Oh, childhood.

I miss you so. My niece is here for Christmas, and she's about two and a half. Today, I was watching her play with her Barbies, and talking to herself and to her dolls, and I found myself thinking, " I wish I could imagine that dolls were real."
I then began to think about the differences between the magic of being a child and of just being a teenager.
There is such magic about children; around them, inside of them, in the things they do and say. When you're a child, everything is magic and amazement. Dolls are real, stuffed animals talk, and life is an ongoing adventure.
When you're a teenager, you lose some of that magic. You realize dolls aren't real, and they don't talk. The opposite sex becomes more important than stuffed animals, and although life is still an adventure, it's hard to see it as so. Lately, I've discovered that sometimes being older is not necessarily bad. Most everything is available for you to do, and love is just around the corner. You can receive kisses from people other than mom, and love them just as much. Family and friends become your life, and life takes on a meaning.

I suppose this is all rambling, but really, sometimes I wish I could be a child again.