September 3rd

Wow, I accepted a challenge to blog every day and I already blew it on the second day! Whoops. Since I forgot to blog yesterday, here's a synopsis:

I took Harrison shopping for school supplies. Luckily we didn't need much, since we've accumulated a lifetime's supply of pencils, red pens and graph paper. But then we ventured to the clothing. Shopping with a boy is so.....different than shopping with a girl. Basically, I hold stuff up, he says yes or no and we toss it in the basket. Not much thought put into it. Easy peasy. When we got home, I was really tired and entertained thoughts of taking a nap, but that never happened. What DID happen was that I washed a bunch of dishes, made dinner, made lunches, cleaned up the kitchen, watched a bunch of Criminal Minds and finally forced myself to try to sleep around 11 p.m. Because I knew that alarm was going off early in the morning and summer was O.V.E.R. 

Jeff's alarm went off at 5:30 a.m. I lay in bed until mine went off at 6:00. I haven't been up that early since last spring. I love working at a school and having summer off. It's REALLY hard to go back to school after a long, lazy summer off. I feel for the kids. Arlie was up and getting ready and I had to scramble to get "the sign" ready for the requisite first day of school pictures. We've used the same old sign - black letters on a yellow posterboard - since about 2007. I just add the year on a piece of matching yellow paper each year. I remember worrying that I'd run out of that particular yellow paper before my kids finished school. Today I realized I have PLENTY of it left, since we only have four more years before ALL MY BABIES ARE GRADUATED....WAAAHHHH.

Sorry. Momentary insanity. Anyway, I took pictures of Arlie and then she DROVE OFF TO SCHOOL! BY HERSELF! Ok, her dad was in the car. And she only has a learner's permit. But STILL! She DRIVES! WAAAHHHHH.

Sorry again. I then drove Harrison to school, along with his friend, Isak. Such a nice kid, that Isak. The boys were going to school today to be "web leaders" and help the incoming 7th graders adjust to the new school. Ain't that sweet?

I found myself an hour and a half early for work at that point. So, Starbucks. Duh. Also, I was smart this time and requested my chocolate croissant NOT be heated. The last two times, I've had a chocolate disaster. Still, I dripped my mocha which, thankfully, landed on my seat belt instead of my white shirt. Note to self: pack an extra shirt in the car for just such disasters.

I had enough time to go to Target this morning! Omg! Target before work? Unheard of. The reason I went to Target was to find steel wool. More on that later. And P.S. they didn't have any.

I had a FABULOUS day at my new job. I mean, it's my old job, but a new position. I'm working with the most amazing teacher in a kindergarten class, which is my most favorite age. The kids were cute, sweet, funny and happy, which is about as good as it gets for the first day of kindergarten. The parents were like the paparazzi - I saw more cameras at elementary school than at the VMA's. But I forgive them for being so obsessed with their offspring. I remember being a kindergarten mama. It's like throwing your baby to the wolves! You spend the first five years protecting them and teaching them stranger danger and then you drop them off for half the day with a stranger! There were some tears. Not from the kids. And the teacher had to shoo the parents away from the windows.

After work, I ran an errand but before I got into the store (because I was talking to my firstborn on FB and sat in the car forever), I got a call from Arlie saying she didn't know which bus to ride. Since I was pretty close to the school, I offered to pick her up. THEN we ran my errands - one stop at Big 5 where I didn't find what I wanted but found Arlie $100 worth of yoga pants, booty shorts for gymnastics, yoga capris and a hoodie. Yikes. Then, we went to Freddy's where I DID find steel wool. Victory!

You're probably wondering what the steel wool was for. Today is our 7th anniversary, and also our "Familyversary" which is the day Jeff and I married, blended our families, and became the family we are today. We like to celebrate this day with the kids by going out to dinner, which we did. But before that, Jeff and I exchanged gifts.

Here's the thing: Jeff researches each year's traditional gifts and always gets me the most creative gifts based on the traditional color, flower, item, etc. He is AWESOME at it and I SUCK at it. I am the worst when it comes to gift-giving. I just never come up with clever ideas. I like to shop from a list of requested items. Every once in a while, I hit the jackpot, but those times are few and far between. So, Jeff always wins when it comes to gifts. This year, I figured if he was going with the traditional items (wool and copper) then so was I.

