We all make wishes and we all have dreams. It’s the most hopeful part of the human condition, to wish and dream. But when those wishes and dreams land in the hands of children, well, we have a different animal entirely.
My kids make wishes and dreams all the time. But do they make sense? Are they noble? Would they change the state of the world, for the better, I mean? Meh. It’s arguable.
If the dreams of my children came true, we would all weigh one thousand pounds.
This is because one of the recurring dreams of my children is to live in a world where breakfast is chocolate and lunch is chocolate and their afternoon snack is chocolate and dinner is chocolate and their nighttime nibble is chocolate. In their world, every meal, every drink, every single thing on earth would be made of chocolate. Now. I’m not saying I wouldn’t like to live in this fantasy world, too, but I also happen to care about a little thing called health, and if all my kids eat is chocolate, the top floor of our house will no longer hold us. Also, have you seen my kids on sugar? No thanks. Find a kid on sugar and you find a parent far too close to crazy. Give my kids limitless chocolate and they’ll pull me right over the edge of madness, and I’d rather believe I have at least a small grip on sanity still. (It’s highly improbable, I know. I do have six kids.)
If the dreams of my children came true, they would own all the things.
It’s appalling how many things my kids want. You’d think we had taught them better than this, but, alas, it seems they have not learned the lesson of “be grateful for what you already have, because there are children starving in other countries.” If one were to ask them what they dream of most, you would hear things like “All the newest Beanie Boos” or “All the Pokemon cards in the whole world” (If you haven’t had the pleasure of being introduced to Pokemon, allow me to say you are really missing out. There are more than a billion of these cards in existence, and if it were up to my 9-year-old, he would own them all.) or “Legoland right in our house.” While it would be wildly impressive to live in a house completely made of LEGOs, I’m not quite sure that any kind of living structure made of plastic would even remotely stand up to the abuse of six boys. Also, Pokemon cards.
If the dreams of my children came true, the only music we would ever listen to is Kidz Bop or Minecraft music (Take popular songs! Add Minecraft lyrics! It’s delightful!).
If we tried listening to our 1990s Pandora station, which the 9-year-old calls “the worst music ever. It’s so bad it’s killing my ears,” all systems would shut down. And if all we listened to was Minecraft music all the time, I can guarantee I’d become one of those zombies you’re supposed to kill. Might as well shoot me now.
If the dreams of my children came true, they would never have homework.
Huh. You know what? That’s one of my dreams, too.
If the dreams of my children came true, the 3-year-olds would be allowed to do everything and anything for themselves.
This means it would take fifteen years to leave the house, because not only would we have to wait for them to button their jeans but we’d also be waiting for them to figure out how to turn the sleeves of their jackets right side out. They would be allowed to cross streets on their own and run through parking lots without holding a parent’s hand and ride the elevator whenever they chose, because they wouldn’t have the annoying rule about “staying within sight.” They would be allowed to jump in the river after the bread they just threw at the ducks, and they would be allowed to chase geese down a hill where a whole flock of them is waiting and they would be allowed to climb over the rails at the zoo so they could go wading with the black bear. They would, essentially, be able to kill themselves at will.
If the dreams of my children came true, they would be able to use some kind of screen all hours of the day, every day.
They would be able to watch so many hours of the boob tube that their brains would cave in. They would be able to play video games until their brains start frying in the oil of inactivity and overstimulation (“This is your brain. This is your brain on screens.”). They would be able dive into their phones without talking to anyone around them for years.
On second thought, that sounds almost…nice. Hang on while I rethink this one.
If the dreams of my children came true, we would never have such things as naps and quiet time and, God help us, bedtime.
There would never be such things as naps or quiet time, because children like to squeeze as much good out of a day as they can. Me? I just want to get two seconds alone where I can think a coherent thought without someone interrupting me with a crisis like “My brother peed in the trash can.”
And bedtime? If it were up to my kids, they would be able to stay up all hours of the night. They would not need sleep at all. They would walk around trying to remember where they last put down the baby, whining about how untidy the house is and how they’re too exhausted to do anything about it.
Oh, wait. That’s me.
I’m sure their dreams will become more refined over the years. Maybe they’ll even get to hang right up there with Martin Luther King Jr., inspiring people to dream for themselves and make change and dare to love. Or maybe I’m just kidding myself and the only thing they’ll ever want is the newest model Apple product.
So much for dreams.
