verdict: i'm still a kid!!!

I'll always remember the time my mom told me she never stopped "feeling 19 years old." I was probably 16 or 17 then, and couldn't figure out what she meant. Surely I'd feel more mature, more accomplished, more...perhaps cosmopolitan at 20 than I did at 16? Surely I'd wake up on my 21st birthday with sudden, precise, unassailable grown-up wisdom? Surely I'd feel well-adjusted and self-confident at 25? Surely I wouldn't feel 16 forever?

I was right. At the cusp of another birthday, I don't feel 16 (whatever that feels like).

Most days, I feel about 10.

Increasingly, I realize that many of the things I never outgrew are the most precious to me. Ok, I finally shelved the pilled, threadbare, limp little stuffed dog that slept with me every night. For the most part I can drink a glass of pinot gris without making an "ewwww" face, but for every little adult-ism I've gradually adopted, there's a 10 year-old-ism that I just can't shake. And with each year that passes, I proudly stick to my guns on this point: I'M STILL A KID!!!!!

For example:

Sugar Cereals
They were (blessedly) never outlawed around my family's breakfast table. Corn Pops, Sugar Smacks, Fruit Loops, Cocoa Pebbles, we ate them all (Dad was a Cap'n Crunch man, for instance...). I get the feeling that I'm supposed to have moved on to things like protein shakes or power bars or frittatas...but the cozy feeling I get from the pink milk in the bottom of a fruit loop bowl is all the wake-up juice I need. I don't think I'll ever out-grow the wide-eyed wonder of standing in the cereal aisle (with the "adult benefit" of shopping for myself and myself only) deciding whether I'm in an Apple Jacks or a Honeycomb mood...

Saturday Morning Cartoons
Up until a year ago (when PBS rearranged their saturday morning schedule), I'd still wake up early on the weekends to catch "Jakers! The Adventures of Piggly Winks," an adorable cartoon about school-aged Irish farm animals. My sister and I would call each other as soon as an episode ended to yak about how cute they were with their little cartoon brogues and "Full House-"esque moral dilemmas.

I spent waaaaay too many afternoons during high school (and college, if I could adjust the bunny ears just right) watching episodes of "Batman: The Animated Series." Had a big crush on cartoon Batman. His milk carton-shaped head and spooky, lipless mouth together with his clearly tormented past made him more faceted and interesting than most of the X-Men (although I watched them, too). I've probably seen every episode. These days, I don't watch tv (chalk it up to an unwillingness to pay ridiculous cable rates, though my cable-free reception is so awful that UPN was my only option), but the shows I miss the most are the weekend cartoons.

Barbies
Give me a Barbie, I'll follow you anywhere. The magic hasn't worn off. Any gift-giving holiday is more merry when I get to unwrap a Barbie. These days they're passed off as gag-gifts, as gifts-with-kitsch or as inside jokes, but the girl in me has yet to outgrow the thrill of my very own leggy blonde in a box.

(on a completely unrelated note: this caught my eye when I was trolling for Barbie pictures...)

When I'm sick, I want my mom
I battled a nasty case of strep-on-top-of-bronchitis-on-top-of-a-mean-flu awhile ago and when I was laying there trying unsuccessfully to sleep, waiting for the pain killers or the anti-inflammatories or the horse tranquilizers to knock me out, I wanted my mom there to squeeze my hand, wipe my hair off of my face and bring me some Saltines and earl grey. Sisters and boyfriends and roommates do the best they can, but no one makes me feel better like Mom. As I grow up and have to deal with the same old stuff (like realizing that cliques and don't go away just because we get older and we battle the same insecurities when we're 40 that we battle when we're 14...the break room at work can feel just as uncomfortable as the cafeteria in middle school when hormones hit just right or someone says just the wrong thing. Bad hair days persist, regardless. Some days, when you're sick, you still have to get up and go to work, even as badly as you'd like to stay in bed and watch "The Price is Right"), the remedy stays the same: after a bad day, I still automatically send an email to my mom. She's always steadfast and supportive, particularly when I feel unhinged.

So, as another birthday approaches,** I cling a little more closely to the things that have made me happy, comfortable and at home since my earliest memory (which, incidentally involves a large rock, my big toe and ends with a cure-all green Otter Pop).

In the meantime, here's to Fruit Loops, Superman, Barbie dolls, and mom's secret "aspirin-crushed-in-a-spoonful-of-honey" remedy for any and everything.


**Yes, I realize that I'm a bona fide spring chicken. I have no "I'm a dried up old lady" illusions, I just get retrospective around my birthday, realizing that time passes quickly...that it seems like just yesterday I was riding my first bicycle straight into the bushes at Grandma's house because I couldn't steer and brake at the same time. I'm young. I'm inspired. I'm twenty-something. EVEN SO, I'm allowed to reflect on the good ol' days. While eating the kind of sour candy with the neon sort of wrapper that 4th grade boys usually dig.