Playing house

I gradually became a grownup.  By that I mean I didn’t have a rite of passage like serving a mission or spending time in the military or a backpacking around Europe or even studying abroad for a semester.  I simply left home at 18 for college and little by little became more independent.  But I remember one of the first times I felt grown-up.  It was when Todd and I flew from college in Utah to San Diego in April of 1994.  We were engaged but wouldn’t be married for a few more months.  It just felt different than my other trips home for some reason.  I had always felt like a daughter, the returning child, before.  And now I felt my role subtly shifting.  I was in the process of detaching myself from my parents and attaching myself to a husband.  It really hit me after our reception later that summer when we checked in at the front desk of the Marriott.  We were the grownups.  They were treating us like we were the adults.  Which we were, as I see us through their eyes; we were paying guests.  But it was a new way of viewing myself.  Somehow I’d transitioned.  Although throughout the rest of our stay there I kind of felt like a kid again: we were at my parents’ house all day Sunday—our first whole day of being married—opening presents, saying goodbye to Todd’s family, just hanging out waiting for my dad to come back with a car we could use.  Then the next day my mom had scheduled a dentist appointment for me before we flew back to school that afternoon; my aunt had to drive us to the airport.   So I was an adult in some ways, but not wholly.  A few days later we drove from Utah to Chicago for another reception, and we stayed in Bed and Breakfasts and made small talk with our fellow guests, as grownups would.  We ate out and shopped for antiques.  We basked in our freedom and time alone together.  I’m not sure if we felt like real grownups or not during this week, more like we were on a trip together but still under the direction of both sets of parents since we’d just come from one and were headed to another, where both were ultimately in charge, took care of meals, and made arrangements.  Kind of a transitional time with fuzzy borders.

But, like most of you, we created a life for ourselves and made a home.  It felt like playing house at first.  Our own apartment to decorate and keep clean.  Our own wedding dishes and mixing bowls.  Bills with our names on the envelopes.  Return address labels with my new last name.  Cupboards with our own spices.  A garden to weed.  Even apricots to make fruit leather out of.  A dog.  Of course we’d been doing some of this throughout our time in college: paying bills, taking care of ourselves when we’d get sick, cooking and laundry, locking the door.  But it was a little lighter being in an apartment with five other girls, we were like sisters whose parents were at work.  It just all of a sudden hit me as we got married and started our life together that I’d grown up, I’d really made a break, this apartment was ours, this was all up to us to handle.  Just a little surreal.  Hard at times, mostly good.   I occasionally feel the same way even now.  The playing house part.  Sometimes I just want to admit out loud that I really have no idea what I’m doing.  Because in all honesty it sometimes hits me that we’re the ones in the Master Bedroom.   We’re the adults here.  I know it’s been this way for almost 20 years, but it’s still weird every now and then.  I catch myself thinking the same thing when I go to the garage to get an item out of one of our three freezers.  Whose stuff is all this?  How did it get here?  How did we get here?  When did I become the grownup?  And does anyone else feel ever feel like this?  I do wonder that.  I try to draw clues from my friends’ eyes.  And yet, most people I see look totally natural and on-the-ball in their role as the grownups.  I believe if I posed a question like this to them they’d give me the look I know so well.  I’ve seen it a million times because I’m known for being a little random and for bending the rules when it comes to appropriate dinner conversation.

It’s not that I’m not comfortable with what I do.  Like I said, I’ve lived away from home since I was 18, been married almost 20 years.  I know about cleaning bathrooms and getting out stains.  We know how to grow our own food and set up camp.  We’ve managed to stay afloat and to keep our kids alive.  I get most of it.  And yet I do feel like I missed out on a few classes along the way.   Like how do some of these moms excel so well?  I know these Wonder Moms are all around me, I try to ignore them.  But I watched a short video on the 100 Days of Real Food blog the other day. Wow.  Extraordinarily organized.  And clean.  And nurturing.  And on-the-ball.  A mom at our school just had a carnival for her third-grade twins’ birthday party.  The whole grade was invited.  I know we don’t compare; we’re not even in the same book, forget trying to find us on the same page.  And really, I’m fine.  It’s just that, wow.  Some moms have it nailed.  I feel like I might be on track to graduate, but I’m certainly not on the AP route.  Same idea as far as understanding the basics of investing, budgeting, taking care of a yard, and providing for the future and emergencies.  We’re working on it all and doing the best we can.  But some people are so good at this.   I sometimes wonder where I was when all these classes were in session.  I bet we were out taking a walk.

