It used to be that I'd pick dandelions by the handsful and try to make a crown. I'd rub them all over my hands and arms to give my skin an oddly beautiful streaky tint. I'd pick batches of them and take them in to my mother as a present. And when they'd go to seed, I'd take one in each hand and twirl around in circles until all the little pods had blown off to heaven only knew where.
Nowadays I yank them out of the ground. Instead of being the ultimate cosmetic accessory to a four year-old, they are the lawn-dwelling nemesis of the twenty-nine year-old. Instead of twirling around in circles watching the seed pods drift, I frantically try to pluck them out before the seeds appear.
I guess twenty-five years will change you that way.