What does it mean to grow up?

I see often posters around that state Growing Up Is Optional, and the like. But what does that mean?

I think you can be mature and responsible but still have a youthful outlook; in fact I think that such an attitude is required when you have so many responsibilities your head might otherwise explode.

I think many people confuse growing up with being mature. Maturity, to me, means your emotions are under control (no tantrums or storming off), you have your finances well in hand or at least you have a workable plan, you are reliable (sorry I broke this iPad/itouch/iPhone/expensive device, I’ll pay to have it fixed), and responsible for your own actions (no making excuses that you didn’t know what you were doing because you were drunk, high, or just really angry). Wow that was a really long sentence but I think clarity is important. I’d hate to be misinterpreted. Husband has said many times that he didn’t really grow up all the way until he was mid-forties. Keep in mind he had his first child at around age 30, second around 34, third around age 41. And he wasn’t grown up at that time?! HFS. Sometimes I wish I had met him earlier than I did (in his early 50s), but upon reflection maybe I’m ok with our timing.

What is with me and cooking? Why can’t I just get it right? And how do normal people have so much prepared foods and snacks in their fridge at all times? Because I sure don’t. I have various raw materials and when I’m called upon to assemble something I’m generally at a loss. Ummmm I can make you a nice vegan thing. But no one I live with wants that. Or they take me up on my offer and a food disaster occurs where the finished product tastes awful. So we end up with a mish-mash of meals. Annoying.

Tonight we’re having guests so I need to get off my arse and clean (I’m great at this although I don’t do it enough either), and cook some stuff that I think people would like and turns out as promised in my recipe books. That’s the impossible dream!


There are no words

Actually I guess there are a few words. But I’m doing my best zen breathing so as not to utter any. If I write anything now, I’ll write something mean; and I don’t want to be mean. What I would like is to be heard.

Sometimes I feel like I’m jumping up and down trying to get my point across but am trapped under a human-sized bell jar.

Little Man

When boy midget was born, his father and I had narrowed down the name selection to 3. We spent the next 5 weeks figuring out first middle and last, and in the mean time called him Little Man.

Of course we were unprepared for the tornado that is the event of integrating your firstborn into your twosome. There are implications for your daily lives (i.e. mom stays home from work on maternity leave instead of working at a paid job all day as usual), relationships (what is this sex you speak of?), and the very steep learning curve, nay, brick wall you encounter when learning how to care for a newborn baby and keep one’s sanity amidst the sleep deprivation and feeding a mewling infant from your body. How on earth can a couple decide on a baby name in the middle of all of that? I barely had time to pee, shower, sleep, or change clothes, much less decide on something as monumental as what everyone would call your baby, this new person, for the rest of his life?!

So. In the end, because I was so tired and discombobulated I could barely make change for a quarter, we took our 3 names and called Little Man by each name for 1 day each. 3 days later we had his first, middle, middle, and last. 1 name emerged victorious without any trouble. Little Man was no longer.

You’d a thought we would have learned our lesson for the arrival of our second child. Nope. For 5 weeks we called her Fee, short for female. Hey, it worked for us, even if everyone else thought we were taking way too long to decide each time. I dunno about that; choosing a name is hella important and deserves careful consideration after meeting the baby. So there.

She’ll be comin’ ’round the mountain when she comes

I run through lifestyle and financial scenarios frequently, usually at night or in the early mornings. I think that’s when I feel most contemplative about and vulnerable to life’s twists and turns. Husband has his own survival scenarios that are much more worrisome, based on a post-apocalyptic future that takes place after a natural disaster has caused mass panic among all human beings. My worries are much more localized and involve only my immediate tribe. I wouldn’t even call them worries though, more like questions about how we can do ‘this’ better; ‘this’ being our lifestyle and all that entails.

In particular I’ve been reading about tiny houses for a few months now and I’m intrigued by the concept. The main problem is that a low-cost lifestyle does not work when you are raising a family in a city. The land prices here are steep and there’s no way to get around that. Land is at a premium and likely always will be. I’m not going to move to the city outskirts because then I would be spending a much more precious commodity, time, getting midgets to school etc. and myself to work. I’m not a commuter. I’ve tried it before, about 15 years ago when traffic was way lighter than now and I was going against traffic so it was supposedly the best sort of commute. Umm no. No it doesn’t work for me. The impetus to build a tiny house in which to live would be to give myself more time. I would be able to retire earlier or else keep working but fewer hours. But again this doesn’t work when midgets need to get to school, activities, and their dad’s house. We are just now at the point where the midgets can walk to dad’s from my house and vice versa! No adults need to be involved in transporting the offspring between the two houses. In another year I won’t have to worry about girl midget getting to school because she will be old enough to walk there on her own.

Time vs convenience. When I have to choose between the 2 of those I’ll take convenience. I learned from my own parents, since I grew up outside a small town, that raising a family is infinitely easier when the midgets can get themselves to their destinations (before they are 16 and can drive, which presents its own problems with needing more than 1 car in that situation if you want true midget independence) without my help.

Little waves

I’m metaphorically swimming around in my life, doing breaststroke. Small waves, making slow quiet progress toward a peaceful mind. It’s coming along, that progress.

Husband is amazing at giving me perspective. Added to that I had a nice morning with girl midget (thanks mom I found the shaver for her) and then boy midget. I don’t know why, but boy often starts deep conversations with me whenever he and I are alone. I don’t think he knows he does this. He’s quite the philosophical fellow lately.

Tonight is Shabbas and I have a nice dinner planned. I have made a few food items during the past week that my midgets liked a lot. Wow, right?

I finished a Barbie dress today too. It has a Christmas feel to it. I might make a tiny Santa hat to go with it.


Why does it have to be so fucking relentless?

I’m starting my vacation from work on a sour note. The last doc I wrote before I left work was deemed a miserable effort. I had never written a doc like it before and so I gave my best guess as to the required content.

My little wiener dog was stung by a bee and then 2 days later a wasp. 2 trips to the 24-hr vet later and we are 2k poorer. Oh and nearly lost our sweet Pickle twice. Fuck!

Today girl midget asked me if she could start shaving her legs. Her little baby (she’s 11) hair, all blond and fine, offends her. I told her I would look for an electric razor. I have bought myself about 1 week’s reprieve. I found out quite by accident yesterday that she also has a Facebook account. I feel like losing control of my sweet baby’s happy path to success. If that makes any sense to you, my gentle reader.

There has been a water issue at the rental again, this time due to a faulty downspout. Husband fixed it but the damage has been done; the living room carpet will need replacing. And and the one wall repainting. I want to sell but that would mean putting the tenants in the position of having to move; an unsavoury prospect at best. And besides, maybe I’m just having a bad month; years from now when the house is worth a bunch of cash I’ll be glad we held on by our fingernails. Right?

How are we to cope with the veritable deluge of expenses that threaten to drown us at every turn? You’d think we make minimum wage, given our savings. Have I mentioned property taxes? License and sticker renewal? Happy fucking birthday you old fart who has accomplished very little of what you set out to, by this point in time. That’s my bad mood vocalizing, fyi.

No amount of anecdote or sage advice is going to change the course of my journey to darkness today. I just wonder why it (life as an adult) has to be so hard all the time?