I'd like to make a suggestion, if I may: Not all buckets are meant to be shared.

Bucket of popcorn, share away. Bucket of baseballs, game on. Bucket of ice, take the challenge! Bucket of blood, which happens to be the first thing that pops up when I Google "bucket of," sure, I guess. But maybe wear some protective gloves? Unless you're a vampire and this bucket is to feed your vampire family — in which case, who am I to judge? Most buckets and their bounties should be shared among the masses. Bucket lists, however, should be kept to yourself.

A while back, my husband and I realized that we needed to write down all the things we want to do with our kids before time slips away — as it does so rudely, without asking and with no apologies. It wouldn't be a kick-the-bucket list, per se, but an "end of family dynamics in which my husband and I can at least pretend we are in control" list. Writing it was exhilarating — jotting down our far-reaching hopes and the more attainable dreams, putting them down on paper and taking stock of the life changes we need to make in order to attain these goals. We ranked them, both in desire and in possible attainability. Then we ranked them again. We set them to goal years. We told our children about the list, gauged their interest and re-ranked one last time.

There it sat, written in pen in my notebook, with scratch-out marks and arrows, a list to live by. A dream list. A do list. The world's most perfect list.

We knew, in theory, that this list was for us and just us. It was built with care, suited to our particular family — to our needs, desires and limitations. We knew, of course, that our idea of fun is not others' ideas of fun. And others' ideas of fun are not necessarily ours. So what harm could there be in sharing?

We told a friend about the list. "Huh," he replied, "I guess the only thing on my list is seeing the Boss in concert."

My husband turned to me. "Bruce is on my list, too. Maybe bring the kids?"

Oh. OK. I looked for a place to add concert-going. Seemed doable.

We told my parents about the list. They said the only thing left on their list was going to Madagascar but flights were far too expensive. A week later, I saw flights from D.C., where my parents live, to Madagascar for $700. They booked the flight. They told us to come, too. C'mon, this is a bucket-list item! And it is. But it wasn't on our bucket list. Hmm, what could we knock off to go to Madagascar? Surely, a deal like this won't pop up again. Maybe our list is too limiting.

My cousin chimed in: "You want to go thru-hiking with your kids when they are teenagers? Clearly, you don't have teenagers yet." He does have teenagers. "What you want is a resort where you can get away from their eye rolls. You don't have a single resort on here."

I looked for a place to add a resort. I scratched out "road trip."

The more we shared our bucket list the more feedback we received. No India? Isn't that where a big chunk of your family is from? No Paris? I guess you can't miss good food if you've never had it. No Shakespeare theater? No Kentucky Derby? No Mardi Gras? No Carnival? No bungee jumping? No shaving your head? No month abstaining from speaking while living alone in a redwood forest? No sweat lodge? No learning to knit sweaters? No bucket of blood shared with your vampire friends?

Photo credit: successtiming at Pixabay