The day I live deliberately, it will probably kill me.

It baffles me that I could have written daily in this thing two years ago, when I had so much less to report. Not that a whole lot is going on now... working from home has its perks, but it might be nice to have a reason to leave the house.

Something occurred to me, though, the other night. I was getting ready for bed, and noticed a plastic tub full of photos on a countertop; so I sat crosslegged on my bed for about half an hour and went through them all. Most of them were from circa 1998, which doesn't seem like that long ago until you see what ten years has done to everyone. Brooklyn was barely an armful, with no hair except that wispy cowlick that stood up right on top of her head. Alec was a messy-haired, beautiful little toddler, full of hilarious idiosyncrasies. (He's in middle school now, where they beat the idiosyncrasies out of you... so it's not as funny anymore.) Dad's hair was black... I can't imagine that it ever could have been as black as it apparently was. Probably best not to be any more specific, but suffice to say we've all gotten older. Except Mom. She just never seems to get any older. (I would say that even if it weren't true, but it is.)

And you know what? I was a cute little kid. If I had been able to accept the notion that I was a little kid, and not agonize so much over my lack of maturity and self-control, not try so hard to get it ALL FIGURED OUT, I bet it would have been more fun. I remember how badly I wanted to be the age I am now... and here it is, welcome to it. I wish I could remember what exactly I'd planned to do. Seems to me I had 21 more or less nailed down back then.

So I went upstairs, and Mom was lying on the couch, watching Frasier reruns. She pulled her feet in so I could sit down, and we just talked. Eventually her attention drifted back to the Cranes, so I sat with my folded arms and chin resting on her knees, just staring at her for a minute. It struck me that in ten years, when life is totally different again and I'm living the life she and Dad were living in 1998, this is what I will wax nostalgic about. And I will wish idly that I had savored it a little more. So I memorized my mother lying on the couch in sweats, makeup off and ready for bed, at age 40. Maybe it's the progressive, ravaging deforestation of my head that has me thinking this way, but lately I feel like getting all I can out of 21. I even worked out today. (A little. And then I played video games a little.)

--Kevin