fun

I just opened up a piece of mail from the university I attended. They were asking for money. The approach was to reminisce about how great it all was. Included in the mailing were pictures from our recent fifteen year reunion (of which I did not attend). And all I could think as I looked at those goofy pictures of people laughing and dancing and carrying on was:

When did we all get so old?

The irony is that right now, in my old bones, I hold the muscle memory of a night well spent. Of racing laps around a dance floor. Of wholly becoming Madonna when Material Girl was played. My body holds the soreness in the neck, in the shoulders, that can only come after one dances hard. Real hard. I recall jumping off the stage and doing a bell kick. I heart bell kicks.


So when I think about being old, I think about how young I feel inside. About dancing hard and dressing like a fool. I think about the rest of the fools in my town, the rest of the fools who are my friends. I think about how nights like last night keep us all really young. How thankful I am to be around old people who really like to have fun, to use their bodies, to be goofballs and eat hamburgers in costume. I love them.


It was a good night. It was followed by a good day. My children are so fun to be around. We spent a solid part of the day at the Children's Museum. Sol's never been. It was the first birthday party he'd been invited to. And Eliana rode on the coattails of his invite all the way through. Even after his party was long over, I found her at the craft table making some wild ocean, glittery crafty thing in a jar thing with a group of kids who were part of another party. Yup. That's my girl. She had no idea who they were, but she just sat right down and started crafting. Love her.

She's crafting like crazy right now. And almost better than the craft is the re-telling, step by step, of how the creation came to be:
Well, let me tell you what I did first. First, I found a little bit of clay and I rolled it into a tight, little ball. Then I just poked an orange colored pencil in this hole, a yellow crayon here, then I wrapped VERY TIGHTLY a pipe cleaner around and around and around the whole thing, then I poked this little bead into the clay and then I made this beautiful tree! But it's not like a tree that lives in the ground. It's a tree that you carry in your pocket. And it's for you, Mama! Here!

Dang. The energy that it must take to be little CelieBop. She's intense. And she keeps me young.

Here's to the fun of now.