After several days of being up too late, I decided to take advantage of my husband's weekend presence at home and send him out with the kids while I took a nap.I fell into a light sleep, listening to the kids alternately giggling and bickering as they got ready to leave, then slipped into a deep sleep and into a dream. In the dream, I had just received a letter from a music teacher at my son's school (which proves it's a dream. Music teachers? No Child Left Behind didn't mandate those. Next I'll dream about Siberian Tigers.)
The dream letter described my son's imaginary (but realistic) behavior in the dream music class: he had started screaming at the sound of recorders being played by elementary students during rehearsal, then he yelled at the teacher and tried to push past other kids to get out of the room when the teacher tried to hand him a chocolate chip cookie for a snack. The letter went on, in an arrogant tone (you'll just have to believe me), as the teacher ranted, indignant at my son's disruptive and rude behavior. He signed the letter, "Sincerely, Allan Holle, Music Teacher."
I read the letter and thought, "Of course my son would react that way! He's extremely sensitive to sounds. Screechy elementary recorder playing gives me a headache, for goodness sake. And he's scared to death of non-preferred foods!" I ranted to my husband about how this was going to come up in the IEP meeting, and instead of working with us to help my son and the music teacher understand each other, they were going to blame my bad parenting and punish my son.
Then I woke up, and thought, "Wow, I sure am stressed about that upcoming IEP!" Then I thought, "Why Allan Holle? Where did that name come from and why do I remember that detail now that I'm awake?"
Allan Holle. Allan Holle. A. Holle. a-hole.
Ha! My subconscious is the best! It was calling the folks at my son's school a-holes in a joke designed by me, for me. Thanks for the laugh, Subconscious!
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