Keep it clean

I was thinking back the other day to an achieved childhood memory. One night my grandmother was babysitting me, my sister and my cousin. She let all three of us help her mix up a batch of brownies, which would have been fun in and of itself. This brownie mix, however, came with a packet of peanut butter that you squeeze on top and run a knife through to make pretty swirls. After she had put most of it on top of the batter, she squeezed the rest out into her hands and said, “You had better run.”

We all screamed and ran through the house as she threatened to smear us with peanut butter. Of course we were all thrilled by these out-of-character shenanigans put on at grandma’s. Each of us ran a little slower than normal to make sure she would, in fact, catch us and then happily took a palm of peanut butter to the face or neck.

The thought of me doing this to children I might be babysitting horrifies me. It really got me thinking about how rigid I have become. Thinking about possibly getting any peanut butter on my walls or couch, seriously gets me anxious. I can’t get even get a little spunk on my belly these days without requiring a full wipe down with a moist towel.

Another memory I think back to with fondness is when my mom used to pile up couch cushions in front of our door and then sprinkle the linoleum floor with baby powder. We would run from the next room in our socks, slide and crash in to the padding for hours. It was free, and kept us kids happy.

Whew... I can feel those heart palpitations again. I just can’t imagine voluntarily making these messes just for the kids. Somewhere along the way I have lost my ability to let loose and let things get a little messy. Crotchety-old-lady-hood, here I come.