One Unpretentious Blog: A dream is a wish your heart makes

I'm in the throes of preparing for YW camp. Granted, camp isn't until the first week of August (Yippee! At the height of heat and humidity here in the beautiful desert Southwest.) Technically, we won't start practicing the skit or memorizing the camp scripture, or singing our songs over and over and over until next month, but I get to throe earlier, because I'm in charge and I need every chance that I can get to stress . (I've previously mentioned the stress that camp induces in me. I'm good at stress. Not at accepting and dealing with it, just in piling it on. Hey, at least I've got the first part of the equation down.)

The theme this year--and I love it, just in case any one needs to know--is "Sweet Dreams." (My only regret is that this year we aren't branding our wards with cute names based on the theme. I was thinking along the lines of Rootin' Tootin' Shootin' Stars, or Sleepy Sheepies, or something equally adorable. There's nothing like running around frantically at Walmart the night before camp trying to find blue canoes or something equally unfindable with which to decorate the camp site. It's good for the heart--lots of cardio-aerobic exercise.) We've been encouraged to focus on what we really want in our lives and what we plan to achieve using our dreams as our guides. It's good stuff.

My dream? I thought you'd never get around to asking. Nothing much, really, just the perfect house for a frazzled mom. I've decided on a few items I would pay sort-of-big bucks for:

Big, beautiful windows in all the rooms, made with smudge-proof and snot-proof glass.
Enough bookcases to fit all the books in--and which would stay perfectly organized using a revolutionary homing technology which automatically returns books to their proper places at the touch of a button.
Bathrooms with patented Reek-Guard anti-bacterial, anti-disgusting-substance surfaces. Because no matter how hard I try to impress the idea into my sons' brains, missing the toilet still seems to be an option for them.
A kitchen with a conveyor belt extending directly to the grocery store. Four kids, three boys--you get the picture.
A raised garden on a giant mechanized turntable so I could water the garden from the large smudge-proof windows. (See above reference to heat here.)
Bedrooms for the kids with sensors on them which would automatically bar the doors in the all-too-frequent event of a child attempting to leave the room without picking up first.
Motion-sensored lights. In all the rooms. If we aren't moving around the space why do the lights have to be on?
A laundry room modeled on automatic car washes. Full laundry hampers go in at one end, and clean and folded clothing comes out from the other.
Baby guards on all the things my youngest is irresistibly drawn to. At the push of a button--or better yet, using a sensor, dear heavens how I love those things!--a clear screen would slide up from an inconspicuous slot in the floor to prevent baby-created destruction of books, papers, plants, and dryer lint.
Melia-thermic air-conditioning, which would make any room I was in ten degrees cooler automatically.
Magnetic walls everywhere, so I wouldn't have to deal with the inadequate space the fridge affords.
Speakers that would broadcast mommy-mood-related music to all occupants of the house. It'd be like a public service announcement, but much more personally relevant.

And my personal favorite and the one absolutely non-negotiable feature of the ultimate Melia-approved dream house: