Last night at 9:00 -- an hour and a half after I tucked her in, Abigail comes downstairs crying hysterically. Through her sobs she's able to tell me what's wrong.
"I *sob* want to be *sob* a clown *sob* and I'm afraid I'll never get the chaaance!" She wails at the end. And then when I hug her, unable to contain my laughter she sobs uncontrollably in my arms. Because she wants to be a clown, and she's afraid she'll never get the chance.
So this afternoon, I thought I could make all her dreams come true and dress her up like a clown and try to teach her how to juggle.
"So Abigail, you still want to be a clown?" I ask, anticipating her eager response.
Instead I laugh again as she replies, "No Mom. I changed my mind. Those funny days are all behind me."