What Will You Be?

Most days, I feel like I spend too much time yelling, and correcting, and sending people to their room. But then there are conversations like this:


I'm going to be an astronaut, Mom. Can they really go the moon? Or maybe I'll be a firefighter. Cause they're a lot like superheros.

But when I'm done with that, and I retire,  I want to be a swim teacher, or maybe I'll have a job like Dad's. It's fun to build stuff.

And then, I think I'll have an ice cream truck or maybe a van that sells hot dogs.

Hot dogs are good, and a little bit healthy if you don't eat a lot of them, so I could hand them out to people when they're hungry.

I think I might be a doctor, or a teacher, or someone who drives a truck. A really big truck.

I won't drive it too far though, Mom. I'll just drive it around here, so I can still be close.

And I think I'll be a Daddy. That would be a good job, too.

But will you still be my mom? When I'm a grown up?

Always. Always and forever.

That's good, Mom.

Cause I want to be all that other stuff.

But I always want to be yours, too.