I miss dirt.
I miss dirt a LOT.
I miss it being socially acceptable to wear the same pair of shorts for a week, to brag about how long it's been since your last shower, to let a group of 7 year olds paint your nails with nail polish that had the consistency of cement. To be covered in mud and various allergens from your rain-or-shine hiking expedition with 10 twelve year olds.
To dress for comfort and practicality.
This is a lot for me to say. I've never been a tomboy, and sure, during my most insecure years I rocked the bulky hoodie with the rest of them, but ultimately I'm a straight-up girl, a lady who's embraced the pearls and heels, statement purses, and heated styling tools.
But on Flannel Fridays, I get to feel the sun on my face at the climbing tower, choke on the sand from the stables, and feel the sting of soot in my eye from Capture the Flag/Cook Out night.
Who knew that putting on a shirt would be an act of magic?
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Isn't she just fabulous?