What an enjoyable, unexpected way to spend a weekday night. I literally can think of only a few things better. Here I sit. Sweats, ratty tee shirt, hair in a crazy pineapple thing. Headphones in, old school jams blaring, working like a washing machine. Swishing, twisting, scrubbing out the negative banter, that creeps in and is so eager to play on repeat. Chatter like a bad elevator soundtrack. I feel them moving out now. Quickly.

At first they wouldn’t budge. The thoughts, the worries, the cares of this world. Sitting like boulders, weighing on my brain matter like an elephant on a stool. What was just budging as a trickle, is now moving rapidly. With the beat of Nelly, in perfect rhythm, they march right out. LEFT, LEFT, LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT! Out with the work that consumes, stress that swallows, relational drama that drowns, and in with the carefree memories of the past.

Its funny, how it works. Like clock work, or like those characters from that cute Disney movie “Inside Out”, that move memories around in the brain. The first down beat of the melody and I am suddenly transported. Magically, taken back to a moment captured in time. I hear a certain late 90’s early 00’s song, snap, my mind immediately travels to one specific memory. Senior breakfast. Late spring morning in 2000. Windows down in an old school tracker, with friends, blaring Eminem. (You don’t judge my music and I won’t judge yours) Wind blowing through our hair as we spit the words like professional rappers, or at least back up singers to the famous rapper. Life was so carefree then. So much freedom, possibility. The whole world in front of us, not a care in the world.

You’ve got to have your own carefree Eminem moment. I, seriously cannot be the only one. My question is this…What happens to these moments? Why, as we get older, do they grow so infrequent? Why aren’t we silly? Stay up well into the night doing things we love? Why not do a Chinese fire drill (or in my feelings challenge), or dance until we can’t breathe? When is it that we are required to trade in our fun tickets for the predictable and safe counterfeits? I am realizing with every turn of the annual clock, I don’t want to die with regrets. I don’t want to get to old age and have “I wish I would have” breaths left in me. I long to be so full of “I DIDS”, that I literally cannot say it one more time.

So, do it! Girl please, let’s have countless 50 Cent rapping sessions in our living rooms. The kind that leave our kids speechless, staring, both amazed and mortified. Yet, don’t do it for them. Do it for the only audience of one that matters- YOU!

Do more things that make you happy and less that make you cry.

Here’s to 2019 you lovely beasts you!

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Mage means magician, what a great way to describe the job of a momma! I’m just one momma making magic, juggling the business of life, trying to embolden other mommas along the way.

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