I dreamed in French last night. I don't recall having done that since the summer I spent at Fontainebleau. I dreamed several dreams of Paris. In one, I was preparing to leave for Paris while attending a party. The party later morphed into a birthday party for a friend�s daughter where, when the entertainment didn't show up, the kids were just sitting still and quiet waiting for what seemed like an eternity. Eventually I intervened and got them running around playing Duck, Duck, Goose. In another I was at another party in an apartment in Paris with friends (only one, my friend M's ex L, from real life). I met a man -- tall, bearded, French -- who spent the next day with me traveling to strange corners of the city. It wasn't exactly a romantic liaison, more the sense that he was taking care of me, helping me. I hate it when I dream about men taking care of me. It happens more often than I would like and offends every feminist bone in my body. But I love dreaming in French. I don't get to speak it much anymore and it was fun feeling fluent, even if only while asleep.

Today I am all misdirected energy. It didn't dawn on me that today may be the last day I get to see AJ's teachers this year , as his last day of preschool is Monday. I have been running around assembling gifts and writing heartfelt notes of thanks. I'd also forgotten to bring in our designated contribution for Monday's year-end picnic, which I�ll be dropping off after school. AJ will be going to a friend�s for a couple of hours for lunch, so I�m hoping that I may be able to recoup my lost work time this morning spent worrying, and scurrying and cleaning up the house so the babysitter doesn't think we're a bunch of slobs. Just in case, I also stopped at the grocery to lay in a good supply of babysitter food, so hopefully she won't mind if I missed some dust. We still have no idea what we're doing, but we'll try not to leave skidmarks on the driveway on our way out.

[Second entry today. Click back for a minor rant about suburban living]

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