When I Thought of Myself as An Adult

I had my first child when I was nineteen, my second just after I turned twenty-one. By the ripe “Adult” age of twenty-four, I was on my own, raising these two little ones with no means of support other than a waitressing job. Looking back, I realize I was a child, raising children. I clearly had no idea how to do this effectively and I see now, hindsight and all, that there were some epic fails. So many memories come to mind this morning! Regrets mix with the happy times, but so often I wonder how much the kids actually remember of the good and bad? This morning two events came to mind as I pondered the rights and wrongs of being a young, single parent.

One morning the kids made me breakfast in bed. They were little, so the most they could master was a bowl of Cheerios, a glass of milk, and some buttered toast. They brought the tray in and gave it to me, then sat at the foot of my bed while I had breakfast. They were giggling into their little hands, so I knew something was up, so I cautiously took a sip of milk. It was good. Then I took a spoonful of cereal and milk, also good. Then I took a bite of the toast. They had buttered it with shampoo. They cracked up while I spit it out and rinsed my mouth out with the milk. I didn’t get mad at them for pranking me, but I knew it was also “Game on” with them from that moment, going forward.

There was the time I knew that we were going to have to move out of our first home in Carson City. The kids had gotten hold of a blue magic marker. Not something I had on hand, perhaps they found it outside? I don’t know, but I woke up in the morning after working all night to find them sitting angelically in the living room and smelling like magic marker. Things like that tend to make you sit up and take notice, especially since the kids were trying to look so innocent.

Magic marker covered over their faces and bodies.

I remember thinking, “Whew!”

That is, until I went into their bedroom.

Twenty-three blue magic marker’d pumpkins adorned the walls. Yes, I counted them. Big ones, little ones, happy ones, sad ones. It’s beginning to sound like a Dr. Seuss story, isn’t it?

After a lot of scrubbing, the kids came clean, but it took over six coats of paint to cover the walls.

And then the kids knocked over the balance of the five-gallon bucket of white paint onto the green shag carpet.

Yep, that’s when I knew we were going to have to move, AND that I was going to lose my cleaning deposit.

Did I truly have it together back then? I barely believe I have it together NOW! And I’m a grandmother!