Summer nights never get old

Pretty soon I will resume posting about the rest of our trip, as well as the much loved Wednesday's Word, but for now, I have something else to say.
I love summer. I love when it's hot outside. I love when I can sit in my chair in my backyard, just before the sun has gone all the way down and it's still light out, and be completely comfortable. It's my perfect temperature. I did that tonight.
I had just finished watering my garden (don't choke - I'm totally serious - I said GARDEN) and I had picked our very first peas off the vine. I ran, OK sauntered because it's a little warm out, into the house and called the whole family to me. I wanted us all to enjoy the first fruits of our labors, together. I don't think they loved it as much as I did, but who cares.
Laynee put some peas in her mouth and no sooner had she done so than they were spit right back out into my lap. "Ew. Goss. Mom." That's how she talks. One word sentences that create whole phrases. I'm so glad she feels she can express herself to me that way.
Corrine ate the peas and the pods, as did Michael.
Hunter had one or two and then, "I'm good, Mom. Can I go play Wizard 101 now?"
One by one they trickled back inside. I lingered, not wanting to end my summer evening. Michael stayed out with me for a little while. And you know when you're sitting, sometimes you look at your legs? Mine were stretched out in front of me, propped up on another chair, and I was looking at them, because I saw a dent in my knee. Gross. A dent. So I felt it and it was just a dent because of the way I was sitting before I changed positions. Phew. But I made Michael feel it, because that's what you do. You make the other person feel your dents. It's for fun. And he goes, "Meh. Your skin's just getting saggy." Say what? I know. I reacted the same way.
Then we (he) went into this bit about not wanting me to grow old, and he'll still love me the same, it doesn't change how he'll feel about me, he can be 70 but I should stay 30 forever blah, blah, blah. And then I got sad at him for not being happy that he gets to grow old with me, and maybe I cried a little and then he said something so mean, so rude, so uncalled for. He said that maybe, just maybe, it was me who wasn't happy about growing old.
Whatever.
I love old people. I love how they smile and nod when they can't hear what's being said, and they look at you like you're a total putz because you're young. And then he got up and went inside, and I stared at all the stars that were starting to pop up and I thought. I thought, "Maybe he's right. Maybe there is something the matter with me. I don't see how a world that makes such wonderful things, could be bad." I thought that because I could hear Ariel's voice floating out to me from the window in our front room.
No, but seriously. I kind of don't want to grow old. It means that my children will grow old, too. It means that my pretty little house will grow old. My beautiful old maple tree in my front yard will grow old{er} and fall down some day. And it means that my parents, siblings, and friends will grow old, too. It means that someday, I won't see them anymore because I'll either be blind or they'll be gone. I don't like thinking about that.
But hey, to look on the bright side, I'll get to be the one smiling and nodding because I can't hear what's being said. And it will be all the young putz's around me who will wipe the drool off my chin and feed me my chocolate pudding. I guess there's some sort of sweet revenge in that, right?