But, seriously, what do you get a GUY? Especially my husband, who pretty much buys himself all the weirdly obscure hunting and fishing items he wants. I wouldn't have the first idea. So, here's what I came up with: wool socks, wool gloves, a jumbo package of Duracell AA batteries (COPPER TOP - get it?), copper pot scrubbers, and STEEL WOOL! Get it? All items I knew he would use. For sentimental reasons, I did throw in one handmade item - a wire-sculpture fish I made with copper wire and beads. It turned out pretty cool - like something you'd see at a craft fair or farmer's market. I even put a hanger on it so he could put it in his truck if he wanted.

Here's what he gave me: wool socks, wool gloves (can you tell we both shopped at Fred Meyer and the socks were buy one, get one half off? And the gloves were on clearance?), copper wind chimes, a copper wind ornament, a copper wrist cuff bracelet, and a bundle of cool copper bracelets. See? He's awesome. And so clever. We also took the kids out to Olive Garden for dinner and stopped by Dairy Queen after for mini blizzards. Good times with my sweet family!

Tomorrow Harrison starts his first day of 9th grade and everyone will be back in full swing for another school/work year. I'm loving my new position and part-time hours. I'm hoping the kids will love their freshman and sophomore years.

But I will NEVER love making lunches. The end.

Cleaning, 101..........

My kids are pretty intelligent. Really, they are very bright kids. Except when it comes to cleaning. And picking up after themselves. And doing what needs to be done. And seeing those things.

The parenting gurus even have a name for it: executive functioning. Which is psyche-speak for "learning how to get along in life without running to your mother."

So, I'm really trying to teach this executive functioning, but I fear it may be too late. Even though I, like most moms, fostered the art of toy picking-up, plate putting-in-the-sink, toothpaste wiping-up-off-the-sink, etc. nothing seems to have stuck.

Case #1, a few days ago:
Me (reading from chore list): You need to sweep the hardwoods.
Child (actually, adult. But I'm not naming names): *Sigh* Do we even have a broom?
Me (incredulous): YES, we have a broom. The same broom we've always had. Stored in the same place it's always been! For the 13 years we've lived in this house!
Child-Adult: That's a crappy broom.
Me: It's just fine. And anyway, I'd prefer you use the stick vacuum.
Child-Adult: It's broken.
Me: What? Since when is it broken?
Child-Adult (shows me stick vac): See? It's broken.
(Dust bin from stick vac is unattached. It clicks in and removes for cleaning)
Me: Oh. My. God. Are you serious? You have obviously never used this vacuum because it just clicks right in here....(clicks dust bin).
Child-Adult: *Sigh* Well, it doesn't work very well.
(Well, not without the dust bin, no.)

Case #2, yesterday:
Me: What are you doing?
Almost-Adult (again, not naming names): What?
Me: Why are you sitting there with your clean clothes on the bed, NOT folding them, and looking at your iPad?
Almost-Adult: I, I, ....I have a system. Just....don't nag me!
Me: What? FOLD the clothes while you're waiting for the other ones to wash and dry!
Almost-Adult: I'm waiting for them all to be done so I can just fold them all at once.
Me (incredulous): That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard!! You have all this time RIGHT NOW to be folding and putting away your clothes!
Almost-Adult: Don't take out your frustrations on me! (Shuts door)
Me (opens door): I need to monitor your progress.
Almost-Adult: *makes unidentifiable sound - a growl?*

Case #3, tonight:
Teenage boy (no names!) "cleaning room" upstairs.
Me: Hears harmonica music.

I'm telling you, it's a lost cause. I know one day they will have their own houses. I can't wait to leave dirty dishes in THEIR sinks. Or wad up my dirty socks and stuff them in the corner. Or put candy wrappers under their coffee table. Or use the last of the toilet paper and leave the roll high and dry.

Oh, I have big plans!

Crossroads........

As I sit and watch a little girl - blonde-haired and wearing a pink coat, probably less than two years old - run in the sunshine and laugh while her parents gently guide her with outstretched, cautionary hands, I can't help but think "She is going to grow up and break their hearts."

I never claimed to be a perfect mother. I made - and continue to make - mistakes. I've called my kids "stupid." I didn't always want to sit on the floor and play Barbies or cars. I did love reading to them and doing art projects. I love watching them perform - singing, acting, dancing, sports. They make my heart swell with pride almost daily.........and they break it.

