So I'm giving the Twinship a big old fat disgusting lecture, like I SWORE I WOULD NEVER DO BEFORE I GAVE BIRTH, about how they have to think about things and grow up and be responsible. This, of course, was due to the fact that they forgot their gym clothes (again) and The Girl One's teacher told her that if she forgot them again, she would get THREE POINTS taken off her grade. Oh! The drama!
I totally forgot about giving them this lecture, due to the complete non-importance of it, but I did notice that the Boy Child was sniffling as he did his chores. I asked him why and he told me he had something in his eye.
Like I believe that.
So I told him, "I know you are upset. Please just tell me why."
And? He sobbed.
Because, he said, "I DON'T WANT TO GROW UP!"
And I swear, I had to stop myself from saying, "Dude! Me neither. Let's not and say we did!"
But I'm a mom. And (every now and then) I do/say mom-type things. So I said, encouragingly, "Don't cry honey! There is lots of good stuff about being a grown-up!"
"Like what?" he asked, through his sniffles.
Okay, y'all. I have no idea. I have absolutely no idea what is good about being a grown-up, other than the ability to have sex on a regular basis. And while I'm not exactly the model parent, EVEN IN MY OWN HOUSEHOLD, I'm not telling him that.
So I said, "You can kiss girls and they won't get pissed off." Which made him laugh. So that was good, I guess.
But really. What's good about being a grown-up? I have a mortgage and still owe that whore Sallie Mae a ton of cash. I have to go to work. Every. Single. Day. My ass? It's huge. No matter how much I work out, it's not good enough (thanks Aging Process for that special gift!). I have to ensure that everyone living with me has dinner. If there is no milk in the house I can't look at Ginger and say, "Thanks a lot, bitch!" It's on me. It's all on me.
I have so many doubts and fears. I try so hard and fail so often. Despite this, I have emotional and fiscal responsibility for two small people who I am trying desperately not to screw up. I really like Dr. Phil, but I never want to appear on his couch so he can ask me "how's that working for you?". I think by the time anyone gets to his couch? The answer is pretty much always going to be, "Not. So. Well."
Being a grown-up, in my estimation, pretty much sucks.
While I was pondering this, the Boy Child came to ask, "May you please hand me a pen?" (and yes, that's exactly how he says it) He asked me if I was okay and I told him I had a headache.
"You have so much stress," he told me, nodding wisely.
"You're right. I do."
"If I were a psychiatrist," he continued, "I'd come to your house every day and help you."
"It's a deal" I told him, and laughed.
And when he left the room? I laughed some more.
And then, I guess, I realized one of the only other good things about being an adult.
Watching kids like him, become more than adults like me.