Playing with my sister’s grandchild at July 4th totally freaked me out. When did I get to be the gray-haired woman running after a baby while the young people played games?
The only thing that saved me from a quick trip to depression was my first game of Cornhole where I excelled, if I do say so myself. Of course trash talking to my nephew probably wasn’t my most attractive moment.
“Oh, come on Zach, that’s the best you can do?
You’re never going to make this shot. I’ll bet $20 you’re going down.
You’re breaking down mentally because I am TOTALLY in your head.”
Yeah, it was that pretty.
Since it was 97 degrees with at least 198% humidity, I was fighting major hot flashes with every single toss of the bean bag. My opponents didn’t realize that when I yelled, “I’m on fire!” I was not referencing my Cornhole skills. That was a literal statement.
After the game I retreated to a chair where mosquitoes made dinner of my ankles. I looked at my two grown kids, and realized how proud I was to have played a part in creating such amazing adults.
The mosquitoes bit into my thoughts, and I slapped at my ankles. As I slapped, I noticed the pretty broken veins that matched my blue pants and it reminded me of the time that my daughter was four years-old, observing the broken veins in my thighs.
She ran her tiny little hand over them, looked at me with concern and said, “Mom, your legs are cwakin’ up.”
I told her that those spider veins were like God’s fireworks drawn with care upon my thighs. She was neither convinced nor amused. What I wanted to say was, “I didn’t have any of these until my pregnancies; my legs used to rock!”
But now I get to carry my fireworks with me while I watch the reasons for them laugh and play and celebrate the 4th.
Totally worth it.