Spending the majority of the summer where I grew up, I had more than ample opportunity to walk down memory lane. As I did, I realized that some things never change (sort of):
Living with my parents.
I cooked a lot more; and cleaned a lot more than I ever did as a kid.
Giggling with a girlfriend from girls camp.
We’re both moms now with our own daughters going to girls camp.
Looking at myself in the same mirror where I would primp for stake dances.
I was changing a diaper and wasn’t as worried about my hair, make-up or the last dance.
Driving a van on the freeway with my dad in the passenger seat holding his arm rest with a death grip.
It didn't make me nervous; it just made me laugh.
Running up the hill behind my school to the field hockey field.
I was carrying a baby, racing my kids, and could barely make it up once.
Crossing 5 lanes of traffic to get to a left exit in less than 1 mile going 55 mph.
There’s an exit on the right hand side now for (wimps) those who don’t like to take risks.
Driving to my high school in a van with a bunch of kids.
I wasn’t listening to The Cars or New Edition. And they were my kids so there was no way they thought I was cool.
Going downtown to the monuments and museums.
I wasn’t on a school field trip so I didn’t have my soda can wrapped in tin foil. And I actually tried to understand the history and importance of what I was seeing.
Riding a crowded metro train.
I wasn’t an obnoxious kid that didn’t see the commuters roll their eyes.I was a mom that people would give up their seats for. (I may have seen some eyes roll as they tried counting the number of kids I had with me.)
Getting lost in Anacostia on the way home from National Airport.
I wasn't nervous. Mostly because I was with my husband and it was just nice to be alone for a while after not seeing him for 6 weeks.
It was a fabulous summer. I'm pretty sure I have the coolest parents ever.
It's nice that some things never change.
And it's nice to be with people you love.
You know, the ones who make all the good changes possible.
