On maturity

Being a grown-up is neat.

For example, if I want to have butterscotch pudding from the fridge before dinnertime, I can just go ahead and have it!  And if I don’t especially feel like putting my dirty socks in the laundry bin, I can just fling them any which way without a single repercussion.

Sometimes the whole grown-up thing really amazes me too.  Like the fact that (most weeks) we remember – out of all the grown-up things there are to remember –to take the garbage out to the road the night before garbage day.  I always give Kendon a high-five when we take the garbage out to the road.  It’s an activity that reminds me that I really am 25.

There are times, though, when I feel the opposite of 25. Like last night, when I really just needed to have a good cry, and my grown-up husband held me and wiped my eyes and told me everything was going to be OK.  It’s nice having another grown-up in the house for times like that.  And sometimes the husband needs to be a kid for a little while too, and then I get to take my turn being the Bagley house grown-up.

Being a grown-up is neat. But having someone to take care of you when you feel 10 years old is even neater.