Growing up...

I don't like growing up.

I doubt it’s the anxiety of the wrinkles that come with it, perhaps the responsibility or just the fact that my daughter thinks I'm not that young. She's 5. The math between 5 and 32 is huge for a girl that young. Yes, I'm making excuses too.

Last saturday we spent a full day together. As we drove around, she asked me why I sold our other car. She was hoping we could have two cars. But we don't need two cars, and we can't afford it anyway. I tried to explain.

She said, "when I grow up I will have 2 cars" I asked her why,

she said "Because when you're really old, you will need one, so one for me, and one for you."

That threw me off quite a bit. She's growing up, and I love her opinions and admire her thought process. She's a child, and she loves to grow up.

Over dinner, she and this young (odiero) boy, about 8 years old, began to smile and make faces at each other. I told her she could say hello. She said she was shy, but she had an idea.

" Mum you could go say hi to him first so I can hear his voice".

I laughed so hard…someday I must compile her words and give her when she turns 18.(note to self)

Well, I have been thinking lots about what has been my blog-name for a long time, and it just didn’t make any sense to me anymore.

So…I've grown up, and I hope this makes more sense to you too. If you’ve stayed with me here, or you drop by once in a while, you know that I’m passionate about business news reporting, about my high heeled shoes, my daughter and about Africa;

So come with me in my journey through Inflation, Stilettos, Pacifiers and An African dream.