I pretty much consistently dream in the nightmare genre. And probably 99.99% of those involve extreme peril–navigating sixty-story scaffolding over a pit of lava, say–with six or seven infants and toddlers in tow.
Almost every night, all night. I've resigned myself to this.
Last night I dreamed the end of a typical day, except this time one of the toddlers I watch clung to me and refused to go home with his parents.
Almost as terrifying as the lava pit… Kidding! No. It was rather nice, for a change.
I don't know if it was a result of the inspection we passed–in which, thank you very much, we were told that the inspector rarely, if ever finds places as well organized, clean, and safe as ours–or if it was something I ate.
I do think I let small criticisms by isolated individuals constantly eat away at me and make me doubt my suitability for this or any other job involving real live people. It was very kind of the inspector to put that in perspective for me.
I'm sure I'll go back to the nightmares tomorrow, but for today we're going to breathe easy.