I remember when my own little girl was that toddler laughing and running through the grass; I, the mom who ran just behind with my hands out in front of me to catch her should she fall. My little girl - so smart, so cute, so sweet - so many compliments on her strawberry-blonde hair and her precocious nature. She was my sidekick, my constant companion. When she was sixteen months old and I lost the sibling I was carrying for her, she somehow knew and was extra-sweet to me that awful day, patting my cheek and cuddling up to me.

Now all she has for me is contempt. At nearly 20, living back at home after a year at a university, she is caught between child and woman; too young to see how her choices and actions now will affect her future and too old for the restrictions, rules and chores of her childhood home. If I ask her to clean her room, she accuses me of wanting a magazine-perfect house, or challenges me by asking "What does it matter? It's MY room, how does it affect you?" She cannot respect that it's my house, my rules. If I ask her to do dishes, she says "They aren't mine!" or sighs heavily. If I comment that she should embrace the full-time job she's been offered for the summer, she shoots back that she hates the job and "deserves" a summer break.

She spends most of her time on the internet, scrolling through Tumblr or Skyping with friends. When I tell her she needs to focus more on face-to-face relationships, she becomes angry and defensive, saying I am insulting her friends or that she "hates people." She's a cynic, a self-proclaimed atheist who can't stand anything remotely conservative; a staunch Democrat with a basic distrust for people. She is angry and bitter and prefers to be alone. She is anxious and depressed, on meds and in therapy.

And she blames me.

"It's not a coincidence," she states, "that all four of your kids, one of them not even biological, are all in therapy. You're the common denominator - because you're so condescending and mean."

I rack my brain and try to figure out how a request to clean her room leads to this - words that slice and dice my heart into little pieces. I can't un-hear those words.

There is a saying, "People might forget what you did for them, but they will never forget how you made them feel." Did I make her feel unloved? Not good enough? Not smart enough or pretty enough or accomplished enough or nice enough? Can she not un-hear my words when I called her a slob for having a messy room or an ungrateful bitch because she says living in my house is like living in a "hell hole?"

I've given her permission to leave. Told her she could go live with her dad. Welcomed her to grow up instantly, get a place of her own, pay her own bills. But she is not motivated to be on her own. It's too easy - this free life where there is always a good wifi connection and food.

Is it really too much to expect her to do her part? To not eat in the family room and leave dishes all over? To rinse out and toss the tuna can after she makes a tuna fish sandwich instead of leaving it on the counter overnight to dry out and attract flies? To run a load of dishes without being asked or wash a load of towels so we don't run out? To keep her room picked up, take care of her own laundry, not throw clothes on her floor? To pick up after she's used the common bathroom, not leave her contact wrappers on the counter right next to the garbage can?

When I was her age, I lived on my own. Paid my own bills. Worked, and went to college. She says not to compare; she is not me. But I did those things because I was motivated by wanting independence, by what I felt was society's expectation of someone my age, to please my parents. It was a struggle at times, not always fun, but I would have felt foolish being my parents' child when I was an adult and could take care of myself. She wants independence with no responsibility.

And yet.....she accuses me of only hearing the negative. I accuse her right back. I know in my heart that she, my firstborn, is the reason I stayed home to raise my babies. It was such a privilege to be a mother, to be given that gift by my first child. It's the only job I've ever loved and felt I was really good at. Until now. Now, I question my wisdom - did putting my kids first send the wrong message? She seems angry me all the time if I am not singing her praises. But who gets sunshine blown up their ass all the time? No one. Every day we are beaten down by the world and it's our own self-worth that keeps us getting back up. The little voice that says, "I'm ok. I'm a good person. I am worthy." No one has their own personal cheerleader. We take the good with the bad and keep on going.

My parents didn't sing my praises all the time. Sure, they celebrated my accomplishments but they also yelled at me, spanked me, screamed at me when my room was messy (which was all the time). I knew to listen to them, to do what I was told. But I also grew up knowing that they busted their asses to raise four kids in sometimes trying times. They had my back and supported me in whatever I wanted to do. They encouraged me and helped me reach my goals, and, yes, we had some big fights along the way. I don't blame them for my shortcomings or bad decisions I've made. It's not their fault I got divorced, have had financial difficulties, lost friends, or made bad decisions. Those are all on me.

