What’s my age again?

Earlier this week I was at the office doing a little work on an off day. I was there in what is basically my non-office hours uniform: wrestling t-shirt, yoga pants, bird’s nest hair and ancient, beat-up Chuck Taylors (seriously, I bought them when I was in the 7th grade. That’s more years ago than I care to mention). I just happened to look up in time to see a shiny, perfectly cleaned mini-van pulling into the spot next to my muddy little Fiesta and out of it stepped a very adult looking family. We’re talking sweaters over button downs, pleated khakis, shined shoes, matching clothes… combed hair. These were not people who had covered their breakfast with whipped cream and spent an hour watching wrestling before they left the house that day. These were not people who practically have bruises from patting themselves on the back too hard because they remembered to make their bed for a week straight (I’m guessing an event like this isn’t a milestone for them, it’s probably just a normal week). Their kids even looked clean and weren’t arguing. These were some put together people. These were… wait… people I went to high school with?!? And isn’t one of them younger than me?!? That can’t be right.

Except it is. And it’s something I’ve noticed over and over again since my 36th birthday. Why 36th? I don’t know, I was hoping one of you might. I didn’t notice this much at all at 35, but over the last year it has become very apparent that I’ve missed a few steps on the road to adulthood.

Obviously, I do some adult tasks like pay bills and cook dinner. Hell, I’ve been married for almost 14 years and have a 10-year-old child. Those are some pretty grown-up things. But then again I still consider Boo Berry a balanced breakfast and quote Tina from Bob’s Burgers entirely too much, so what do I know.Some days adulting comes easy, some days not so much. I give you a few examples.

Stuff that makes/made me feel like an adult:

  • I actually researched and bought a humidifier for my kid. And I change the filter and everything. Brody has not had a nosebleed since. I felt like a real adult and parent. It was weird.
  • I also bought a car by myself.  I don’t know what it says for my adult decision making skills that I picked a car called a Fiesta and promptly stuck  Foo Fighters and hockey stickers on it, but it gets damn good gas mileage.
  • I can’t eat Doritos anymore. I still love them, but they do not care for me. I figure losing the ability to eat them is a major sign your youth is leaving town.
  • I have to wear glasses now. Because I’m old.

And some things that show I’ve got some growing up left to do:

  • I’ve listened to The Humpty Dance on my way to work for a week straight.
  • At some point I quit carrying an actual purse and opted for this:

    Before this I was carrying a free tote from a bail bonds place. I guess this is a step in the right direction.

  • It took hours, HOURS,  for me to clean my laundry room. No adult should have to say this.
  • Last week the office manager at my dentist office told my mom that I do so much better at my appointments now.

And a toss-up:

  • Our family vacation. On one hand, I have actually spent hours looking into hotels, ordering tickets and planning what to pack. On the other hand, we’re going to watch three days of wrestling and my supply shopping included a half bottle of wine (c’mon, we all need traveling wine). My Facebook friends are taking family Disney vacations with those color-coordinated arm bands and we’re trying to decide whether to meet Terry Funk in a parking lot. Difficult life decisions.

So, do we all feel this way? A little too young, but also a little too old? Or did the rest of you grown up and not tell me? Because that’s totally not cool.

Side note: I’m clearly not the only one with this thought. I had this post halfway written when Renee Young posted a similar conversation on prettyfunnyblonde.com. I’m chalking it up to great minds think alike.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s