There is a 12-year-old inside of me screaming to get out. I see peeks of her when I'm in the middle of the grocery store, laughing with my five-year-old at the pooping noises of his little brother. I can hear her rattling around in this fat old body when I'm cooking "glop" for dinner. My MOM cooked "glop" for dinner...how did I get to be the one cooking it for my own family.
I'm old...but I'm not convinced I've earned my age. I've been through things...stuff...bad stuff and good stuff...
...but I still feel like I'm playing dress-up in someone else's clothes.
Most days I have this overwhelming sense that someone will figure out my secret...that I'm really just a kid playing grownup. I have no idea what I'm doing and I'm making it up as I go along. Bedtimes...privileges...grocery shopping...housekeeping...rules. Whatever strikes my fancy at any given moment.
So why not let my imagination run wild? Why not give my inner 12-year-old license to come out and play?
Maybe we'll have chocolate cake for breakfast sometime this week. Or maybe we'll pitch a tent in the living room and have a camp-out. Something fun to balance out the bedtimes, privileges, grocery shopping, housekeeping, and rules.