cycles

i've been thinking a lot about how time changes us.  not just physically, though that's always floatin' around.  but when i think about who i was when i met the mister or had my babies, it's safe to say that i was pretty different.  and that's the beauty of those experiences:  they've forever left their mark on me.

i remember a conversation i had with a 7th grade boyfriend.  we were talking on the phone one night (remember those days) and i was sprawled across my iron bed with my feet on the wall.  we talked for hours about what kind of car we'd each drive when we were adults and married.  huh?  yeah.  look at me in the minivan, now!  i remember how i thought those things--the toys, the clothes, the pets--would determine the kind of life you had.  it was just a matter of choosing the right car, etc., and then everything would fall into place.  obviously, the ugly blue station wagon that my mom drove was an irreversible step into dorkdom.  it was because of that station wagon that she didn't "get" me.  that i wasn't allowed to go to friends houses if their parents weren't home (little did she know. . .).  that she didn't think loud music was fun or have any plans on new year's eve.

so, last night i became a traitor to my own 11 year-old-self:  e is not allowed to go to friends houses if there is not an adult at home.

how long will this rule last?  she wants to know.  in high school, too?

oh, yeah.