Remember when the floor was lava? Jumping from couch to chair to footstool and back to couch with your throw blanket cape on was the most stressful part of the day. Because the floor was freakin' lava! Should you misjudge the distance to safety and a toe touch the lavafloor, you were done. No more play for you. You got to watch your siblings or friends continue the game while your bones were reduced to ashes in the bubbling lavaland that the family room had become. And it sucked. You knew you were better at the lava game than that! You knew it should have been one of them. They suck at this game. Not me!
pray the cat stays upstairs
Things aren't that simple anymore. I'm not implying that things aren't good. They are. It's just that then, things were awesome. The streamers on my handlebars, Saturday morning cartoons, Garbage Pail Kids, taking the change from the couch cushions to the corner store for Warheads and Nerds; all awesome for reasons that should not have to be listed. Things were easy. Maybe you didn't exactly view them as such at the time, but they were. Who of us wouldn't jump at the chance to go back, if only for a day, and have nothing to do but play kickball and hang upside-down from the monkey bars? I know I would. I would tell Little Me that she wasted a lot of precious youth on worrying about being cool and fitting in and wondering what she'd be like as Adult Me (who still worries a surprising amount about being cool and fitting in). I'd tell Little Me that very soon, the floor will no longer be lava. It will just be a floor. A floor that she will have to sweep and mop because Mom won't live with her anymore. I'll tell her to enjoy that game and to jump with all her might because jumping isn't going to be that easy for very long. I'll tell her to plan every jump strategically and thoughtfully, as not doing so will result in a fiery lava cremation, which is simply not an option. Little Me was a Goonie. Goonies never say die.
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