We had a church wide picnic tonight. It was fun. There was bluegrass music, barbecue and a bouncy house. My children lived through the day for that bouncy house. They knew it was coming and every hour they wanted to know if that hour were the appointed hour for the bouncy house.
"No, just ____ more hours." I repeated 47 times.
Then we parked and unsnapped the car seats and clambered into the evening and we could hear the twang of banjo music. Around a hydrangea corner, and there it was--a giant red
bubble of air and joy and sweat. They bounced and ate red popsicles and bounced and drank pink lemonade and bounced and bounced and bounced.
And I realized one thing: I am an adult.
I don't want to do a bouncy house. Not even a little bit.