I had a dream last night.

I regularly have dreams, and tell them in great detail to whoever might be handy. And this morning . . . that’s you! (I hope. Hello? Hello? Are you out there?)

I was walking down a concrete sidewalk of sorts with my husband, and I had baby James in the crook of my arm. The sidewalk was set in a hilly area, and as I looked up at the grassy incline to my left, suddenly I realized there were cows everywhere. “Moo!” they said. My husband started to steer us away from the cows, but I reassured him “They’re not dangerous–don’t worry.”

But as we progressed further into the melee of cows, suddenly I realized there were also lions and tigers in the mix. We hadn’t noticed them at first because they were lying down, stretching and napping and generally chilling, but as we passed by they started yawning and waking up. I counted at least two tigers and one lion . . . plus a white tiger. I wasn’t sure whether to keep walking, go back, or just stand still. Though at the moment the cats were still pretty snoozy, at any moment they could turn into life-threatening fur-bags of muscle and terror.

My husband started running, and I almost shouted “No! That will just attract their attention!” But then I realized that he was doing it on purpose. He was trying to draw the animals away from James and me.

And then, as I watched my husband sprint away and the tigers and lions started running after him, there was a man with a gun. I thought, “I should duck in case he fires off some shots,” but before I could get a grip on the situation, my husband was tackling him.

It was a glorious running tackle, and as he took that guy down, my heart swelled with pride. People started clapping. I beamed. Two cops shows up and pointed their guns at the criminal and I thought, “we’re safe! My baby is a hero!”

BUT THEN. The cops were surrounded–the gunman wasn’t a loner. There was a whole crowd of criminals, and we were all taken prisoners. I was crying, but proud, but crying.

I was sitting in the back of a truck with a bunch of other hostages watching things unfold with the criminals and the cops and my husband. There was a small blond boy sitting next to me who was maybe 4 years old, and his mom was one of the criminals. He poked her in the back and somehow killed her (this part was fuzzy and she conveniently disappeared), and I realized it was now my job to take care of this boy. “Logan is now my son,” I thought. “My responsibility.” Then I realized I didn’t want to name a child ‘Logan’ and wondered if it would be feasible to change his name to something I liked a little better. My heart was full of love for James and Logan.

One of the criminals was telling me about this play that a bunch of kids were putting on, and I realized that Logan was involved and that I’d have to get him there. “Rehearsal starts at one o’ clock,” he told me, “but ends at 13:00.” I figured he meant 15:00 and rehearsal was two hours long, but as I spoke up to clarify with him, it dawned on me that this was his way of telling me that there was no rehearsal, since the start and end time were the same. I wished I’d caught on more quickly.

Then, in a completely unrelated part of the dream, I went to Plato’s Closet only to realize the store was shutting down and all they had in stock were some hideous green evening gowns.

Thank you for listening.

What does it all mean??