Girl. I still use that word when I know for a fact that I’m no longer a “girl”. My kids are both double digits, completely mortified by the things I do and say on a regular basis. I know there are 90 year old women who still feel like I do on the inside. I’m not aging when it comes to my sense of humor or love of dance, but every morning when I wake up I see another wrinkle that wasn’t there yesterday.
For purposes of this blog, I will remain a “girl”. That crazy girl, as a matter of fact. As long as I can remember I’ve been the girl that didn’t follow the rules. In pre-school I beat up little boys because they picked on my friends or pulled my pigtails. In elementary school I broke the rules by wearing jeans when I should’ve worn dresses and climbed trees with the boys. I was the person you could double dog dare to do anything and I’d do it (even if it involved getting myself and others grounded in the process). As a teenager I had a fake ID that said I was 26, 190 pounds and Hispanic (I was none of those) and I pulled it off with confidence and a little bit of cuteness on the side. As an adult I am still that girl on the inside. The one who gives solid advice, takes ridiculous selfies and stands up for what is right for myself, my kids and my friends. Nothing has changed in the past 46 years.
I know I’ll look back on this first blog post later on and cringe, but that’s OK. This blog is for me to share my experiences being “That Crazy Girl” who wasn’t and isn’t afraid to break the rules, go against the grain and challenge authority.
When I’m 90 I can look back on this and say that I captured the essence of who I am in writing. That is enough for me.