Birthday fantasies change as you get older!

Good morning!

My birthday is approaching in a couple weeks and lately I've been thinking about how my birthday wish list has changed from when I was a kid.

From the time I could speak until the time I was old enough to drive I wanted two things:  A pony and Randy Mantooth to fall in love with me.  Every year that was my wish list.  Now my parents were hardly the type to get me a pony, and in the days before the Internet, all this Wisconsin girl knew was the Randy "Johnny Gage" Mantooth lived somewhere in

My birthday and Christmas wish, every year.

California.  So every few months I would "borrow" a stamp and send a letter to "Randy Mantooth, California" and use varying zip codes.  Funny, I never got them back.  Knowing my skill at handwriting, and paying attention to things like return addresses, I probably did something creepy like put "Your Biggest Fan" in the return address. 

In my teens, I gave up the idea of a pony. 

I still wanted Randy Mantooth, or Bruce Willis, or Barry Manilow, or Rick Springfield to show up on my doorstep and take me away from my hopelessly mundane life.  Who wouldn't?  I rarely opened a door without picturing my celebrity crush of the day standing on the other side, pining for me and ready to make me the princess I knew I was.

But birthday dreams definitely change as you get older.  Yeah, in my teen years, I wanted a stereo, (with a turntable and two tape decks so I could tape stuff from the radio, from my record player AND from cassette tapes.)  I wanted a car.  I wanted a word processing typewriter.  (I actually bought that one myself.)

In my early married years I wanted a car that was paid off, maybe a new bedspread, books, CD's, portable electronics (you know, so I could take my tunes with me when I went on a hike, or a run. HAH!)

As the kids got older I started asking for things that would just make my life easier.  Coupons from them for hugs, room cleaning, laundry.  I still put books on my list, CD's, movies,  and maybe a dinner at a favorite restaurant. I still enjoyed thinking about that dream guy standing just on the other side of the door, and I can assure you, hubby did NOT feel at all threatened by that.  Nope, not at all.

Well, my kids are all but grown and I'm in my middle years and I realize I have pretty much all the STUFF I want to deal with.  I'm far more selective about the books and movies and music I request and, I'm finding, I'm getting far more practical.

At this point in my life, I'm pretty sure if Rick Springfield or Randy

Mantooth or any of my dream dates showed up, I'd still be thrilled.  I'd be thrilled because maybe THEY could clean my kitchen and my bathroom and do my laundry and do SOMETHING about my living room while I spent some quality time on my computer writing my next novel.

I mean at this point my big fantasy is that I get a new couch, one that doesn't hurt my hips when I sleep all night on it.  I'd like a new dehumidifier for the basement, one that doesn't freeze up after four minutes of operation.  I have an idea for the living room, I'd like to get one of those storage ottomans, so I have a place to hide all the ratty blankets we use because, thanks to the rising cost of EVERYTHING we can't afford to heat our house much above "brrrrrr."

But my mom sent me an email the other day telling me that in two weeks she's coming to give me my birthday present.  She's going to clean and organize my kitchen.

Ten years ago I would have been insulted. But now, wow, that's an AWESOME gift.  Maybe if I'm pitiful enough the day she shows up, she can start work in my basement, where all four of us seem to be hiding our hoarder tendancies.

But hey, that's a Christmas fantasy.