The Joy of Adulting

Confession: I’m pretty much winging this parenting/responsible adult thing.  (Not to mention the “responsible adult” part being questionable on my best days.)  The assumption (of my younger self) was that one day I’d just arrive.  BOOM, a grown-up.  All the knowledge and maturity needed for this role would be imparted somehow (magically?) and I’d live the rest of my days in the safety and security of my good choices.

HA!  How naive little Laura was.

Isn’t it true though?  When we were children, it was easy for many of us to put our parents on a pedestal.  To think that they had all the answers locked up in those adult-y heads of theirs.  Or, if it wasn’t our parents, there was probably some other mentor we felt this way about.  They simply had it all together.  And some day WE would too.  When we were grown.

It’s weird that I’m 30 plus and STILL anticipate this event.  The maturing and enlightenment ceremony when one REALLY becomes an adult.  For although I’ve gotten married and birthed a child, and the number of people who call me “Ma’am” is increasing by the minute, and the kids driving vehicles today look young enough to be diapered and in footie pajamas, I absolutely don’t consider myself a “grown-up.”  Because one, that would mean I was old.  And two, that would mean I need to have my stuff figured out.  Obviously, neither of those things apply to me.

But for Elijah it’s a different story.  I’m not just any generic “Ma’am” walking around out there; I’m HIS Ma’am.  Or his Mom, to be more accurate.  I’m his adult.  You could NEVER overstate the immense burden and joy of this kind of responsibility.  To him, I’m the dispenser of wisdom, confirmer of dreams, giver of encouragement.  No. Pressure.  Oh bleep, I really hope I don’t screw this (or him) up.

The reality of most young families’ (See, I’m still young...in a way) lives is chaos.  Constant, hectic movement.  It is easy to forget foundational truths/values in the hustle and bustle of our every days.  For instance, let me share a snippet of one of our mornings last week:

After the school-morning struggle that is Elijah vs Alarm Clock, my child was finally dressed and downstairs, eating some cereal.  I stuffed his packed lunch into his backpack and dragged my mini-elliptical over to the table where he was breakfasting.  While I steppered away we read his boys’ devotional, that morning’s lesson taken from the Potter and clay analogy.  E’s memory verse was Colossians 3:8,10, “But now is the time to get...clothed...with a brand-new nature that is continually being renewed as you learn more and more about Christ, who created this new nature within you.”  Great start to the day, right?

Then David came into the back room (you can already tell this story is about to take a turn for the worse) to finish getting ready.  From my lofty position on the mini-elliptical, I re-reminded him of a task he’d been meaning to complete.  (Some people might call this “nagging.”  Po-tay-to.  Po-tah-to.)  He re-reminded me that he is a trustworthy human capable of finishing things without constant hounding.  (Clearly, these are the cleaned up versions of what we said.)  That verbal spar ended with me defending myself and him banging out the door in frustration on his way to work.  So much for cute family devos, huh?

I sent Elijah up to brush his teeth and comb his hair.  As I continued my stepper, I grudgingly prayed over the morning’s mess.  As a sensitive, feelings-based girl, it is EASY for me to get overwhelmed with how much I’ve messed up or how big the problems are that need fixed.  It SEEMS impossible.  So I said that to JC.  And He said to me, “Just do the next right thing.”  Consequently I sent David an apology text, to which he quickly and graciously responded in kind.  Big sigh of relief.  I was now back on the straight and narrow.  With a spring in my step from my newly granted redemption, I jumped in the car with Elijah and we headed to school.

But then my car (which we had JUST gotten back from the shop a month before) sputtered and struggled as I accelerated up the entrance ramp to the highway.  Good feelings gone.  After we eventually arrived at school, Elijah fumbled around in the backseat.  “Where’s my backpack?!”  What happened next was regrettable.  As I later described to a friend, Satan exited my mouth and said, “Are you KIDDING ME?!?!?!?!?!?!? GET OUT OF MY CAR!!!!”

My poor buddy, who is sensitive just like me, immediately got watery-eyed and blotchy with shame.  He reached for the door handle to get out (like Satan told him to) and, my Jekyll and Hyde moment not quite being over yet, I said, “Wait!  Please wait!”  He turned to me, his giant blue eyes filled with sadness, and it stabbed me straight to the heart.  “Oh Honey, I am so sorry.  I shouldn’t have said that.  I will bring your backpack later, okay?”  Damage already done, he reluctantly nodded and got out of the car.  Never lacking for dramatic flair (also like me), he started his slow (and apparently painful) death-march trudge up the steps to school.  At this point, I wasn’t exactly nominating myself for the Queen of Adulting award.

These are the times when I feel the Adult/Parent card should be ripped from my tenuous grasp.  I obviously don’t deserve to be in a category with so many other grown, well-functioning individuals.  Example: Pope Francis is an adult.  Do you see the rub here?  Because, to put it bluntly, I’m never going to have my stuff together.  How could I possibly be a role model for another human when I don’t even like flossing or changing my socks everyday?  Let alone being “good” for 24 hours in a row.  Game over, I’m disqualified….as are many of you.

Here’s our only adulting loophole: Honesty, forgiveness, and grace.  Or as Glennon says, “..forever tries.”  Also wine.  Later that day, I returned to Elijah’s school with my tail in between my legs.  As I handed over that infamous backpack and grabbed him into a one-sided bear hug, I whispered in his ear, “I love you so much.  I’m sorry.  I put a note in your lunch box.  Read it, Buddy.”  The note said something like this:

Dear Elijah, I am so sorry

for how I talked to you this morning.

Please forgive me.  

Remember how we read

about the Potter and the clay

this morning?  That is a picture

of God making us like Him.

Becoming like Jesus is a process,

which means it takes time.

Sometimes we still make mistakes,

like I did this morning.

But God forgives us, as

I hope you’ll forgive me.

Love, Mama

P.S. Eat your dessert first today, okay?

I don’t know if the dessert or the apology did more to repair our relationship that day.  But we made it.  And honestly, I’m still not sure about this whole “responsible adult” spiel.  Although, I can’t wait to get to the point in my life where cars stop breaking down and we can have nice things.  But that magical christening into adulthood, where we’re instantaneously filled with deep knowledge and insight, is a crock.  All “grown-ups” are simply winging it to the best of their ability.  Even our elevated mentors from long ago.  Even Pope Francis.  (Granted, he probably gets a lot of guidance and help from the Guy upstairs.  Then again, those advantages are available to us as well!)  Nobody has it figured out.  So we hustle and bicker, cuddle and compliment, hurt and forgive.  Times infinity plus love.  And somehow we become older along the way and can now more easily recognize a few of life’s patterns for the younger ones.  Is this wisdom, basic observation, or learned avoidance of stupidity?  Don’t ask me, I’m not a grown-up yet.