Ungrowing Up.

Our two young men recently came home for a Thanksgiving visit. It was great to see them and the family had a wonderful time together.

Here's the problem.

Unbeknownst to me, I may have become old and cranky. No longer the free-spirited bon vivant of my youth, I am now poised to leap on a dirty dish or abandoned sock as though it were a live hand grenade. Our boys will be boys and leave clothes strewn around their room, empty beverage containers in our subterranean pool room and stacks of dishes in the kitchen sink. In the scheme of things, this is no big deal but suddenly to the grown-up me, there is a problem, and I own it.

God forbid that I have become my father!

This theory, I refuse to believe. After all, wasn't I the reckless pre-teen, teen, and mid-century modern that was causing the whitening of his already gray hairs? He grew up during the depression. So what is my excuse?

Hmmm. Perhaps I need to ungrow up!