Hopes and Dreams

March 10, 2008

Every now and then, when things start to feel a bit stressful, Jared and I like to share a Wayne's World moment. Just like Garth and Wayne, we lie on the hood of our car and discuss the deeper meaning of life. And usually, within five minutes, we come to the conclusion that humans were put on this planet for the express purpose of having ridiculous amounts of wholesome fun. Feeling renewed and refreshed with our healthy dose of joint revelation, we slide off the hood and run inside to watch cartoons. What can I say? We make a good team.

This weekend, our Wayne's World moment was strikingly different than it's been in years. First and foremost, we don't live in Texas anymore. Instead of scalding our rears on black Blazer paint and slipping around on sweaty thighs, we were wrapped in layer upon layer of clothing--long johns, knees socks, boots, hoods, hats, mittens, the works. With the exception of our eyes, nose, and mouth, not a single inch of skin was showing.

Between the howling wind and the double-covered ears, it was almost impossible to hear one another. So there we sat, staring at the clouds, screaming at each other like senior citizens, and freezing our delicate little facial features off. And somehow, in the midst of our conversation, the direction changed from our regular 'meaning of life' topic to lofty, personal dreams--not goals, but outright dreams.

I listed mine off in rapid order: climb Mt. Everest, jump an RV (the same way you jump a dirt bike), serve a humanitarian mission in Africa, and eat a pizza in Naples. I know these dreams well, as they're written in my Daytimer right next to the list of people I'd make out with even though I'm married (1. Michael Buble, 2. Curtis Stone, and 3. Will Smith).

Jared listed his off almost as quickly: heli-ski in Alaska, fly fish in Labrador, and sew somebody to a couch.

After he listed his dreams, I paused for a moment to take them all in. And then, when I finally spoke up, the following conversation ensued:

A: What was the third one? I thought you said 'sew somebody to a couch.' But I'm having a hard time hearing.

J: Yeah, that's what I said. A mattress would be okay, too.

A: Oh my word. Seriously Jared? That's disgusting!

J: No it's not! I want to find a sleeping person and sew their clothes to the couch. That way, when they try to get up they can't. They'd be sleepy and confused, and it would be all around awesome.

[thoughtful pause]

A: Jared. That's like the best idea I've ever heard. I don't see why we can't make that dream come true.

And for the next thirty minutes, we listed off the names of our friends and family, trying to decide who sleeps deeply enough to transform a young man's dreams into reality. Jared's family has a bit of a love affair with Ambien, but I've seen the wrath of my father-in-law and there's NO WAY IN HELL I'm sewing a loved one to that man's couch (what's up Robb?!). My family might have the humor to support that type of stunt, but they sleep lighter than a puff of fairy dust and love their furniture like it's a third child.

However, after much deliberation I'm happy to say that we've settled on a short list of loved-ones who would be perfect subjects for this stunt. I'm also happy to say that I'm no longer stressed about moving into our house, now I'm just really, really excited. I'm especially looking forward to weekend visitors.