I'm a kid.

I'm holding a melted airhead, half-eaten tootsie roll pop, and a pair of plastic vampire teeth. The sun is beating down on my back as I struggle to find a place for her tiny socks and his small nike tennis shoes. I bite down awkwardly on the carnival tickets. I drop my phone, keys, and the wallet I am also trying to hold as the kids' possesions suddenly take priority over my own belongings. Finding a bag at the nearest booth selling a pile of useless baby toys, I dump everything I am struggling to hold into the it. Mission accomplished. The sun still beats down on my back. Looking after four kids at a elementary school festival brings out the kid in me while at the same time reality beckons me to be a grown up. Hundreds of little people are running around. Spraying each other with silly string that instantly melts in mid squirt from the hot sun, jumping eagerly on the wobbly moonbounce, stuffing their small mouths with gooey donuts and lukewarm pizza. Walking around I make eye-contact with fellow babysitters and parents who wish they had a babysitter in their place. Our eyes all exude the same feeling: desire. Some desire to be done with their shift. Some desire to have a moment away from their whiney child.

I desire to be small again. I want to be five. I want to win a toy gun for putting a golf ball into its hole. I want to climb through the blow up obstacale course. I want to wear my pink overalls and be okay with my messy pigtails. I want to be queen of my fort in the woods. I want to jump on my bike and fly past my neighbor, in sure thought that he is an evil, mean man whose sole purpose in life is to chase after me and steal my sweet barbie accesorized ride. I want to know what it feels like to simply cry over a skinned knee after I clumsily fall off my bike in the middle of my instense getaway---to not know what it feels like to cry about anything more then that. I want to be my parents best friend, I want to tell them everything. I want to build a tent with my brothers in the living room. I want to write stories about animals--to not have to write fifteen page research papers.

I leave the carnival with the four kids I was asked to watch, to protect, for that particular time. This carnival was their time. They thought of nothing else except finding the best toy to win, and eating as much candy as they could. The sun starts to go down. The coolness in the air becomes a newly welcomed friend. Exhausted, I wonder how I will ever be an adult when my mind is begging me to revert back to my five year old self, to forget about what my present "adult life" is forcing into my head. Things were easier at the age of five.

Getting back into the car I begin to drive away, windows down and wind blowing in my hair, listening to four sweaty kids in the back of the car complaining of thirst that one would assume is life threatening by the urgency in their voices. Ignoring them I enjoy the wind in my hair. Suddenly thankful for the age I am. Nostalgia of five year old Karin is swept away with the wind, for now.

Patten, you rascal.

SCENARIO:
Starbucks.
Five year old Patten has to go pee.
He starts to pull down his pants.

Me: Patten are you wearing underwear?

Patten: No.

Ten year old Carter: Patten never wears underwear anymore.

Me:Anymore? Didn't he just learn to wear underwear like a year ago?

Patten tries to go pee in the bush.

Me: Patten, the bathroom is this way.

Leads him to the handicap family restroom stall.

Patten: this isn't a boys stall.

Me: I know. It's a handicap stall.

Patten: What's handicap mean?

Me: Like, hurt.

Patten: I'm not hurt.

Me: I know

Patten: I can't go pee in here.

Me: Yes you can. handicap.. means.. boy too.

Patten: Oh.

He goes in to pee. I laugh outside the door.

Patten: Why are you laughing?

Me: ....There was a funny bug....

Barges out of stall.

Patten: WHERE??????

Me: I killed it.

Patten: WHY?????

Me: Because it was handicap.

Patten: Whats handicap mean?



.:Kids make life interesting:.

Confession #1

I'm offically standing proud and admitting that I. Like. Zac Efron.

This weekend I watched some movies. Hairspray and Seventeen Again were two I watched. Both had Zac Efron in them. He's kind of really attractive to me and I kind of watched both of those because of him. Does this make me as ridiculous as one of the thousands of pre-teen girls obsessed with him? I feel like either I have to be embarassed of my love for Zac (yes, first name basis) or admit it to the world and stand proud.

Alright. I'm standing proud.


I feel like that was the right choice to make.