The worst part of the dream though, the thing that pushed it from a very weird dream to a nightmare was that I had an issue with my floors. If you have been following along for the whole ride you know how much we are in love with our 'perfect floors'. We really chose well. But you would also know these are not the floors either of us really wanted. I wanted the drank brown hand-scraped hardwoods. He wanted the yellowish ones.
When he looked at the ones I loved a college professor came to mind - one he didn't adore. When I looked at the ones he wanted I pictured my whole house looking like an elementary school gym. So we compromised. By compromise I mean we chose the only floor one of us didn't hate. I had my concerns about it being to orange once it was in the house, and he wasn't in love with it either, but at least we were able to look at it without one of us feeling repelled.
It was such a strange way to make a choice about the house. All of our other choices had been led by one or the other of us having a strong desire. I really wanted slate around the fireplace, oil rubbed bronze everything, gray siding, the really nice cabinets,and a jetted bathtub. He insisted on the type of stone we got, the granite, the really nice tile in the bathroom,
So our floors, our one big compromise, they turned out to be one of our favorite selections. And when people see the house, the always comment on how much they love our floors. When I become sainted the whole world will consider them the 'holy floors'. Too much? Okay. Anyway, the floors are a great source of happiness and we really can not imagine them any other way.
In my dream, though, there was a problem with the floors. (This may stem from the issues we had with the baseboards being put down before the wood floors and so instead of the floors going wall to wall with the baseboard on top the floors were, at least in some places, crammed under/between the baseboards, causing them to buckle) But in my dream we were not just fixing the issue in the upstairs hall. They were replacing the whole downstairs, too.
I woke up in the morning, and saw, much to my horror, the floors I had originally wanted. And they were very imperfect, had lots of places where the dark brown was missing so the floor was a sad, depressing gray. I freaked out and ran downstairs to my husband's office, which was not really the same office he has downstairs. It was cold and uglier than an old unfinished basement. The whole downstairs was covered in the really crappy looking dark brown plastic (?) flooring and I was upset. There was an area where they covered great big junky tiles - with old white carpet. But not all of it. So there was my house with dirty carpet, junky tile and tacky plastic floors. Nothing was cut properly and there were places missing flooring. It was so upsetting and so ugly. The whole house was very dark. I cried.
Then I was with other people - can't remember who now, in a vehicle. Whoever was driving was using their phone so we were stopped at the crest of a hill.Because dreams are weird.
*Proving once again that life is also weird: last night my cousin ripped out my mailbox with her mom's beautiful leased car. One minute later my mother tripped over the other side of the end of my drive and fell. She was carrying a glass casserole dish and a glass pie plate. Result: One messed up car, one messed up mailbox, and one mommy with cut hands and a very bruised knee. The only thing worse than seeing your kids hurt is seeing your mom hurt. With your kids some weird mom hormone kicks in. With your mom - you just want your mommy. Except it's her you need to help.