Warning: I don’t even know.
My son’s snowboots are the same size as mine. His regular shoes haven’t caught up yet but it’s just a matter of months, I imagine. I bought him pants for Christmas that were long enough for me, and even though they’re a little too long on him, again, just a matter of months . . . he’s thirteen now and I catch myself saying, “Make sure you wash your face so you don’t break out” and wonder what happened to my life.
My daughter, who I still think of as my baby, read the words “feminine napkins” on the machine in the Walmart bathroom today and asked what that was. And I totally brushed her off because I am a woman of 2015 and I know that there is nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed about in the normal facts of a woman’s life and also I know that I am not having that conversation with a six year old dressed in a t-shirt that says “I give warm hugs” while standing in the woman’s bathroom at Walmart. I have limits.
I have finally outgrown the super mega greasy hair stage of puberty and can go three whole days without washing my hair. This is amazing, except I traded my greasy scalp for gray hair and at least one son who seems to be following in his mama’s oily footsteps.
I used to stay up late to talk on the phone about cute boys or (occasionally but not often) to cute boys. Now I stay up late because my house is quiet and I really just need to finish the next chapter of this super exciting book I’m reading about gardening in England during World War 2. Except it’s not really very exciting, but December has been kind of busy (translation– ohmywordwouldsomeonepleasejustmakeeverythingstopbeforeilosemymind!) and I just couldn’t spare the time for a truly interesting, up-all-night page-turner. There is something strangely comforting in reading about what kind of radishes the gardeners of the early 1940s in England preferred. But I feel like this says something awkward about me as a person.
I really really wanted warm mittens and fuzzy slipper socks for Christmas. And I got them. And I was happy.
I worry about my digestive health and that of my family. Also about cavities.
“Am I the only one who notices when the back door is standing wide open?” These words. So many times these words. And the thing is, yes, I am the only one who notices, because the children are busy doing all the fun stuff I used to do while I was wishing I was all grown up– like not worrying about the heating bill. In fairness, my husband also notices. As the only Paid Adult in this home, he notices with a vengeance. Poor man. (I also may have threatened to take away allowance money if the door got left open again. I have become my own parents.)
The very idea of all the sugar my children have consumed in the last two weeks makes me feel kind of sick. This from the person who once ate a whole bag of Conversation Hearts in a day. (I am not proud of this fact).
I have no idea what anyone is talking about when they talk about 1) video games, 2) popular music, 3) movie stars, 4) social media other than facebook, or 5) television shows other than Dr. Who. Also, I’ve pretty much given up running the technology in our house unless it’s my phone or my laptop. And a few weeks ago my six-year-old fixed a pop-up on our family computer that I couldn’t fix.
My sister and I are going to start a Super Awesome Sisterly Book Club and read a book about cleaning. Which means, not only am I older than I am comfortable with, but so is she. And since she’s my baby sister, that’s pretty much ridiculous.
this post is written
for my sister Laura Jean
who inspired me with
her cleaning book and
her super awesome lameness
and her fab haiku
now where is my kid
to show me how to publish
haha just kidding