The idea that I am an adult is not okay with me. I have the humor of a 12 year old. I can turn the most innocent thing Elmo says into a "that's what she said" moment. At a BBQ yesterday, someone said "twiddle", and I had to try not to giggle. I have the mouth of a sailor, and my sarcasm is off the charts. I could potentially be creating a monster in my 10 year old, she is not able to distinguish that I'm kidding, for one, and two - she's doing it wrong. Whereas I am hilarious, she is a snot. Whoops. Parenting fail.
I have hair that is becoming more gray by the day. The girl calls it "sparkly". I like that. I'll keep them. Partially because paying to have my roots done every so often is entirely too much maintenance and I'm lazy, and partially because I earned those fuckers.
Don't get me wrong, I know that I'm fixing to turn 35, I'm married, with children and a dog. That technically classifies me as a bonafide grown up. I just miss the zero responsibility days every once in a while (ignoring my responsibilities, like the humongous stack of homework sitting beside me begging to be done, but I'm blogging or playing Farkle online instead does NOT count). That being said, although this may not be the life I planned, it certainly is the one I was supposed to have.