While sitting at the bottom of a hot shower, head hanging forward so my hair hung around my face making a ‘wall’ of hair and water where everything echo’s, yet outside sounds drowned out, I was thinking this is awfully immature of me. But its the kind of immature you can get away with. I do it when I’m alone in the shower so if I hadn’t told you, no one would have been the wiser to this little thing I just have never grown out of.
I also when alone, run to my bed from the door and launch myself onto it, grinning gayly. (I know the use of ‘gayly’ is very out dated, but it is really the only accurate word for it.) I mean, I wouldn’t do it pregnant, that is plain irresponsible. But I can honestly say I am looking forward to being able to do it again. Then pulling my covers way up to my chin and snuggling my face into them with a big smile and an ‘ooo so cold and snuggly’ Glen’s learnt to turn a blind eye from this behaviour.
I still REALLY like to lick the bowl after making a cake, and I dread the fact that there are only two beater thingy’s on an electric mixer. With four kids there is no chance of me getting one. Even they have to take turns to lick them! Unless I make a cake after bed time! Sneaky.
I occasionally get a craving for chocolate and after searching the house for anything remotely like chocolate or covered in chocolate or smelling of chocolate, or the colour of chocolate with no success. I’ll make my own. Now my sister and I used to do this when my parents would leave us at home alone, banning us from any goods that may or may not be hidden in the house. We’d make our own chocolate. Just using a little smidge of butter, milk, icing sugar and cocoa powder (believe it or not I have the best choc icing making skills, years in the profession!) We’d make big bowls of it! I bet mum didn’t even think to measure out the cocoa powder before leaving! So naive. She should have, she’d often come to home to two daughters with unexplainable tummy aches.
But now that I’m a grown up, I add some shredded coconut or almond meal to my mixture. Grab a teaspoon, to savour it longer, and suck on the spoon until I begin to get a pain in my teeth from all that sweet goodness.
Oh and I always ‘test’ the girls milkshakes, I ‘accidentally’ blow a small couple of bubbles before my sip. This is just wrong. We teach our kids NOT to blow bubbles in their milk. But I can’t help it, there is something strangely satisfying about gurgling milk, just a small discreet bubble I can pass off easily. (Glen hasn’t even picked up on it yet, and while he’s still stuck back reading my posts from March, I should be able to get a few more in until he catches up.)
But what makes a grown up? I mean I used to think I was a grown up back when I was a teenager. I think that all teenagers get to a point and think they are ‘grown up’ and know whats best for themselves, but it is probably the only time in our lives when we feel like that. I sometimes wonder if becoming 30, 50 or even 80 will change the way I think. Physically it may change the way I act, I mean no one wants to risk hip injuries, but I will want to wear the same kinds of clothes as now (which by then will be so horrible to anyone under half my age.) I don’t think I’ll rush out on my 60th birthday for an afro perm and a purple dye. I will probably speak in the same way I do now, like the same food. Which makes me feel terribly guilty.
I sometimes ‘make allowances’ for elderly people. You watch your language -not that I swear- your way more polite and I’m simply more careful around them. I don’t know if this is only me, and if it is I wish an elderly person would smack me up the side of the head already and scream ‘Im still a person, old but still human! Quit with your pussy footing.’ It would make me feel so much better.
My sister used to always laugh at me for watching play school. This wouldn’t be so bad if I wasn’t almost 20. ‘I’m getting craft ideas, ok?!’ Such a simple yet effective response, she’d shrug her shoulders at me and sit to join me.
I’ve gotten so grown up now that I am again allowed to eat with my fingers.
I’m so grown up that I can leave my dirty clothes on the floor, only its me yelling at myself to pick them up and take them to the laundry and not my mum.
I’m so grown up that I am allowed to go out and get drunk and act like an undiciplined child.
I’m so grown up that I can now tell my mum things I did back as a kid and she won’t smack me for it.
I am so grown up that I have to act like I am.
The most fun things I have done are some of the most immature and I am not afraid to say that. Yelling different types of farm animals to drunk people from a moving vehicle was one of the funniest, funnest things I’ve done. Stupid yes, but harmless, simple and fun.
And yep, immature.
I suggest you try it.
I’m sure if I had bellowed ‘Im a mother of four, COW, I have to be home to make breakfast soon, PIG, then change a couple of nappies while sleep deprived, DUCK!’ I would have been frowned upon, so I left out that information. My girls weren’t there to see their mum act like a complete idiot, but I wouldn’t have minded them seeing me carefree and full of laughter.
I don’t know if I am a grown up yet. I take responsiblity for myself and my children and make sure everyone is looked after and provided for. I make sure our house is reasonably tidy, we have clean clothes and warm dinners. I make sure I tuck my girls up in bed with kisses and cuddles and ‘I love you baby girl’s.
If this makes me a grown up then yes I am one.
I just don’t feel like one.
I don’t want to hide from my inner child I want my inner child to come play right along with me and my girls. I want to laugh about ice cream tipped noses and giggle over silly things. I enjoy being called a poop head by one of my kids and I crack up when I call them one back!
The bonus of being a mum is you have to be a kid again. And as far as my mum’s concerned, becoming a grandmother is that you have to be a kid again too. So I figure I am going to be able to get away with being a kid for a long, long, long time.
So the future is looking bright. In my opinion being a grown up means that you’re your own guardian, and that you have finally reached your maximum possible height. Both of which I have been for quite sometime now.
But I still don’t feel ‘grown up.’
And that is plenty fine by me.
Are you a grown up?
and if not then;…..
What makes a grown up?