As those who have been reading my blog for a while may have noticed, I am usually quite passionate about my convictions, as well as most things I choose to write about. Today is somewhat different. Due to a great strain on me from a myriad of circumstances, I am temporarily lacking any and all passion. Just as motivation is necessary to be successful in any creative endeavor, writing is a function that can not be forced (not the meritorious sort, anyway).

Right now I feel as if the world is upon my shoulders. I am looking forward to things getting better, for I know in time, they will. However, considering the magnitude of major stresses presently upon me, it is no wonder my usually enthusiastic demeanor is pausing to contemplate, conserve energy, and to prepare for mourning.

In addition to the issues plaguing my marriage which essentially come down to deciding if it something I wish to continue, my friend whom I have mentioned recently expecting a baby boy with a major heart defect, is scheduled to give birth tomorrow. I drove the couple hours to spend the day with her on Friday, knowing it would be my last chance to see her before her life is turned into a whirlwind of hope, worry, uncertainty, and possibly immense grief. She disclosed a few details and other thoughts that she had not mentioned before, as I am sure they are too painful to talk about often.

All things considered, we did have a nice day together and I took the opportunity to appreciate her two-year old son more than I ever had. As I was getting ready to leave for my two-hour drive home, in what turned out to be a very stormy and ominous night, her unborn baby began to stir, pushing so that you could see the bulge protrude from her abdomen. As if to make sure we hadn’t forgotten about him, he moved and pressed outward for everyone to see.

After having time to think even more about her situation during my drive home, I had a very strange and intense dream later that night. I dreamed that the baby was pressing out so far that I began to see the shape of his face through her skin. He continued to protrude further and further, stretching her skin out in front of her. I began to worry he was going to break through, when the next thing I knew I was holding him with one arm. I yelled in disbelief, “Oh my God, he just came out!” but she didn’t believe me at first. I told her, “look! There’s the umbilical cord! He’s in my arm!” I quickly remembered that he will not be able to survive on his own and, panicking, used my other hand to dial 911. I shouted for them to hurry that a baby who can’t survive on his own was just born without warning. Before I knew it, there were people everywhere, coming from all around. We swept his mouth to clear out any excess fluid or debris and it seemed that he was able to breathe fine. I remember thinking how cute he was and the overwhelming feeling of joy and relief that came over me in realizing that he was going to be alright.

Reflecting on the random dreams I have had in the past that have managed to foretell an eminent event, I couldn’t wish more that the happy ending here turns out to be one of them.

Interestingly, I had no idea where this post would go when I began. It appears I found something to write about after all; although I truly fear the details of my next entry.

No, I ain’t foolin’. As if it were Christmas or her birthday or some other occasion known for its gifts and festivities, my nine year old daughter had looked forward to April Fool’s Day since the first week of March. Although somewhat endearing, it is same to assume that she had thus been plotting for at least that long. Fortunately, she was wise enough to leave me out of her silly shenanigans.

I think it turned out that the foolin’ was on her, since she was less than successful in her endeavors. Her main target, assuredly by default, was big sister, Kayli. Either her rationale must have been that she envisioned her father and I to be too smart to fall prey, or none too happy if we did.

After lamenting that Kayli would doubtfully accept an offer of cookies from her on any given day, let alone April Fool’s, she confided the secret ingredient to me. She had ingeniously taken a few Oreos and replaced the white filling with toothpaste. In all actuality, she did a fine good job. They looked like genuine, untampered with food products. Not divulging this to her, but had I been in the market for an Oreo, I totally would have fallen for it.

Running out of possible victims, she knew he was her last resort, but also knew there may be uncomfortable consequences if her prank caused the unwitting party to freak out. “I can’t do it to Brock, can I, because he’s just a little kid?” Considering the just-mentioned little kid detests any kind of minty toothpaste to the point that he causes quite a production of yelling and spitting and then yelling some more, I confirmed it was a no-go. “Dang,” she said, “I ruined these Oreos for nothing!” I reassured her that it wasn’t for nothing. For she could now eat her snack and clean her teeth at the same time.

Later when Kayli returned home, and not knowing anything of the cookie incident, she laughingly told me that Makenna had tried to get her for April Fool’s Day. I asked how she knew, but soon realized we weren’t talking about the same matter. For some reason, Kayli had thought to check her alarm clock the previous night, which usually remains programmed to the same time. Lo and behold, it was set for 5:00 a.m, an hour and half before she gets up. Momentarily puzzled by this, she then recollected that it was the eve of the day her younger sister had been plotting for weeks. It doesn’t take a crime scene investigator to put those pieces together.

I have to admit, for a nine year old she devised some darn good stratagems. And although her success fell short of her ambitions, more importantly her heart was in the right place.

Well, sort of.