I had my bi-annual haircut the other day and after hugging my hairdresser (who even am I?*) I mentioned to him that I had had my hair straightened. I was not expecting his facial reaction to be EXACTLY that of a 17 year old boy whom I’ve just dumped because Jesus told me to.**
He said “You? Where? Do you know that we do that here?… I do it…”
Oh man. I felt terrible. I promised that next time I’ll let him do it and he didn’t screw up my haircut so I think we’re ok.
Things like that – having a regular hairdresser (who hugs me) or having a regular massage therapist or a ‘nail girl’ make me feel like I must be a proper adult. For decades I used to just look for the cheapest deal and didn’t commit to anyone.
Now all of a sudden I’m properly committed.
Totally adult, right?
I also manage to buy all the sh*t that needs to be bought before each school year for my kids and I manage to label everything and pack lunches and type up lesson/uniform/sports schedules which I then colour code and post up in 2 places in my house.
I’d say I manage to look and act like an adult a pretty large part of every day.
As soon as it’s 5:45 pm though, I turn into a pumpkin myself and I run out the door to go to Crossfit and leave the kids to fend for themselves… I mean do their homework… I mean play Fortnite.
I need to run around and jump and lift and pull and sweat to loud music and have an hour when I don’t have to think about lists and labels and calendars and schedules.
Ah, the freedom. I totally love that me-time I get to have most days. I tell myself that I love having older kids who mostly do manage quite well without too much supervision or assistance.
And then when the teenager is not home from school yet at 6:40 one day I stand on the street for 15 minutes, in the rain and stare towards the end of the street. Because his new school is so far away and his days are so long and he said he was on his way and almost home…
And you want to hug him and check that he’s ok and offer to organise his stuff for the next day…
‘Adulting’ can feel like such a chore… and it can also feel like such a privilege.
Maybe being an ‘adult’ is not a bad thing at all? Maybe being an adult doesn’t mean that you are a 100% like all other adults… just like being a teenager doesn’t mean you are a 100% like other teenagers or being a child doesn’t mean you’re like other kids…
Maybe when we say we’re sick of ‘adulting’ or that we can’t deal with ‘adulting’ some days, maybe we just need to lose the definition that’s stuck in our heads and just do our own thing…
I pay my bills so that must mean I’m an adult but I swear and eat cereal for dinner some days… which actually, now that I think about it…. totally doesn’t make me NOT an adult!
And I don’t really know what my point is in the end.
Other than – just do you, do the best you can, write your own rules for your own family (just make sure it’s all legal) and don’t ever cheat on your hairdresser.
Trust me. You don’t want to see their faces when they find out.
* Estonians are not huggers.
** True story. I’ve seen that face.