Lately, Sophie is obsessed with wishes. (And the word “obsessed.” She uses it constantly. Like when Owen is trying to take her baby stroller from her—she’ll run to me and say, “Mommy, Owen is obsessed with the stroller. Make him stop!”
She demands puffy white dandelions on our walks—she makes wishes while she blows them. She demands pennies when she sees a fountain—she makes wishes while she throws them. And when in the car, her favorite game of the moment is “Let’s Make Wishes.” It’s quite simple. She says, “I wish” and then makes a wish. She then yells, “Your turn!” And you must say, “I wish” and then make a wish. She then yells, “My turn!” And on and on.
During one family car ride I decided to write down her wishes on the back of a receipt. (Our wishes, which Sophie insisted we share, involved being able to go to the beach tomorrow (mine), being able to play Xbox more often (Andy), having time to do yoga (mine), not having to go to work (Andy) and, of course, several involving Sophie being a good listener, using the potty, etc.) Her wishes are as follows (I love them):
“I wish I could be a really brave girl while I watched Aladdin.”
“I wish I could stay allllll night at the big park.”
“I wish that Zoey had a big, big, big, tumbly slide.”
“I wish there was a beeeaaauuutiful rainbow in our yard.”
“I wish I could climb up a ladder all by myself without Daddy, Mommy, the boys, Mia or Tucker.”
“I wish [something about being a bad listener].
“I wish Zoey would share.” (We then had a long—in toddler time—conversation about sharing in general. Because of course Zoey shares sometimes. And of course Sophie doesn’t share sometimes, too. They’re children.)
This is when she decided to end the game.
“When you love someone, all your saved-up wishes start coming out.” —Elizabeth Bowen
