It is every parent's wish that their child will
succeed in life. No matter how successful or unsuccessful we are, we alwayswant our children to do better than we did.

Though we will always be proud no matter what our children do, who among us hasn't stared down at their newborn babe and thought to themselves "this could be the next president of the United States"?

A few years ago when my oldest son was five and my daughter was three, I thrilled the kids by buying them a playhouse. It was a plastic monstrosity that took much time and physical effort to assemble. Though I knew my grunts
of frustration and aching muscles would be worth the rewards.

My children loved it. They spent the entire morning investigating their new child sized home.

My son spent much time checking every nook and cranny. Looking for any avenue for mischief. He climbed through the plastic shuttered windows. Swung on the plastic door. He even attempted to climb the chimney. Luckily it was too high for him to reach. Once he realized there was no opportunity for any real misconduct, he succumbed to playing within the house instead.

My daughter spent much of the morning filling the house with her treasures. She carried in armloads of baby dolls. Next she brought in play furniture and dishes.

As I sat watching my children go about their home making skills in their pint sized home I was hit by a fit of day dreaming. I saw past my children's young ages, deep into the future.

As I watched my daughter feed her babies with tiny plastic bottles, I wondered what kind of mother she would be. I watched my son scoot along in his play car and envisioned him in a fancy SUV riding off to work.

I began to dream big. I could easily picture them as wealthy adults with successful careers and fine families. They could be lawyers, or doctors. Perhaps even run for congress.

I could see myself years from now with gray in my hair, applauding at their college graduations. I would have tears of joy in my eyes and would reminisce back to the time they were just kids playing in their tiny, plastic home. I would look back at it as the moment their future careers
began.

In the next moment my big fantasy bubble burst.

As my son scooted around the corner of the playhouse my daughter flung open the window shutters and proudly proclaimed, "Welcome to McDonald's. Can I take your order?"


Jennifer is a proud Army wife and a mother of three
children. She takes on all her parenting adventures with a grain of salt and a lot of humor. She may reached at Jennifer3strain@yahoo.com