As a kid/teen there were days when I wished for other parents and grandparents. Like when my grandmother read my diary or my dad called my school. My grandfather wouldn't let me wear black and my mom refused to buy me jelly shoes; in those moments I would have traded them in for another set, a cooler set of guardians. Alas, maturity has shown itself in yet another way, not only would I never contemplate replacing any of them but I feel so unfathomably blessed to have them and blessed that my children get to also have them, know them, love them and be loved by them. Its strange when you cross that imaginary line where your parents no longer tell you what to do and when to do it but instead just offer advice and guidance. I'm not quite sure when it happened for me but I know it had when I no longer felt like I'd get into trouble for staying out late, sleeping in or watching tv. I don't think I ever anticipated the quality of relationships I'd have with them, the adult version of my childhood bonds. Like yarn being crocheted, getting stronger and transforming into something so different than the ball it started out as. I imagine it as a sweater a few snags here and there but none-the-less warm, durable and beautiful.
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