Older.
I have come to realize this year that we are becoming the “older” people at church.
The ones with kids that run all over the church, while younger parents clutch their children close.
The parents who are in activities. Rather, their kids are in activities.
I’m older.
When someone in their twenties sees me at worship, they don’t think of me as a spring chicken. Instead, they think of me as someone to ask a parenting question of because I have been there and done that.
I am not of the geriatric generation.
But the busy-with-one-gray-hair-generation.
The minivan mom.
The generation who grew up watching Oprah for their afterschool special. The one who had a drawer-full of Wonder-Roo’s.
I am the soccer mom.
The mom with smiles creases at the edge of her eyes that fans out, adding character to my haggard look.
But though I am older, my mind still thinks like I am still in high school.
My thoughts still frisky with love for my husband. Mischievous enough to still desire to pull pranks.
STOP.
I love doing this. Writing under pressure.
Read more posts regarding the subject of “older” over at The Gypsy Mama.
