You know what? I don't think I'm going to grow up. Growing up is highly over-rated.
Remember being a kid? Those endless summers...the unending wait between birthdays or Christmases? Oh my gosh time seemed to draaaaaag! I couldn't wait to grow up, to be a lady, a mum, be able to drive.
Now I'm here in supposed Grown-up Land I really don't know what the fuss was all about. In fact, the younger grown ups and me tend to do lots of non-grown up things and have a wow of a time doing it.
Yesterday afternoon we made a Blanket/Sheet Fortress in the loungeroom. We adorned it with fairy lights and ate party food for dinner. A couple of us slept in there most of the night, along with the dogs. Sometime during the night the inevitable happened and part of the fortress collapsed...mostly on top of me. We laughed and made our way to bed. Our backs were sore and we were cold anyway.
I sit and reflect on why I didn't do more of these kinds of things with the kids when they were little, but then I smile and give thanks that we're doing it now. These are what memories are made of. When I'm gone I want them to remember the silliness that was their mother and tell stories to my grandchildren of their Nanna who refused to grow up.
Because being a grown up is terribly over-rated you know.
