What has most surprised me about adulthood is that I don’t yet feel completely like an adult. Marriage, mortgage, and minions notwithstanding, in a lot of ways I feel like I’m just a kid waiting for my life to start.
It’s a good thing that Frank is a man of action; I have good plans, but I lose steam with follow-through. This translates into Moxie thinks/Frank does. It’s a good partnership, because if left to our own devices, things either wouldn’t get done or would get done wrong. Surely “adulthood” implies that the two ends of thought and action are connected and accomplished, right? If so, then we’re just two kids putting up a good adult front.
Maybe this feigned adulthood is necessary because I still have episodes of Beavis and Butthead memorized and an 18-year old roll of buttwipe displayed on my dresser. Breakfast cereal is a food group, Toys ‘R Us trumps Wal-Mart, name-calling is an art, deadlines suck, fart jokes don’t.
And I still wish I was a Goonie.
This post brought to you as part of Calliope’s Blog Summer Camp at Creating Motherhood.
Sidenote: Through the next several weeks, I’ll be painstakingly copy/pasting the 500-something posts from my old blog over to my new digs. As such, your reader (because I KNOW you’ve subscribed) will likely be crowded with back-dated posts. To help you distinguish new content from the old, I’ll put a + after the titles of fresh content.
Also: Join the Mafia.