On a good day, I don’t feel over about 14 years old.
This is one of my deep, dark secrets. I don’t know what you could attribute it to, exactly, but most days, I cannot acknowledge the fact that I am the grown up in this situation. That I am the one in charge.
Maybe it was the loss of my childhood. Maybe it’s just the day to day grind. Maybe it’s the fact that my kids are so darn engaging and amusing that they bring you down to their level.
The gravity of your situation, especially when you’re a parent, can hit you at the normal times ( like when they put you in your own hospital room with that new baby, and all of the nurses leave, and now, NOW, you know that you’re responsible for this wrinkled, sleeping person. It can also hit you when you least expect it.
Like last night.
I rushed out of work 30 minutes late (lots of things to be done at work. Lots of things to be done in my personal life. Like selling that house. Or filing taxes. Ugh.) to go and pick up Ant. I get to his school, gather up the kid and his belongings, and head towards the car. The nightly routine, nothing new.
I’m giving the absentminded reminders to not slam the door, to put on your seatbelt, etc. I’m walking around to my side of the car. I stop momentarily—this is my car!
What’s worse, they allow me to drive. I am driving a child home. My child. Then I will clean up the kitchen, and cook dinner for my family. Family! Then I will do homework, and baths, and bedtime… I have to pay for this car. I work full time to pay for this car. And the house. And the utilities…
When, exactly, did all of this happen, again? And what do you mean I’m turning 30?
I swallowed that metallic taste in my mouth, jumped in the car, started her up, and cranked up the White Stripes. I sang, loudly, with Ant, the whole way home. And yes, we car dance too.
I had successfully swung myself away from that “Holy crap, this is my life” panicky feeling.
It came back after kiddo bedtime, when I was watching the SOTU. I realized that I am part of the middle class American thing this President keeps talking about. Ack! When did I become so interested in healthcare reform, earmark reform, job security, public service write offs for student loans, and the like?
The good news is that the panicky feeling did not pull me under. I soon realized that I have a lot of things that people only dream about.
I have a job that I love, at the best darn Journalism school in nation. I get to celebrate with my doc students when they get the contract letter for that tenure-track job (half of our anticipated grads so far!). I get to teach students how to write a thesis, and cheer them on as they finish up their masters. I get to work with some of the most dedicated faculty members I have seen, and they respect me and the work I do.
Dr. B says, “We get to warp young minds, Sarah.”
I get to go home to my husband and my boys and my neurotic dog and cook dinners. I get to read the Boxcar Children all over again, without looking like a creeper. I am in a place now-- that when devastation and desperation hit Haiti-- I can contribute money and consider going down to help for two weeks in the summer.
I have the free time to hone my conversational French. I have the free time to consider vacations.
Adulthood is a trade-off, of sorts. Yes, I have bills, and responsibilities, and honestly, I can’t Bogart Guitar Hero 5 from my kids. I also have choices. I have places to see and things to do while I’m alive.
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