Grown Up, Party of Me

Posted on | December 4, 2014 | 1 Comment

When I was a kid, I wasn’t one of those who desperately wanted to grow up. In fact, if anything, I was a little too Peter Pan-ish. I worried a lot about getting older and having to be a grown up… you know, until I was about 13 and decided I basically WAS a grown up and that being an adult was the coolest thing around.

Since that time, I haven’t been too terribly disappointed about being a grown up. At least not most of the time. I mean, sure there are jobs and bills and things, but there’s no one telling me where to go or what to do or how to eat or what to drink and that’s pretty cool since my parents NEVER let me drink beer growing up. 😉 But there are some times when I get this ache in the pit of my stomach and I just want to double over and cry from the sheer unfairness of growing up.

Because when you get right down to it, there are some times when being a grown up sucks.

Like when you have to put your dog to sleep and your mom isn’t there to make it all better.

Like when you get a flat tire and you can’t call your dad to come fix it.

Like when your friends start losing their parents to illness and heart problems and cancer and you think “Dear God, that could happen to ME.”

Like when the unspeakable happens and you lose friends to those same illnesses and you wonder when it was that this became, you know, not national news. Because when it happens to a child, it’s awful. But it’s still awful when it happens to a grown up, you know? Especially an adult you know. Because people your own age aren’t supposed to die, no matter how old you are.

There are always two main times when grown up life feels wrong, and maybe it’s silly, but they are what they are. The first is any time I go to Disney World. Because I distinctly remember going to Disney World as a child. I remember the thrill of it all… the warm fuzzy feeling of magic that sort of coursed through my veins just from being there. Everything was magic and adventure and beautiful twinkly lights… and now when I go? Now it’s crowds and lines and expensive food and an overly tired, somewhat whiny child. Don’t get me wrong… it’s still magic, but it’s not the SAME magic that it was when I was little.

The other time? Well, I’m sure you’ve guessed… the other time is Christmas.

December makes me want to call in sick to work every day of the month and just watch White Christmas and Christmas in Connecticut on repeat while sipping hot chocolate with obscenely large marshmallows. I want two weeks of Christmas break… to bake and decorate cookies, to sing The Statler Brothers Christmas album at the top of my lungs and not start to bawl when it gets to the part about parents dying some day because OHMIGOD NO JUST NO.

When I was a kid, I didn’t have to worry about things like “last Christmas together” or when to find time to go see Santa at the mall. I wasn’t worried about making sure there would be dinner on the table and breakfast in the fridge. Someone else made sure all the gifts were bought and wrapped and when it was all said and done, someone else just made everything magic for me. When I was a kid, I had my parents to take care of everything, just as J now has me. And yes, Christmas with a child of your own is magical… but it’s a different sort of magic altogether.

It doesn’t feel quite as magical when you’re the one creating all the magic.

Just once, for old time’s sake, I’d like for someone to create a little magic for me.

 

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