Growing-up helps me realize I cannot do it all, but more importantly, it helps me understand that I don’t want to do it all. I’ve been to college twice, worked several jobs as different as the splits in my personality (split personality is not a clinical diagnosis for me, but rather the realization that I’m complex enough to fastidiously do laundry, while never once cleaning under my bed), and half-raised two offspring (translate half-raised as half-baked).
Like most women my age (think twenty-five) and probably most of you reading, I’ve cannon-balled into more hobbies, fleeting passions, and career choices than is profitable. Fortunately, I now know what satisfies me, makes me feel fulfilled, and what makes me want to run around the block screaming “Calgon take me away!” while simultaneously pulling out my hair and overdosing on high-calorie M&M’s.
I’ve scrapbooked, hot-glued my entire house into a sixty-minute Martha Stewart show, cooked my way into strangers kitchens while selling them Pampered Chef, worked in an air-tight office that sucked the life from me, and sewed my own dress.
Epic Female Fail.
I don’t want to sew my own dresses, because I like to shop. Sewing gives me headaches and makes me think things a preacher’s wife ought not think.
I love taking pictures of my kids and sharing them online, but I really don’t have the desire to cut thousands of little strips of color-coordinated paper into geometric shapes, use acid-free glue, and sticker my way into Creative Memories hall of photo-embellishment fame. I have a scrapbook
that looks like it was made by a third grade art student for each of my children, their special, made with love, memory book. I gave up scrapbooking for sanity and I’m not ashamed to admit it.
I am educating my children at home this year, but I am not a homeschooler. I don’t love teaching my kids Math and Science. I don’t bound from bed in the morning eager to use everything from grocery shopping to scrubbing the toilet as a major learning lesson. I sit longingly by the window with my cup of coffee and watch the school bus drive past my house. I won’t homeschool forever. The truth is I miss my kids not being in school for a few hours everyday. If that makes me a bad mother, don’t nominate me for any awards this Mother’s Day. While I am committed to giving my children a good education in a positive environment, I pray that will not include homeschooling for more than another year or two. I am not a homeschooler at heart.
I enjoy people. I’m really not a loner. I like to sit outside on a nice day and gab with people. I enjoy inviting too many people to my house for dinner or a barbecue and then scrambling to enlarge my walls. I’d rather work with people than a computer. Yes, people are the cause of my gray hair, but what’s life without a few age spots?
I guess I could go on and on, but my point is not in the details of my life. It’s in the growing-up. The good is being able to say, I may have some squiggly gray hairs, but each of those hairs represents a life well spent. The freedom is in saying, I’ve tried that already and I don’t enjoy it enough to do it again. The wisdom is in saying I have much opportunity, but I’ll only pursue my dream. The gift is in saying, I’ll do this task today because it will benefit my family, but I don’t have to commit to doing it for life.
Maybe growing-up isn’t so bad after all. Maybe it just means you’re a little smarter than your children. Not smarter in intellect, but smarter in experience. I guess there’s truth in the saying been there, done that.
And for the record, I hardly have any gray hair!
Are you growing-up? What lesson have you recently learned?
Don’t forget, tomorrow is FICTION FRIDAY. Can’t wait. If you’d like to join, read the (easy-peasy) rules HERE and link your piece of fiction each Friday. Please remember to read other linked blogs and leave some comment love. Help spread the word! Tomorrow we launch Fiction Friday.
Make it a great day!
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