So, is my daughter's hatred of me a result of being raised in the "me first!" generation? Where everyone "wins," and everything is equitable and praise is handed out so often it becomes meaningless? So that any ounce of criticism is seen as an insult or a means to beat her down and make her feel terrible about herself? Eleanor Roosevelt said no one can make you feel inferior without your permission. And while I know words can sting - and I'm still reeling from hers - can she make me feel inferior about my role as a mother? I never promised to do a perfect job. I knew I would do a good job and make some mistakes. Are we destined, as parents, do be hated by our young eventually? Is it a necessary rite of passage to fully enter the world of being an adult?

And do I even have a fighting chance of defending myself in her one-sided therapy sessions where she can create a fictional world that no therapist could ever see through? It certainly seems like a lost cause. Is it fair that I should fee like I'm fighting a battle in my own house - that asking her to contribute in the most basic human ways - to pick up after herrself, put things back, keep her own space clean - is often so much emotional strain that I find myself not saying anything at all? But when I do, I ask nicely, only to be met with the eye roll, "I'm busy," "I'm relaxing," or "It's not my job!" Is it any wonder with that reception I might get the least bit angry or lose my fucking mind? Especially since I'm almost always overwhelmed with a job, four often difficult kids, a big house to take care of and clean, all of the errands, grocery shopping, calendar-keeping and juggling.

What if I had pursued a career, hired a nanny to raise the kids, a housekeeper to clean the house, and fed my kids fast food every night before I spent a couple of hours with them until bedtime? Would I be happier? Have more "me time?" Feel more fulfilled as an individual? I'll never know. I like to think I made the right decision, because I never imagined any other life for myself. But sometimes parenting seems so futile. Like, no matter what you do, you're bound to fuck up and give your kids a million reasons to trash you in therapy, in public, or in a tell-all book.

I feel like things will come full circle. Like one day, she will come back to me and realize that we're a lot more alike than we are different. Maybe when she has her own daughter on the cusp of adulthood. Maybe when she goes through a divorce of her own. Or maybe the first time the novelty of being alone in her apartment wears off and it's too quiet, and she longs for the noise and laughter and chaos that was once her home.

But what if it doesn't? I've been around long enough to know that sometimes the mother-daughter relationship doesn't work out. What then? What if she doesn't want me to be a part of her life when she lives separate from me? Can it really come to that over an argument that started with "I want you to clean your room" and ended with "You're the reason I'm in therapy!"

As I sit in the car, alone at the beach, hearing the rumble of passing trains and watching the people around me, I see moms and kids, dads and kids, grandparents and kids, and I wonder how many other broken hearts are all around me and if this is just the beginning.

Who Made This Big Mess?

Anyone remember the show "The Big Comfy Couch"? There was this annoying person dressed as a clown named Loonette and every show she would make a mess and then go "Who made this big mess?" and then she would nod knowingly and say "Oh, me, huh? Well, I guess I'd better clean it up! It's only fair!" and she would go about cleaning up the room doing the "ten second tidy" (and quite cheerfully, I might add). Well, my kids watched that show faithfully but somehow that message never quite sunk in. They just left for their dad's house and here is a list of their indiscretions: sofabed still out, covers strewn about all over the floor, Monopoly game spread out over the garage floor, BB gun, BBs and eye protection thrown on the office floor, kitchen counter covered with plates, cups, a large bowl encrusted with pancake batter, mixer with beaters cemented in pancake batter..........I could keep going. The point is, they are now gone and unless I leave this mess for the next three days, I have to clean it up. In fact, I already had to clean up the kitchen mess because both sides of the sink were packed full of dirty dishes (and the dishwasher next to the sink was completely empty and ready to receive all those dishes). Hayley is the main culprit this time - the BB gun thing and the Monopoly game were Harrison but it was Hayley who left the bed undone and made the pancakes. And, I'm sorry, but she's 16 and she should know better (they all should know better, we have no toddlers in this house). To think that the magic cleaning fairy just comes and makes this all go away is just crazy. And it's even more infuriating that I can't do a damn thing about it. There's no way in hell their dad would agree with bringing them back to clean up (although, in my opinion, that's the solution to this problem). So, the best I can do is saddle them with extra, unpleasant chores when they return. And then they complain that "it's summer and we're supposed to be relaxing!" Yeah? Me too. In fact, I believe I have been so drained of energy that I shall need to refuel at The Rock or some other venue where adults go. And where there is no mess or pancake batter to clean up. Children, you have been warned! Yucky chores await you. Next time? CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELVES!

Is it really so hard?

