As a kid I used to fantasize about being all grown up, an adult, someone who magically can leave the front door open and jump of a cliff with the rest of their friends. An adult was allowed to buy chocolate and go places whenever they wanted too. And they never had to wait in the car. Or put off chores or do homework. And best of all an adult gets to have tantrums and get away with it. Mythical, a treasure at the end of the childhood rainbow. Adulthood was something to dream about.
I woke up a few years back and realized that I was there. Fantasyland. I had made. But why didn’t I feel all giddy as I wrote out checks to the electric company? Why wasn’t I squealing with delight when I left the dishes in the sink because I was exhausted from dealing with three babies under the age of four? Where was that feeling of triumph when I longingly gazed at the chocolate in the checkout line my arms full of babies, formula and diapers? Why do I still have to have my tantrums behind closed doors, face in the pillow screaming that gosh darn it I am an adult and why wasn’t life fair already!
I wish I could say that a cloud of enlightened wisdom fell upon me. I wish I could say that overnight it all made sense. But it didn’t and sometimes when I was scrubbing the floor I wanted to dump the water out all over the floor, fling my mop out the window and go buy some one of that chocolate I was well into deserving. I have wanted to shred my bills, grab a lollipop and whine on the floor that it is the wrong freaking color. I have wished to jump in the car and head for the border. And I never want to make another appointment so long as I live.
My children are growing up now, some of them no longer babies and I am beginning to see the wisdom in allowing them a measure of adult responsibility. Babes this is what it is like. Really and truly. I am slowly realizing that age has got nothing to do with it. Because if your kids are all having a crying fest and you decide to join in, you are guaranteed to show by sheer example that mommies don’t want to share sometimes either. Besides the fact that they will all stop crying (usually) and that is always a plus.
I love my life, my children, my husband and heck on most days I enjoy smugly letting my kids know that I am the adult around here and they better finish their school or else (or else what?). I also enjoy reverting on occasion to the age of nine, to exploring barefoot in the backyard for tadpoles, I love a good food fight and the occasionally irresponsible act of sneaking off to McDonald’s for food and peace and quiet.
My kids are learning that childhood itself is magical, that long lazy days of just being young and without (adult) worry or care special.
We have chores and school and stress most everyday, so we mix it up with no chores/no school days or Triffid days, Triffid days are when all of us turn into triffids and work hard all day, those days usually end with a fun meal and games:).
As an adult, a grownup, I finally realize that there really truly is magic in adulthood, it is just of a different sort. I love that I am free to make my life as amazing as I wish it to be, even on the days when I need to be all adult, balance the check book and wonder at how my son has grown out of his shoes in just three days.
Life may not be fair but it sure can be interesting and even occasionally exciting:D