What would a "Real Adult" do?

Last night I did the dishes during a pause from a deeply decadent and deserved movie/Chinese food night with A. She was fiddling with the laptop trying to download the episode again since the sound was off. I was happy just lying on the couch under the delicious ceiling fan, eating Smarties and watching her. But the clock was ticking its way slowly and surely way past our bedtime. We have early risers. Some annoyingly rational voice filtered through the sleepy haze to suggest perhaps it was a good time to clean up so we wouldn’t have to later. Ugh. While I was rinsing General Tao sauce off plates, it suddenly occurred to me, “Wow, how adult of me”. Which led me to thinking about being an adult and how we pretty much fake it ‘til we make it. I remember my father saying he only felt really adult at 50, but I can’t remember what his definition included. I do remember him asking teenage me to change the way I see the world so that when I walk by full garbage cans, messes on the floor, a big weed or a sink full of dishes, it would occur to me to just deal with them rather than think someone else would or wait to be assigned the task. It has taken me a long time to absorb that one, but it gets better and better. The pleasure seeking impulse often prevails… Sure I have my pet peeves. I can’t relax until the toys and riff raff of the day are tidied up. A can’t relax until the kitchen is clean. But it’s hard being so responsible all the time! No wonder kids fight learning to clean up.

Having kids has been the biggest Adult-maker for me, though mortgages on two houses (and managing tenants in one of them) certainly helps me feel rooted and responsible. Holy cow, is it ever intense having two sets of innocent eyes watching my every imperfect move. It should behoove me to be my best self, but of course having children (sleep deprivation, the constant loud kid noises and their perfect skill at pushing our buttons) can bring out our worse and darkest selves too! I guess it’s important for them to see us in all our human messy glory, so we can teach them to manage their own messy emotional world. I want Ben to be able to say, “Maman, I am angry!” instead of acting out. What a gift to teach emotional maturity, assuming our Adult-Selves-in-Constant-Training can muster some J

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a calming winter tea

Sitting alone in a quiet Tim Horton's by the lake, mid-evening, with snow-drifting gently sideways beyond the windows, I have a glimpse into a different life. I've often wondered at the lonely looking single dinners sipping their crack coffees. Do they come here because it is just a bit less lonely than being at home? I am personally experiencing just the opposite in fact. It's peaceful here with my cinnamon apple tisane, no expectations from anyone, one satisfying and brief conversation with a stranger already completed. I'm waiting for a couple who wants me to marry them you see, and they're already 20 minutes late. I don't feel angry or frustrated or resentful that I rushed here, the way I might have before. Perhaps it is the calming atmosphere of beige. Perhaps I've done a lot of work and feel less anxious when things don't go according to plan. Or perhaps I'm just too tired to care much and would rather take this delicious moment alone to simply sip my tea and ignore the swirling whirl of responsibility that awaits me outside these friendly walls.

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