Saturday, July 2, 2011

Wishes--a Vacation Recap

With Paul on vacation this week, we got to spend the last couple of days on a little getaway overnight to Brown County and Bloomington. We love going down to Bloomington for the day to explore, and thought it would be even more fun to add the rustic fun of shopping in Little Nashville to the adventure.

When we had gone into Nashville for dinner on Thursday, Abigail had seen a little wishing pond. As does any five-year-old, she is so intrigued by the idea of a wishing well and does not take that throwing of the penny lightly. Her wishes are serious business. We were in the thick of the hunt for dinner on Thursday, so I didn't want to take the time to fish out a penny right then, but told her we would be back the next day and she could wish then.

Of course, an elephant and a little girl never forget, so that was one of the first things she asked to do when we got into Nashville the next morning. Well, after a visit to the candy store.

I reached into my purse and produced a penny sufficient for wishing. She stood there...forever...just staring at the pond, grasping tightly to that penny. Being the impatient parents that we are, Paul and I both asked if she was ever going to make her wish. With a sigh and throwing her hands in the air, she said, "I don't know what to wish for. I mean, I don't know what to wish for that I don't know will come true. Like, I wish to be married. I wish to be twelve. But I know those things will come true. I don't know what to wish for that I don't know will come true."

I asked her if she needed us to walk away and give her some thinking space. Then, just like that, she threw in the penny. She turned around and grinned at me. I asked, "Did you get one?"

She excitedly whispered her wish in my ear and made me promise not to tell. So I won't. But considering it may or may not involve getting a dog, and considering her mama is anti-pooch, then she's right. She doesn't know it will come true. A true wish. But the fact that she wished it might bend Mommy's iron-clad a few more years.