I know, it was brassy of me, but I did it anyway.
“Do you ever miss being able to wail when you want something? As a newly minted grandmother of twins, I found myself thinking it would be nice to have even an hour where I could wail for what I wanted and someone would give it me. I would pass on the leg kicking and arm waving, because it’s not a good look for me. But I do have my moments when I would so rather not be the grownup in the room. Even when I’m alone.
Whether it is good news or bad, the fact is, time marches forward and we get older. Whether we become grownups—and stay grownup—is a choice, one we make again and again as life’s challenges whack us upside the head. Hey, it’s not a perfect process. But I have, for the most part, accepted my place in the adult world. I’m the grownup (at least until my brain starts to shut down).
What I did not expect was how hard it would be to become a grownup writer. Weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth goes with the process. Going public with all that is not a good idea.”
Perilously (and somewhat maturely) yours,
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