You sit all day, in one place and you stare at your computer screen or your cash register or whatever it is you do and at the end of the day, you go home. Do you ever wonder what happened to that little kid inside of you that wanted to be a princess? Or a cowboy? Or an astronaut? Or a painter? What happened to the child that could look at a toilet paper roll and see it's infintie possibilities? Where is the wide eyed wonder that made us itch to go outside on a warm May afternoon and run until our lungs burst? When exactly did we lose that part of ourselves? And where do we find them? I remember staring out the window of my elemnetary school, wishing that the clock would move faster because the sun was that perfect shade of yellow and I couldn't wait to get out into it. Now, I try and take time to get outside and sit in the sun, face upturned, soaking in the heat and the smell of a spring day. But all too often the joy of basking in nature's glow is replaced with bills to pay and laudry to do and errands to run. And the world marches on. Until I look at my eleven year old daughter, who can still see the infinite possibilities in the world. For her every day is a new adventure, every piece of paper is a story waiting to be told, every crayon is a Picasso waiting to be created. And I smile. I grab onto her enthusiasm for life and I hold it tight to my heart. I love my child for many reasons, but the one I love her the most for is because she keeps me young.