J and I hosted our first Easter meal on Sunday, which I’m pretty sure officially makes us “adults.” I use that term loosely because I still occasionally wonder why I’m sitting in a house that isn’t my parents’ and why isn’t my mom here making me peanut butter sandwiches cut diagonally (’cause that’s the “happy” way, according to mom, and mom knows best). J plays the adult role better with his big-boy job and man-pants and stuff.
But do you ever get wrapped up in the role of being an adult only to be struck with the realization that you haven’t felt any magic in awhile and that makes you sad because as a child EVERYTHING was magic and when did all that stop, anyway? Magic…that hair-on-end, wide-eyed wonderment that believes in ghosts and thinks if you look in the right place you might happen across a family of tiny thumb-sized people.
Anyway, I’d been keeping track of the progress of the tulips out front. (I’m going somewhere with this. Promise.)
And then, Easter morning, J calls me out onto the front porch. “Holly, c’mere…!”
Something about it being Easter morning and the sun shining and the tulips waiting for just that moment to bloom made me feel so happy and like there really is magic all around us. And coming from the neurotransmitter burial ground which has been my brain for the past couple months, that’s saying a lot.
Basically what I’m saying is that even if we are getting older and have to get up multiple times in the night to pee and even if we groan a little when we sit down or limp a little after standing up, we don’t have to give up on feeling magic because it’s out there. And I don’t even care how corny and weird I might sound right now because… adulthood and self-confidence.