When I Grow Up

Sometimes my kids rebuff and resent my attempts to guide them into being healthy, kind, well-adjusted human beings who don’t pee on the floor or smack other people with pool noodles or show affection by farting in one’s face pantsless. (Because I’m an a-hole like that.) They cry and stomp feet and often they, particularly my 6-year old with the soul of a cantankerous aged neighbor weeding his garden, will yell, “I can’t wait until I grow up and I can do whatever I want!” And often, I will respond, “Someday you will be grown but for now enjoy being a kid. You can play and eat treats and cuddle your mom and not have to go to work or pay taxes or have playdates that you know are probably direct sales schemes.”


When you’re a kid you can walk your babies until you don’t want to walk your babies and you throw them in a bush but honestly, adults get super judgy about me doing the same. 

But here’s the thing. My kid is right. Being an adult IS kind of awesome! I can see over most people’s heads at the movies. I can stand in the corner of my pantry and eat Halloween candy from 3 years ago without much worry of contracting a parasite because the alcohol has probably sterilized my gut anyway. I can make up excuses and cancel appointments and pick what I want from Whole Foods and cook with real fire and look at real estate on the internet and pretend I drink wine for heart health and have sex and use being tired to get out of having sex and pretty much all nature of things and take  a capsule instead of liquid medicine and find a career I love and leave a career I hate and have kids and try and make them good people and then write about it on the internet.

For now, though, my kids will get scolded for pool noodle violence and deal with me feeling superior to them because I don’t sleep in pull-ups. But, I am a grown-up. So I could if I wanted to.


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