Comic books have always been inextricably connected in my mind with the simple joys of childhood. Leafing through the pages of a comic book, it’s easy to get lost in the fantastical storyline, imagining superheroes swooping in and saving the day when all seems close to lost.

Comic books of yesteryear are places where reality stands still and fantasy can take over. Anything is possible. In adulthood we tend to lose that magic. It’s sad we get hung up on limitations and practicalities. We cease to be incredulous, overwhelmed by the day to day that threatens our ability to imagine.

Celebrities don’t usually affect me. I’m not one for autographs, oohs or aaahs. Maybe it’s because I was an actor at one point, and relate to people as ‘people’, without the cloak of fame. But Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Aniston have always been slightly mystical to me – which makes my fascination with them more vivid in its abnormality.

Looking back, it’s clear that motherhood has tamed me.

Not that I was jumping out of airplanes, or burning my bra in the good old days—but I certainly wasn’t the Pinterest-loving, laundry maiden that I am now, either. Life before kids was something entirely other.

As a dedicated mother of two, my days consist of order, routine and responsibility. I bend to the will of my children, and my entire existence is spent keeping them safe, happy and healthy. But, there was a time—before the days of yoga pants and early bedtimes—that I wasn’t quite so organized and responsible.

Before mom-hood, I was a small town girl who liked beer and football on Friday nights— fancy wasn’t really my thing. I worked in a small salon and threw darts with my friends on Sundays. We preferred hole-in-the-wall bars with mismatched carpet; I’d take denim over lace any day of the week.