it’s 9:54 and it’s almost time for bed.
I was watching Little People, Big World tonight (don’t judge me) and one of the twins was reflecting on turning 18. He goes, “We’re adults now. I mean, we could go get Costco cards.” I couldn’t stop laughing. I can only hope that if I ever have children, 18 means only that much to them. I get very sad when I see kids at work trying to get emancipated from their parents for whatever reasons. If my kid turns 18 and only wants to get his/her own Costco card, I think that will be fine. I predict, however, I will not be cool if s/he wants to starts smoking or ceremoniously leave the house because I won’t let him/her get a tattoo or pierce their whatever. Does that make me a horrible parent already? Oh dear.
I feel old too because I remember how it felt to turn 18. No other birthday before that felt different. But that day meant something. And remembering how long ago that was makes me sad. Ten years is a long time.