I realize my blogs of late have been rants and mostly annoyances with my kids as the top subject. But, really, I do not understand why it has to be so hard. The kids have daily chores. They are written down in plain view. They are simple and concise. If they are done each day as outlined, they take approximately 15 minutes a day. 15 minutes out of 24 hours is really not too much to ask. Some of the kids do their chores every day. Some do not. Some blatantly ignore them and see them as mere "suggestions" or "guidelines" rather than hard and fast rules.

For the past two days I have not said a word about the kitchen table, despite the fact that we have not been able to eat there for dinner because it's been covered. With what? Here are but a few of the items: a Choco Taco wrapper from the ice cream man, a Go-Gurt wrapper, two dirty plates, three dirty cups, a package of Twistables crayons, a cup of pens, scissors, a box of envelopes, several sheets of paper, and crumbs to name a few things. None of this was touched, put away, moved or wiped off in two days. So, I called in the troops to do their duty. And was I met with the wrath! How dare I request they pick up after themselves? The nerve! On the counter? The milk, a large container of yogurt, two large jars of peanut butter, jelly, dirty knife, Ovaltine, the Magic Bullet blender, dirty paper towels. The remnants of a snack you say? Absolutely! The snacks were enjoyed and the mess left behind for - who? Me? I don't think so.

When I heard the inevitable "that's not mine" I reminded them that I spend a good portion of EVERY day picking up things that are "not mine". To which I got "well, you're a mom, that's your job!" Not a good answer. Almost as bad as when I reminded them that I have a J-O-B and they said "oh, right, you play with two adorable kids and a cute puppy all day!" Excuse me?

I don't know when kids got the idea that they are equals, or worse, above their parents, but the buck stops here. I am sick of being sassed, ignored and disrespected and hearing the wrath when I dare to request that they pick up after themselves and be contributing members of this family. I even got a "you're pissing me off right now so I'm not going to talk to you anymore" (guess which kid?) and she promptly called her dad to "rescue" her from this dire situation, which he did (and guess who didn't do her chores today?). I'm sure at this very moment they are luxuriating in the permissiveness of daddy's house, watching TV, spending unlimited, unsupervised time on the computer and being happy they are not at their witch mom's house. Even though it's my night with them (and you better believe this won't be happening again - however, this time my anger got the better of me and I said "go ahead and call your dad and don't let the door kick you in the ass on the way out". But I digress.......)

See, the problem here, is I would NEVER have said some of the things my kids say to me to my own mom and dad. And why? Because I would have been smacked! And if I smack my kids? Oh, they threaten all the time to "call CPS" if I even joke about hitting them. That's the kind of world we live in. I tell them go ahead and call, and by the way, enjoy foster care! They have NO IDEA how lucky they are. Nor do they appreciate it. So, it forces me to be the "bad guy" and the drill sargeant just to teach them to follow some rules and have a little respect. What I don't get is that they have always known right from wrong. They have been taught manners and are well-behaved outside of the house. But inside the house? Whoa. So rude.

You know the old saying "this hurts me more than it hurts you" (supposedly uttered as a child was receiving a spanking)? Well, it really does hurt to have to yell at the kids. To have to tell them daily to do the things they already know they're supposed to be doing. I enjoy doing nice things for them, but it seems the only way to make them see the light is to stop being nice at all. I often bring them little gifts - a new shirt or a treat "just because" and I think instead of appreciating this, they have come to expect to be treated like royalty. I know kids will never appreciate all their parents do (and the hell they put them through) until they have kids of their own (and I can just hear my parents laughing now!) but I find it hard to believe that decent, empathetic kids like my own cannot see how much is done for them and show a little appreciation by being contributing members of a family, without the yelling and consequences and punishment and enforcement.

They are all excited that school is almost out for the summer! Yay! Freedom! But I think a little less freedom and a few more rules might be just what is needed around here. The many priveleges they have go unappreciated and so they must be fewer. They must be earned.

And, yes, my kids read this. I hope they get something out of it. I've gotten some good advice from those of you who read this blog over the past few posts and I intend to put some of it into practice. But most of all, I hope my kids see that asking them to clean off the kitchen table is NOT the same as asking them to cut off their hands, and they should not react as though it were. It would take five minutes of effort to avoid a whole evening of yelling, anger and "escaping" to the confines of their dad's house.

