In my fantasy, we eat steamed vegetables every day. A bountiful green salad with radishes and shredded carrots and purple cabbage appears at every meal . . . and we eat together in the dining room as a family. At a beautifully set table topped by a tablecloth and the good dishes. We have interesting conversations and no one leans forward with their elbows on the table and eats like a caveman.
In my fantasy, the floors are free of dust and popcorn kernels and regurgitated hairballs. The laundry has been folded and put into drawers and closets and every sock has a match. Sunlight streams through unsmudged windows.
In my fantasy, I walk five miles a day and fit into the clothes that are stored in a gigantic bin on my closet floor right now. My hair is neither too short or too long or too frizzy or crazy and for once, doesn’t make me scream when I look in the mirror. In fact, the mirror is my friend and I like what I see instead of wondering when I became old and puffy.
In my fantasy, my children are enthralled by novels, not video games. They never leave cups under their beds after drinking the last of the milk. They don’t put empty milk cartons back in the fridge. They all get straight A’s. The children laugh and sing and frolic and never, ever, ever raise their voices or engage in the enraged arguments over nothing that cause parental embolisms.
In my fantasy, I manage to get to bed early, even though I work until midnight. I wake up with the sun because who needs sleep? Not me or Martha Stewart! In my fantasy, I bake bread from scratch and grow my own zucchini and have a coupon for everything I buy at the grocery store. I throw parties for my many friends and baby showers for new mothers and watch the sunset over the Pacific Ocean every night.
In my fantasy, I have plenty of time to write, plenty of time to spend with my husband, plenty of time to volunteer in my church, plenty of time to spend with each of my children, plenty of time to read my Bible and pray, plenty of time to sew and plenty of time to serve the disenfranchised. I read a novel every week. I plan a trip to Haiti where I will solve the humanitarian crisis made worse by the earthquake and then skidaddle over to Alabama and help rebuild homes.
In my fantasy, when we move to California in seven weeks, I will be new and improved and everything that I am not now and never have been but have always wanted to be.
The first step in overcoming a problem is realizing that you have one. And I realize that I have an overactive fantasy life. Send help.