As this holiday season winds down and the economic turmoil continues, it is refreshing to listen to the voices of the innocent. As I put my six year old to bed the other night she had a wonderful idea. "Mommy, when I grow up and move into my own house I think you should sell your house and move next door to me. What we will do is drive down a street and pick two houses that are exactly alike. We will buy them and then I can see you everyday even though I am a grown up." I loved this logic.
Somewhere in her six year old mind, it occurred to my daughter that I live a long way from my parents. My husbands family is closer but they certainly aren't down the street. It would be nice to have family close by. As it stands, my children see my parents for short intense visits where we try to cram as much "grandparenting" in as we can for them. It would be nice to have more time on a regular basis.
As she devised this plan, I became a little bit wistful. Where will I be twenty years from now? Hopefully I will be a vibrant sixty five year old. I recently saw my breast surgeon and asked him about my statistics for recurrence. Not one to sugarcoat anything, he said my risk is minimal now but I really won't know if I have licked this thing until I am thirteen years out from the diagnosis. Thirteen years! Wow. That is a long time to be on pins and needles.
For now I will try to put this in the back of my mind and dream about buying a house down the street from my daughter when she is grown and has her own children. I have a ways to go, but I am going to take it one day at a time.