Sitting in the preschool drop off line I realize this is real….I am a legit adult. I look in my rearview mirror, at my hastily combed hair plastered with dry shampoo and an attempt to wipe off my smudged mascara, as The Lorax blares on the car radio. I don’t know why this still surprises me. I am a 32-year-old with two children. You think this “adult” thing would have hit me after graduating from college, or maybe after scoring my first job, or at least when I got kicked off my parent’s State Farm car insurance. Yet here I am: That annoying person who uses “adult” as a verb.
How did this happen? I swear that I should only be 22 and a fresh face out of undergraduate with my diploma in hand, thinking I could run the world. Not this whole ‘Mad Moms in Minivans’ thing I got going on. The parking lot monitor waves me forward, as I sip my latte.
Yep, there is no denying you can’t adult more than this.
Every time I see that meme that says, “You know you are getting old when people your age are purposely getting pregnant,” I have to laugh. I swear those days of talking to crushes on AIM, riding our bikes to our friends’ houses in the summer, and claiming which Spice Girl you were in your group of friends was just a few years ago.
I thought when I was an adult I would have my stuff together. I would have a consistent work out routine, a clean house, maybe a garden, cleaned ironed clothes, and fresh banana bread baking in the oven. I thought I would scrapbook in my spare time (is that still a thing?), have kids that liked to brush their teeth, freshly manicured nails, all the while being able to have a weekly moms night out sipping our $12 cosmos over some good gossip. I literally have one of those things right now- banana bread, anyone?
Although Monday comes every week, I am still surprised by its arrival and realize that I need to come up with a whole new meal plan and go grocery shopping. I still get nervous calling for a doctor’s appointment for my children. Wasn’t it just a few years ago that my mom was still setting my semi-annual dentist visits? How did I get here?
I never thought I would consider crabgrass such an enemy or worry so much about the best potty training techniques. I lay awake thinking about the most adult, mundane things: How can I file an appeal to get my property taxes lowered? Which health insurance plan should we pick next year? When is the best time of year to plant grass seed? Should the ceiling fan go clockwise or counterclockwise in the winter?
Looking back with a tinge of nostalgia it seemed like our parents always had it together. We had fun and the chores were done. How did they do it? They always seemed to have the answer for everything despite the dumbest questions.
As a parent, I feel like I Google everything. When I’m done Googling, I call my parents to confirm the answer that Google just gave me. My parents certainly knew how to “adult.” They remembered to take their trash out every week on trash day, they stayed up late and baked birthday cupcakes for our class the next day, and they always stocked up on our favorite Juicy Juice. They were the Little League coach, the Girl Scout leader, the science fair planner, the healthy lunch packer, the person that reminded us to wear our retainer, and let’s not forget the taxi driver. Those are huge shoes to fill.
Maybe we just remember it with blinders on or maybe we just only remember the fun?
I’m sure they probably felt the same way about their parents thinking if only I could be half the person they were/are. The idea that my husband and I are solely responsible for our children’s health, happiness, well being etc. is absurd to me considering I can’t remember to floss my teeth on a daily weekly basis. Half the time when I shower, I wash my body twice because I forgot if I did it the first time and do it again. And let’s not even get started on the laundry mountain in my closet.
As we wait for our turn, I look back up to see my children in the rearview mirror. They just look so happy and my heart melts. Maybe I don’t need to be the perfect adult in order to give them a great childhood. Maybe I am good enough as is. If they were to ever remember this moment, I’m sure they wouldn’t remember the toys and trash littering the car floor so thick you couldn’t see the bottom. Instead, I hope they would remember the three of us belting out “How Bad Can I Be?” along with Ed Helms as The Lorax plays on.
I guess part of being an adult is choosing what is important. Maybe my workout clothes will see the inside of a Target more than they ever will see a gym and who honestly cares if I have sweeper lines in my carpets. What is most important to me, are those two chatterboxes in the back seat giggling away. The teacher opens the door to let my son out and she reminds me about the PTA meeting tonight. I wave goodbye and laugh…yep, I am absolutely adulting.
I think our parents DID have it together more than us – and had more time to get stuff done. They didn’t spend time scrolling social media, on their phones (because they were attached to the wall by a cord, or limited in range if cordless), and they certainly didn’t blog or have the internet to consult about EVERYTHING. They didn’t take 100 photos trying to get the perfect picture of the kids posing to post on social media – with film you only had one or two chances, or it was too expensive to develop the photos. They didn’t scroll Pinterest for an hour trying to find a new recipe to make for dinner – they just opened their recipe box of handwritten recipes, a cookbook from the shelf, or picked a recipe torn from the pages of Better Homes & Gardens (though it seems my mom just KNEW how to make everything without consulting a recipe).
It was a different time back then, and even though I make my living working from home and writing for a website, I long for the simplicity of times back then, and can only imagine how it would be like to parent in those days. Our kids can’t have our childhoods…we can just do the best we can, using the internet for ideas for everything, to give them the best childhood for these days.
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