A Confession, of Sorts

Sometimes being a grown-up is hard.

If you are a grown-up, the above is not news. If you’re not one, well, go on dreaming those dreams of how when you’re grown-up you’ll do what you want and no one will ever tell you that you have to do something you don’t want to. Reality will kick in soon enough.

What has spawned this latest annoyance with all things mature and grown-up? It’s stupid, honestly. I made a friend this past year with the mom of one my eldest’s good friends. And gradually we started getting together occasionally as families so the kids could play and it was fun because the husbands got along as well and life was good. And then she and the kids went on vacation for the summer to visit her folks and he couldn’t get the time off to go with so…he and my hubby have been going to the movies every couple of weekends.

Now, my husband, being smart, asks if it’s okay if he goes. It’s not as if he’s leaving me in the lurch. They go during naptime, usually on Sunday afternoon, and really there’s no reason why he shouldn’t go. So I say sure, it’s fine, go. Because that’s the mature, adult thing to say.

But it’s not what I want to say. Because I’d love to see all of the movies they’ve gone to so far and now that he’s seen them, I know it’s going to be harder for me to see them because there’ll be no urgency on his end. And also, if he’s going to stay awake during naptime instead of also napping, I’d rather he stay here and hang out with the older boy and me. And while those are certainly valid things, at the end of the day, he does this so rarely, it’s silly to be annoyed. Which is where being a grown-up comes in, because instead of whining about how it’s not fair, I take a deep breath, tell him to have fun, and then go about my afternoon.

But if I don’t get to see Ant Man at some point, the two of us are going to have words. Just sayin’.