Boundaries

Ok, my last post was about how annoyed I was at people disrespecting the time and hard work I do, and this one, I'm afraid, is about not respecting my boundaries! And yes, the culprit once again is Hannah! I came into my bathroom tonight to get ready for bed and this is what I find (now, mind you, my bathroom is DISGUSTING right now, so it's not that I'm such a clean freak that I notice one little thing out of place): THREE dripping wet washcloths, partially covered with facial mask products, and draped over my sink spigot, two facial mask products lying on their sides on the counter (and covered with goop), and my face scrub that normally resides in my shower (but frequently goes missing) on the counter. Now, I ask you, WHY? Hannah has all of these products of her own, and if she doesn't, or she's run out, why can't she just ask to use them? And then take them into her OWN bathroom to use them, then return them? This is not just an isolated incident - I often can't find my makeup or other personal items because the girls seem to think that anything that is IN this house is up for grabs. And no one takes care of their own stuff. Case in point - each child has an envelope with their money in it that we affectionately call "Bank of Mom". Normally, I keep these envelopes in the office closet and the kids are free to get some money out of them (but understand that there is a card in there on which to write the balance, like a real bank account). Well, first it was grabbing a dollar here or a five there and being careless and finally, yesterday Harrison couldn't even find his Bank of Mom, and then remembered he was PLAYING with it in a game (duh, it's REAL money!). We finally found it, and I promptly put all of the kids' Bank of Mom envelopes in the safe (which only Jeff and I know the combination to), but shortly after that I found TWO twenty dollar bills in Harrison's room which he casually remarked that oh yeah, those were from his Bank of Mom. I mean, this is money! Recently I cleaned the kids' bathroom thoroughly (it took an ENTIRE weekend). I found no less than 30 partially used deodorants! This was because, on many different occasions, the kids had asked me to buy them new deodorant because (I foolishly assumed) they were "out". Now, with four kids, I certainly don't have time to check the inventory or monitor their use of personal products, so I took these requests at face value. But the real reason? They had simply misplaced their deodorant and were too lazy to look for it! This is just one example of how they don't take care of their things. As though we have unlimited resources. I just wish they would learn to respect boundaries - both personal ones and those that limit the resources of our already strained budget. Short of getting a lock and key on my bedroom and bathroom doors, I don't know how else to make them understand to leave my stuff alone! And to ask first if they want to borrow something. It's just crazy out of control..........not turning off their lights, leaving stuff all over the place, "borrowing" things, not being able to "find" things because they are too lazy to just pick up the clothes all over their bedroom floors to see it. They KNOW the right way to do things.........they have extensive chores so it's not like they are just "allowed" to do anything they want..........I don't know the answer. But I do know that I live in fear of the summer months when, for the first time, I will be working during the day three times a week (as opposed to being home which I've always been because I worked for the school district and had summers off). When I'm not home, they absolutely destroy the house, eat at all hours, leave wrappers and dishes all over the place and never clean up after themselves. And coming home to that every workday will put me over the edge. I lay down the law, but the follow up is like another full time job. I can only "police" their activities so much and if I went around behind them all the time, making sure they did everything the way they were told, I'd be spinning in circles. I don't know what the answer is, but it's draining............

The Crappy Suckiness of Adulthood

No, I did not make up that title. It comes from a direct quote. Hayley and I were driving in the car today and talking about being a kid and being "carefree". Hayley said "You are never carefree! From the time you're born, you're preparing for the crappy suckiness that is adulthood!" Now, I don't know, but that sounds a bit cynical to me. And perhaps a huge generalization? I mean, sure, adulthood has with it it's downside......the responsibility, the housework, the mortgage, the carpool, the drudgery of housework, the inevitable loss of freedoms, the lack of sleep.........wait, wasn't I going to say something here? Oh yeah, adulthood. Lest my 15-year-old in all her wordly wisdom think adulthood is all crappy suckiness, I'd like to point out some of the perks. For one thing, no more school! No teenage awkwardness. No bullies on the schoolbus. No immunization shots. No growing pains. Driving! Being able to sit in the bar when the restaurant wait line is an hour long! Voting! Choosing your own career! Owning your own house! And yes, having children. Which is truly one of the best parts about being an adult. Except when they turn into teenagers and know everything! And think being a grown up is crappy. Well, yeah! But it's kind of crappy being a kid, too. Everything comes with a price. But being able to see the bright side is what keeps us from being cynical. So, grow up already! It's not so bad here on the dark side!