This is not one of my strong points. Okay, you all can stop laughing now, because I know that is a bit of an understatement. (It’s a good thing Steve is so over-the-top responsible, because he helps balance me out that way. I make him lots more fun… it’s all good.)
As I’ve pondered my life (okay, enough with the laughing already!) the last few days, especially with a birthday looming, I just have one question for those older and/or wiser than I: When do I start to feel like a grown-up?
Don’t get me wrong, there are times that I feel absolutely ancient. Like when my friends toilet-paper my house, for example. Dorks. There are also times when I think I can’t possibly be as old as I am, like when my friends toilet-paper my house. But I feel like I am lacking something, some gene or funky DNA thing that would speak to me and say, “Hey, Gen, you are officially an adult now.”
There have been markers throughout my life that I thought for sure would be it: When I graduated. Got married. Had a kid or 23. Bought a house. All of these things say adult, right? So what’s my problem?
Why, when I look at my piles of laundry, do I just want to crawl back in bed. When I think of cleaning the bathroom, I’d rather curl up with a book. Doesn’t even have to be a good book; anything is better than scrubbing toilets. (Speaking of toilets, Aidan is still doing AWESOME! She had her first dance class yesterday as a result.)
Hopefully, after the birthday, all of this melancholy will disappear. In the meantime, I better go do some laundry and clean some toilets. Blech.