I swung on some playground swings last night while waiting for Sean to finish his baseball practice. And I swung high. Like, totally seeing over the top of the swing set high. I swung as high as that swing was capable, man. I didn't mess around. I don't know if it felt so incredible because the sunset was just getting started or because the breeze was just right or because maybe for just a few moments I felt like I wasn't nearly old enough to have a kid starting high school this year. It was amazing. But then a few moments later, my 42-yr-old butt gave up the fantasy and complained about being squeezed into the space normally occupied by an elementary school child. Reality resumed as I brought myself back to earth and I sent bark chips flying into my hair and my face and my huge mom-purse that I was still clutching. And when the motion stopped and my ass had lost any feeling, I was once again a parent who accompanied her first born to pay his Freshman fees and have his ID photo taken that day. Once again 42. And, my hand to God, as I limped away to the car with my second-born, I felt a new grey hair pop out of my head right then and there. But for a few sweet, swinging minutes, I was a kid again. And I was super awesome.