Dream a little dream

Recently my good friend Cristina came for a visit, and we hit the road for a girls' weekend.

The trip was fun and refreshing for a number of reasons:

having uninterrupted conversations,
sipping wine in Sonoma,
dining at grownup type establishments without feeling guilty about ruining the experience for other patrons,
visiting the chilly Pacific shoreline,
getting in and out of the car whenever we wanted without having to spend ten minutes strapping in and buckling up children,
hiking through a redwood forest and seeing a 1400-year-old, 300-foot tall tree,
a general absence of whining and complaining,
a quick jaunt across the Golden Gate Bridge and through the city,
having excellent coffee with breakfast/brunch/lunch/whatever you call it at 11:30 a.m. on a Saturday,
and again on Sunday,
going out for a drink and winding up in an 80's time warp complete with a heavy metal band,
deep conversations,
lots of laughter,
and browsing in cute little shops without having to say: "Do not touch anything!"

But one of the most glorious parts of the trip was the sleep. Comfortable beds. No one crying in the night. Nobody climbing into my bed and kicking me in the stomach at 3:00 a.m. No rude awakening at 6:00 just because the sun happens to have risen. Lying in bed for an hour and a half because I wasn't really ready to get up yet. Then falling asleep for another hour after that.

And dreams. I had dreams. They were not even particularly good dreams. One was about my son sneaking a bunch of candy from the pantry, and another involved a snake and lizard infestation in my home. But I was just overjoyed that I slept enough to have any dreams at all.

(Besides, I kind of like that feeling of relief that comes from waking up and realizing that snakes are not really slinking around in my carpet, after all.)