How Do You Know...

When you're a grownup?



I ask my Daddy all the time if he feels like a grownup yet. He says he doesn't, but I'm fairly positive that's only for my benefit. How could he not feel grown? Four girls, nine and 1/4 grandchildren, two step-children, six step grandchildren, wife, mortgage, car payments! If he doesn't feel grownup, where does that leave me? I mean, he has a hot tub, for heaven's sake. And really good landscaping. And white carpet. How can you have white carpet and not feel confident that you have come of age?? Hell, how can you have all your Christmas lights down and stored in little labeled bins by January 15th without being absolutely positive? But still he tells me in that fatherly tone that my feelings are normal and I'm not going to die at the hands of 15-year-old girl/boy drama, nor am I going to be rendered catatonic by the shock of my five-year-old's obsession with the word "penis" for the pure entertainment of her tween and teen sisters.



Seriously though, I still can't figure out how to keep the little rat-we-call-a-pomeranian-stains and Moon Sand out of my beige carpet without breaking my back with the steam cleaner once a month. Hell, I'm still trying to figure out why I don't feel like a grownup when it's breaking my back to use the steam cleaner once a month. Shouldn't there be a correlation there? Aching bones:being a grown up as Number of Years Alive:all knowing enlightenment, right? It's a simple mathematical(?) concept. Wait, maybe that's Aching bones=being a grown up in mathematical terms. I can't even keep my grammatical rules vs. mathematical rules straight. See...clearly the memory loss in itself should indicate the "grown up" marker, right? I really thought that a good salary, nice house, and the astronomical payments that come with 2 environmentally unfriendly SUV's would do it for sure. So, why do I find myself saying, "Ciera, it's not been that long since I was fifteen," and she laughs hysterically. Maybe she's just too young to comprehend my grown up logic. That's surely the answer.

So, I ask you-my two readers-how do you know when you're a grownup? Is there a graduation ceremony? Does it involve toasts with alcoholic drinks and motivational speaking? Will I always listen to Linkn Park's "Numb" at 32 on the volume dial while playing air guitar on the steering wheel, singing in perfect harmony with my 4, 12, and 15 year old in the backseat; wondering if they are thinking that they want to be more like themselves and less like me? Are you grownup? If so, how do you know?

Maybe if we had some ritual that involved walking on hot coals and piercing body parts with bamboo, I would know. Maybe if we could slaughter goats in my honor and dance around a fire in various hallucinogenic states, I would know. Maybe if I didn't so closely relate to the emotions of my girls as though I was living them yesterday, I would know. But today....I don't know how to become a grownup.

When is a Bonus Not Really a Bonus?

When the effing government takes 53% of it!

I know, I know. If I wouldn't have had it othewise, it should be considered a bonus no matter the amount or lack thereof. It just frustrates the hell out of me that my company clearly thinks I have worked hard enough to deserve a new covered deck on the back of my home, but Uncle Sam believes my hard work would better serve to purchase 2 hammers and a commode or a dummy bomb to drop on some unsuspecting apartment dweller. I hope he's constipated the whole summer that I'm on my cracked back patio, sipping frozen drinks tinged with the flavor of my UV protectant.