When Your Dreams Don’t Come True!

When Your Dreams Don’t Come True!

A Beautiful Mess.

So I once had a dream.
In it, I was surrounded by many children, a few cats and a Labrador. The lab was laying by the fire. The children were playing contentedly. They didn’t squabble or niggle each other.
The girls had long blonde hair, which fell in curly waves around their angelic faces.
My home was overwhelmingly inviting with lots of soothing whites and grey, and incredibly peaceful.
We lived in the countryside, surrounded by fluffy sheep with black heads and feet, and a bunch of pretty cows.
Our garden was a tangle of pastel coloured climbing roses, meandering over the stone cottage that had aged gracefully over the years.
Little tulips bobbed their heads about in the spring sunshine.
The grass was warm and soft.
My boys were laying on a checked picnic rug, contentedly reading. A gentle breeze blowing their wispy hair.

Dreams are a precious gift in that they give us the incentive to move towards a certain goal.
They are our enablers and the wind beneath our wings.
We, however, are the ones that have to keep the dream moving forwards.
And then we finally arrive at our destination – except it looks different, altered and not really as we perceived it would play out.

In my case, the reality of my dream, looks like this:

My children, of which there are many, are wonderful and unique creations. Only one of my six has blonde hair and it’s dead straight.
We do have a dog – a Labradoodle called Queenie. She does sit by the fire. She also sheds hair and eats her poo. Like I said, not quite the image I had in mind.

I have a smattering of boys and girls and whilst they do play nicely together, there are some sneaky stirrers in the pack, who poke and wind each other up like expert covert agent’s, trained in the art of sabotage and infiltration.

I hope my home is overwhelmingly inviting, but many days, it is messy, the toilet doesn’t flush and the children’s sheets haven’t been washed for a month.
There are occasions I step back and think my house looks so amazing, it could be in a magazine spread. It stays this way for precisely 5 minutes. But I know for sure, it’s happened at least once in my life.

I also have a lot of whites and grey. One being a white cotton sofa. It currently has small black paw prints scattered across the cushions from muddy cat feet. I have covered the sofa with throw rugs and these have acquired weird crispy bits on them. I fear it is either snot or the leftovers of a mouse one of the cats caught last week.

We are surrounded by animals. Lots of horses as well as some cows and sheep in a field nearby. The horses are really sweet from a distance but poo the size of houses.
My kids step in that – often – and walk it through the house. Come to think of it, that may be the mysterious substance on my throw rugs.
Our garden is green. That is all.

And whilst my initial dream, holds all of the wild magic and freedom of a fairytale, it’s not real life.
I would much prefer the scenario where I am in the middle of my beautiful mess because that’s when the real magic happens.
Delightfully chaotic, taking me on a wild adventure daily, with no room for boring or perfection.

It is in those moments of chaotic messiness and the cries of “watch me one more time mummy”, that I truly see the beauty in my everyday.
Right there amongst the dirty washing and the barking dog, the child who wants my attention and the one who is hungry – that I know I am living my dream.

But far, far better than the original version.

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