The other day my elder sister, mother and I were talking about what makes us feel like an adult. When I was asked what made me feel like an adult they asked if it was being able to drive, having a job or being able to boss the kids around for housework and/or homework.
I told them that it was knowing that on days when I have nothing left, when I’m so tired and my migraines are so bad that I can’t even think, let alone speak, the children will put me to bed, make sure I’ve eaten and had water before settling the covers around me, turning out the lights and quietly closing the door.
When they just looked at me in confusion I explained that the knowledge that these children that are not mine but that I have seen grow up and been there to help with that are responsible human beings who know how to care for someone even when they are angry for being grounded (this has actually happened, my eldest nephew was in full tantrum mode and I had a really bad asthma attack. He’s the only one that almost always remembers where my inhaler is. He immediately got it for me, made sure I was breathing, put it back and then continued with his yelling) and they’re not even teenagers yet.I held these children in my arms, Babes who could only smile or cry or frown. Wondering when that changed so fast? When did they walk without my hand? When did they talk without needing the translator? I would sing and read to them, Then, when I needed it, Far too soon, they did the same.
And I’m more than grateful for it.
Inspired partly because my nephew brought me an awesome saber-shaped stick, but agreed to keep it in his room because I don’t have a closet just yet. (The duplex is too small, so my clothes are split between two different rooms: my mom’s dresser and my sister’s (and her daughter’s, though it’s really Catie’s closet and everyone knows it) closet. We all fit, but only just. The other reason for this is yesterday’s FreeWriteFriday prompt: