29 July 2010

Silliness, Skydiving, and Summer

It's already July. Seriously.

You have a calendar. Look at it.

I know. JULY. When did that happen?

Next week we're having Thanksgiving dinner. Grab your mittens and coat.

Geez, Louise.

Don't you remember growing up how the time would inch by? The older I get, not that I'm old mind you, I get the eerie feeling time has found warp drive. I often wonder when the grown ups are going to show up and tell me to wash behind my ears and quit drinking so much coffee.

Yeah, not happening. The coffee drinking part, that is.

I don't feel like a grown up. Maybe I'll never feel that way. I'll end up one of those wrinkled, bright eyed, sweet-tempered ladies whose purse is stocked with peppermints, smells like cookies, and is constantly attempting to play matchmaker for my "beautiful granddaughter" and my single, hot, skydiving instructor.

Oh, I'd skydive. I would. My bestie and I have already talked about this, blue hair and all. Although, I would wager my social security check she would pinch the instructor's butt. And her purse would be chock full of mini peanut butter cups. Naturally.

I don't act like a grown up, so I've been told. My daughter and her friends call me "fun Mommy" because they are sure that even though I am a mom and drive a lame mini-van, I'm still fun. Go me.

::pats self on her narcissistic back::

How do grow ups act? I ask.

Serious, they say.

My daughter and company also told me I'm hilarious. (hilarious looking, maybe...) I have about 30 kids at my daughter's school that call me "Mommy" now. I wear my badge with honor. Kind of like being cool in high school. And take it from me, I was anything but cool.

I am thankful to feel this kind of connection with "my kids". Baking cookies at midnight during a girl's night sleepover also helps. So does bribery in the Willy Wonka fashion.

Man, can they devour a bag of caramel apple suckers, or what?

Cool "Mommy" title aside...yes, my inflated head is SO owning that...I've always felt that containing one's self with absolute seriousness is not living when every day is spread out with opportunity for the taking. Sure, I'm fully able to get into scholarly arguments debating Utopian pluralism or engage anyone on the beauties of Neruda's finely honed pen.

For the record, if you haven't read Pablo Neruda, his most famous works are the most amazing lover's poetry. Warm fuzzies and loveliness.

I'd say in contrast, my everyday is more complex. Like quoting silly movies, going Tiger Beat over broody Brit actors/musicians, and dancing around my living room with my seven year old to the likes of  Lady Gaga. There is time for both but don't you get the itch to get silly or break loose sometimes?

Try it. You may find yourself. Or find yourself with a killer blog post...or better yet, find yourself with a hot skydiving instructor. rawr.

~Bee wants to know what silly things you do.