Butterfly Kisses

Context: Driving my brother (8) and sister (10) to meet my mom for dinner.

Conversation:

Bro: Aeriale! Guess where I want to live when I grow up?

Me: Where Gav?

Bro: Well, I'm going to live with Logan (his friend) and we're going to live in the rain forest behind a waterfall. And I'm going to have a pet jaguar. And you need a code to get in.

Me: Wow. That sounds amazing! What's the code?

Bro: 67603. Don't tell anyone.

Me: Promise. So, where do you want to live Lacey?

Sis: I'm gonna live with Courtney (her friend), and I want to have an underground tunnel for all of my pets to roam around in.

Me: Sweet! So, I'm thinking that I want to live on a cloud.

Bro: Yeah!!

Sis: Aeriale, don't you fall through clouds?

Me: No! Cherubs sit on clouds all the time.

Bro: Yeah!!

Me: Either a cloud, or a sunken pirate ship.

Bro: YEAH!! Me tooooo!!!

*chuckles*

My siblings are still at that age when serious conversations are hilarious, and anything seems possible. It's so great. For a lovely fifteen minute drive, we listened to Norah Jones and talked about houses under water and jaguars for pets and cherubs on clouds. Those are my favorite conversations. Nothing seemed unrealistic because to them, it all made sense. Everything makes sense. Why bother with regular neighborhoods when you can live behind a waterfall in the rain forest? Why mess with dogs and cats when jaguars are at your fingertips?

Until I was probably 9, I wanted to be a butterfly when I grew up. Not even joking. I wanted to fly. I used to climb the highest trees and sit on the limbs for hours, pretending that whenever I felt like leaving, I could simply spread my wings and take off. I was never one to build cardboard wings and jump off roofs, but I was the kind of child that would lay in the grass and pretend that I could soar through the clouds. Being a butterfly was my aspiration -- to shed this life and move onto something completely radical, something that was beautiful and peaceful and able to jet off at a moments notice.

I'm no longer 9, but I'm still that dreaming girl in the grass. My idea of the perfect house may not be in the rain forest with jaguars, but I'm thinking more log cabin meets cottage by lake. With a tin roof to hear the rain. There must be a tin roof.

My dreams are more realistic, more manageable, but sometimes...sometimes, I still want to be a butterfly. And that's one dream I save for rainy days when my life seems too bogged down with callous rigidity. I spread my colorful wings and fly away.