Fantasy Island

I heart NYC. I watch every minute of Real Housewives of NYC. Not because I care so much about the happenings in the women's lives or the drama that ensues when they all talk badly behind each other's backs (on national television). But because I like to examine every corner of every apartment on Park Avenue, every skyscraper in the windows of their million dollar views, and every restaurant that you can see out of the tinted windows of their luxury town cars.

I am fascinated with all major cities. I think my dream would be to spend a portion of my life in every major city of the world. Experience the culture. Get to know strangers. Walk alone through museums. Take Josie to every play, musical or art exhibit on opening night. My fantasy island is in the heart of a major city.

As I look out the window from my own home in Morgan Hill, I am still able to enjoy where I am. The beautiful green hillsides. The fresh, crisp breeze. The sweet sound of neighborhood children laughing as they ride scooters passed our thousand dollar view. But I can't help but fantasize about living other places.

Today I walked outside and caught Josie on her own fantasy island. She was standing at the edge of a small table staring across it and speaking softly.

"What'cha doing?" I asked almost afraid to interrupt her conversation.

"Talking to a lady," She said.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Ice cream," She said.

"Oh, can I have some?" I asked.

"Yes," She said beaming from ear to ear. She was thrilled I was joining her.

"OK. I want chocolate ice cream," I told her.

She turned away from me and said to the lady with confidence. "I want chocolate ice cream for Mommy. I want Nila ice cream for Josie. And I want no ice cream for Owen." She waited a minute, grabbed two pretend cones carefully and handed me the chocolate one.

Josie walked away to enjoy her ice cream under the swings. Owen looked at me with sad eyes. He was too young to really understand what was going on, but he could sense he was being left out. "Want a bite?" I asked, more for my entertainment than his. Owen looked at my empty hands and walked away to see if Josie had something better to offer.

As I sat alone on the concrete step outside our kitchen door, I was so proud of my bratty, selfish daugther. Proud that at 2 years old, she was using her imagination. Proud that she wasn't afraid to ask a pretend lady for two scoops of ice cream. And proud that all she needed to get to her fantasy island was a day when her brother didn't get ice cream.