When I grow up…

When I grow up, I think I will wear silly hats, electric blue boas, sky-high tappin’ heels, glossy pink lipstick, sparkly shirts and spinnin’ skirts.

When I grow up, I won’t worry about what other people think of my singing. I will sing gloriously each time my happy heart wells with a tune.

When I grow up, I will make time to build eye-high skyscrapers with blocks. Then I will push them down and laugh.

When I grow up, I think I’ll ride a bike up and down the driveway inching closer to the street each time. I’ll hit the trees with sticks for no apparent reason. I’ll make chalk outlines of the shadows on the sidewalk.

When I grow up, I’m going to make a career out of the things I love – cooking, picturing, writing – and someone will pay me a lot of money to do it.

When I grow up, I’ll paint pictures of stars, cars and family, and I’ll be so good at it I might even hang it on the refrigerator.

When I grow up, money won’t matter. Both my needs and wants will always be met, and I won’t think of health insurance, taxes, bills and retirement.

When I grow up, I will have a home so big I need an intercom system to talk to someone on the other side of it.

When I grow up, I will eat chocolate cake, sushi and pizza Sunday through Tuesday and Rice Krispie treats, shrimp with lobster sauce and crawfish Wednesday through Friday. On Saturday, I will eat spaghetti and homemade ice cream. I will never get fat or sick. I will never feel like I overate. And I will never vary from that menu. Ever.

When I grow up, I will never have to worry about arthritis or random concussions and stomach bugs.

When I grow up, I’ll never be late or make excuses or be without answers or feel unsure. I will always be ready.

When I grow up, I will slide down the hallway in my socks and giggle that giggle that comes from a place of exhiliration and cautious joy.

And, most assuredly, when I grow up, someone will have discovered a way to make all my childlike wishes come true.

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About Rebecca Mixon

If you attend my funeral, please wear red. Make sure my loved ones do not bury me in shoes, and make sure they don't let the undertaker make me look ridiculous. I want beautiful music and lots of storytelling. All that will be great once I'm gone from this Earth. But, while I'm here, give me my flowers while I live. It has come to my attention lately that we don't "give people their flowers" until it's too late for them to enjoy the beauty, the colors, the sentiment. I'm changing that. The people in my life will know how they are appreciated and loved, and they will smell the aroma of their flowers as often as I get the chance to tell them. This blog is about the blessings in my life. Mainly, it's about the people who keep my world spinning on a good axis and help me realize that work, bills and stress mean nothing. Family counts. The rest is just gravy.
This entry was posted in Aging, Blog, Career, Children, Daughters, Dream, Family, Friends, Health, Life, Money, Music, Photography, Quirk, Raising children, Uncategorized, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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