I look back to some of the people I knew in high school.  I honestly can’t believe that they’re the ones running our businesses and governments and families.  A few, because they didn’t seem to be paying much attention in economics or American History.  Most, because I can’t believe anyone my age could know that much and be that capable.  It really is hard to wrap my head around people from my generation being in charge.  I still feel so young, so ignorant, so naïve.  Inexperienced in some ways.

It gets to me sometimes when I think of our five kids depending on us and our choices, both the ones we’ve made in the past as well as what we’re doing now.  That’s kind of heavy.  I chose to marry someone who I thought would make a really good role model for our future kids, a strong dad.  And someone I knew I loved and could make a great life with.  But it’s sometimes mind-boggling to think that we’re the best they’re getting.  Don’t go thinking I need a pep-talk.  It’s not like that.  It’s just kind of humbling to think of all they depend on us for.  I hope they are getting what they need as they prepare to launch and eventually become the grownups.  Because sometimes I feel like I’m just a few steps ahead of them.

But most days I do feel my age and my experience.  I really do feel like a competent grownup.   Like when I’m making sure the kids’ dishes are getting done and that they pack appropriate items in their lunches. (I wish we were that kind of house with humus and chopped peppers and carrot hearts and flowers made out of kiwi with toothpick flags sticking out the top. We are not.  I’m simply checking to avoid duplicates in a lunch composed of chips, crackers, and pita bits.  Or a cheese sandwich and a cheese stick with yogurt.)  I feel wise when I can share a tidbit from my past in a teaching moment.  I feel my age when I remember what it was like in high school and I can tell them what I wished I’d done differently and what really matters.  I feel like the parent when I’m 100% sure healthy food and a good night’s sleep will make them feel better than a late night with junk food.  I feel confident when I tell them what a true friend looks like.  I’m happy in my role when I’m taking care of the behind-the-scenes stuff.  I know someone needs to make sure the oven is cleaned and tires rotated periodically and that all seven of us are equidistantly scheduled on both the dentist’s calendar as well as ours.  I’m fine being the one to remember the birthday cards and Easter treats, to tell the tooth fairy what’s going on and to run the spreadsheet at Christmastime.  I get it, I signed up for all this and I really do like it.  I’m happy in my adult role; you know I feel I have one of the best lives in the world.

But sometimes I just want to admit that I feel like a little kid in a way.  Maybe the big sister.  Sometimes I want to be the kid again.  And I feel like I get that chance when we visit either set of parents.  I love just saying goodnight and letting someone else lock up and turn off the lights.  I like knowing there’s someone with more experience and wisdom leading us for the week.  It feels good to know they will take charge of the agenda, handle the emergencies, and do the thinking for the time we’re there.  All we have to do is chop the onions, run the dishwasher a few times, and help out with some projects.  A breeze compared to the thinking stuff.  I’m the kid for a few days even as I’m parenting my own kids at the same time.  It still feels comforting.

I straddle two worlds.  Mostly I’m the grown up these days, raising five kids beside my husband.  We take care of the big stuff while giving our kids every chance to test the waters, to see what responsible life will look like.  We talk about their futures, we teach from our pasts.  We’re just a few years down the road from them, and yet I’m impressed with how much more they know at their young ages than I did.  I know it’s hitting our senior that he’ll be facing real life in a few short months.   It’s an exciting anticipation, but also a little nerve-wracking, he’s confessed.  In not so many words.  I get it.  But I still feel that way as I look ahead to our future, like I’m the kid again but now I’m wondering how it will be to take care of our parents, worrying what the world will be like for our grandkids, anticipating health issues, questioning if we can afford to retire down the road, just more grownup stuff.

There’s no real point to this post.  No surprise ending.  No lesson.  Just a little time out to pose a rhetorical question, wondering if anyone else has ever felt the same.  Or if I’m the only one who ever feels it’s kind of weird being the real grownup, like we’re still just playing house.