42 is the new 22

So I go to WM to buy some acetone to remove my solar nails--can't wait until the weekend when I MIGHT have time to go get them done...anyway, the register beeps and flashes a warning to the cashier to check my ID to be sure that I'm over 18. She glances up at me, and quickly (QUICKLY!) proceeds with the sale. This after I have been having a conversation today on facebook with some friends about how I am feeling my age teaching kindergarten. I am REALLY dreading the day I can't get up off the floor after teaching math down there and the kids have to go for help. Who will they get? What will they say? You never know with 5 year olds. Back to the WM story...the cashier must have heard me wince, because she stopped, looked at me, and asked, "Now honey, would you really want to go back? You know, to 18?" Hmmm....No, not really. Maybe 30...just far enough back to be able to move better, have less grayish hair (as my students call it), and fewer lines on my face. But I have learned a lot over the past years, things that come with age, maturity, God's hand in my life. I think I am where I am supposed to be at the moment, and to wish for anything else doesn't seem right. So I will learn to love aching bones, grayish hair, and a wrinkled face. And if you run into a 5 year old looking for help for his teacher, for goodness sake come get me off the floor.