … I like to call it recycling. Enjoy.

The virtual burglar pays a visit … in my head

Occasionally I have irrational thoughts. For instance;

What if a burglar were to break into the house in the middle of the night?

Last week I gave it too much thought, it went a little something like this;

So, the burglar breaks in. I don’t know how, he just does OK?

The dog who is having one of those dreams where she’s running in the park stirs. She doesn’t bark. Instead she vomits on the burglar’s shoes and proceeds to wag her tail and lick him. She welcomes him into our home. Not only has she been sick but earlier in the evening she was cleaning her arse with that tongue.

He fumbles to switch on his torch and surveys the kitchen for car keys to the shiny motor on the drive. Plates are piled high on the work surface. Don’t these people have a dishwasher? No, not unless you count me and the husband.

His torch light falls upon a picture on a pinboard of a gay couple. One of them is dressed as Adam Ant, the other is dressed as himself and has a fetching moustache. This picture is me (Magnum PI) and the husband (Adam Ant) at my sisters 40th birthday party. Note the chest hair (For the record and those of you who were wondering … this is not my own chest hair).

There’s no hope of finding keys amongst the clutter. He locates a handbag on the worktop and opens it. He takes out the contents looking for a purse; a box of raisins, a soggy tissue, a broken Cinderella necklace, a sock, a notebook with extensive Disney notes … a purse with a faulty zip, several receipts for the Co-op and just three ten pence pieces.

He finds a mobile phone right at the bottom of the handbag, hiding. Not the latest model but worth a bob or two. The screen flashes bright. A picture of two small children wearing underpants on their heads greets him. Oh my god, what kinds of people are parenting these children? I believe in nature over nurture … my children are truly bonkers, is that really my fault? … Ahem.

He decides to venture into the living room to check out the electrical goods. Suddenly there is a piercing shriek. He stops dead in his tracks, terrified that there is a beast upstairs. The 4 year old is having night terrors again.

In his panic to leave the house he goes into the downstairs toilet and is met a child’s floater bobbing alone. “Of course I flushed the toilet Mummy”

Recoiling in horror and running back towards the door he stands on a toy fire engine and falls to the floor crashing into the intricate marble run of the previous day.

As he crawls to his knees he kneels on a piece of Lego. OH THE PAIN! For those of you not accustomed to the pain a piece of Lego can cause when kneeled upon, I have confirmed, after a lengthy conversation with the husband, that is equal to standing on an upturned plug.

Clutching his knee he notices some car keys hanging out of a coat pocket in the hall. Bingo!

Relieved to be leaving the house of horrors he realises that the keys are not for the shiny motor, they are indeed for the rusty, dusty old motor parked beside it.

He sits in the car, the first thing to hit him is the lingering smell of wet dog. He puts the key in the ignition. The car stereo signals its awakening with a loud rasping farting noise and The Wind in The Willows blares out of the speakers. The faulty hand brake alarm starts and the petrol gauge is glowing on empty.

What burglar, in his right mind would pick on us?!

On the way to school I decided to question him about his dream.  What is a croakwatcher?  Is it a frog?  Is it a cockroach?  How many eyes?  How many legs?  What colour?  How big?

His answers were not forthcoming, but what he did share was that it had lots (held up five fingers) of legs, one eye, it was brown, it was massive (held out his arms as far as they would go) and it wanted to eat him.  The five year old, feeling this wasn’t exciting enough, managed to convince him it had a nose on it’s bottom.  I’m not so sure.

After school they sat on the swings in the garden.  The 3 year old kept looking over his shoulder suspiciously.  I asked what he was looking at  … he said “That’s where the Croakwatcher lives” … and I do believe the sky got darker.

The next evening I went to the village pre-school fundraiser where I bought Christmas cards (You did what?  Yes, I know) and ate cake.  When I got home, I walked up the path to our front door where there are some flower pots.

Out from behind one of the pots jumped THE BIGGEST toad I ever did see.  Seriously, I thought it was going to take me hostage and demand my car keys.  After squealing and notifying the husband who looked completely unimpressed by my ‘It was a fecking HUGE toad story’ (whilst holding out my arms as far as they would go) I started thinking that perhaps this was in fact a lesser spotted Croakwatcher.

I was so pleased with myself.  The next morning I found a picture of a toad and, in the style of a detective questioning her suspect, casually threw the picture in front of the 3 year old at breakfast  … “Did it look like this?” I demanded whilst shoving his face in his Cheerios for extra effect.  He told me it was not.  But proceeded to tell me it was MASSIVE and it had one eye and it wanted to eat him.  ”That’s old news” I said.

On Friday morning I woke feeling slightly disturbed, as my nightmare came back to me I realised I had dreamt about the Croakwatcher.  Could I describe it to you?  No, but it’s a scary mofo … even now, on Friday evening I’m wondering where the Croakwatcher is. … and no, I don’t think it had a nose on it’s bottom.

This week I have had three dreams and I have remembered each one vividly.

I was jolted awake by the first. Early last week I dreamt that a ginger man in a green nylon tracksuit was trying to burn our house down as we slept. When I awoke I wasn’t sure if I had dreamt it or not. I lay for while trying to pull myself together in a cold sweat. Before settling back down to sleep I had to patrol the house like a member of the SAS, only they wear all black combat suits, I was wearing just a pair of big knickers to protect myself.

Last night I dreamt that the three year old had stopped breathing and I had forgotten any first aid I had ever learnt.

This dream was predetermined by the events of the previous day.

We had visited friends for Sunday dinner. The kids were introduced to Pacman on the super fandangled projector screen and they played with two puppies in front of a roaring log fire.

Before we ate the 3 year old fell on his knees knocking into the hearth of the fire. In pain, he got up crying and walked towards my husband. As my husband picked him up he arched his back, his eyes rolled back in his head and he went floppy. I lurched across the room towards my husband and boy just as he came round. Looking bewildered he started crying again. In total this event took less than 5 seconds from his inital fall. My husband and I were fairly shook up but put as he was OK put it down to fainting.

His day continued as before … rolling around on the floor with the dogs, more Pacman, roast dinner, some shouting and chasing of dogs.

On the journey home I wondered what others would have done. I have friends who have taken their children to A&E for a simple fall or sniffle. If I followed that example I would live there.

I am fairly laid back but I started to wonder if I was too laid back. My intuition kept shouting at me that he was fine.

At work today I kept thinking about my dream. I wondered fleetingly if he might be passed out behind the OAP childminders sofa whilst I was sat typing away at my desk.

By 3pm I had rung the Dr’s. At 5.15 pm I was sitting in the Dr’s consultation room. My boy jumped up and down on the spot whilst I explained what had happened the previous day.

The Dr told me what I already knew. My boy had probably fainted due to the shock of hurting himself in front of a roaring fire and getting up too quickly. I was sent packing with a “GoodbyeseeyoulaterMrsD”. The appointment lasted all of 60 seconds and I left the room feeling foolish, whilst my boy shouted ‘Iapowaing’ (translated means ‘I am a Power Ranger’).

The third dream … oh god … was AWFUL …

On Friday night I dreamt I was being romanced by … Freddie Starr. Yes, the short, portly, 66 year old comedian. Luckily the dream ended just before anything rude happened, but I still feel unclean.