When I'm a grown-up

The other morning Molly and I were running our errands. We had a very typical conversation with one of the check-out ladies.
"Hello, I love your cute pigtails! How old are you?"
"I'm two!"
"Wow! She's really big for two!"
(Yep. I've never noticed that before.)
Molly then told the lady all about how she's going to play "bollyball" at Penn State when she's "a big tall girl."

Afterward, in the van, Molly told me all about all the things she's going to do when she's grown up:

I'm going to drive the van, and put the key in there.
I'm going to use the big seat belt.
I'm going to sit there in the front (the passenger side) when my brother drives the van.
I'm going to put my own piggies in myself.
I'm going to put all the groceries on the checkout.
I'm going to push the cart.
I'm going to make lunch myself.
I'm going to carry the baby and buckle him into his seat.

She went on and on, and I can't even remember them all, but my favorite, by far, was:

I'm going to clean up poop.