Surreal but nice

(*Insert picture here: 14 year old girl wearing BYU boxer shorts, In N Out t-shirt and white jack purcells. Bangs teased into a killer claw, sporting zinc pink lipstick and the perfect tan. Circa 1989)

We went to Lagoon yesterday. The kids were in heaven. They went on ride after ride, fighting over who they would sit by this time and what they should go on next time and how many snacks they could possibly fit in between rides. It was a perfect day. I watched them run from ride to ride, watched them giggle and scream, watched them hold hands, watched Brooks cross his little ankles as he lounged in the stroller. I loved it all. I sat back and soaked it in. And it seemed a little surreal. Being at Lagoon always makes me feel like a kid again. Every summer we came to Utah and found our way to Lagoon with cousins and more cousins and aunts and uncles. It was every flavor of fun. We rode on the log ride and ate corn on the cob and walked the dirt roads of Pioneer Village. I fell asleep in the car on the way home, the kind of exhausted only a child can be. Then I became a teenager. And Lagoon became more about the boys than the rides. Flirting was an art. And the boys in Utah seemed to have it down. (What was wrong with those Oregonian boys anyway?) I still fell asleep on the car ride home, the kind of exhausted only a teenage girl can be. And now, here I am. At the crossroads of past and present. And that is why it seems surreal. I'm all grown up. I am the momma now. These 4 little ones belong to me. I am the one that stands in line with them and screams on the rollercoasters with them and buys lemonade and french fries for them and drives home while they snore in the back seat. I am the kind of exhausted only a momma can be. And I wouldn't trade it. Not for anything.