eat your vegetables

You know when you were young and you pondered the more important things in life? Like what color you wanted your mom to make the play dough, or if you were going to walk home from school the long way or the short way. If you spelled all your spelling words right or what kind of sandwich was in your brown-bag lunch. You'd daydream about becoming this or that, having your own house, lots of great shoes, and say things like, "When I grow up..."

Kates and I had it all planned out. I'd drive a green Chrysler Town and Country minivan and she'd drive a blue one. We'd haul kids to tennis and soccer practice, music lessons and church activities. Our husbands would be successful. They'd take every other Friday off and we'd all go boating. I'd do the laundry on time, have a wreath for every holiday, always replace the toilet paper roll and take picnics. Summer days would be spent washing the car on the front lawn; nights under the stars, back to the grass, heart to the sky, pointing out constellations.

I'm wondering about this whole growing up thing. How does it work, exactly? Do you wake up one day and, just like that, you're a bona fide grown up? Certified. Legit. The Real Deal? Classy's your middle name and Responsibility's your game. Or, is it more of a gradual thing, like once you've read the obituaries so many times or eaten enough asparagus? When you lay off the Captain Crunch, or file your first tax return? Reason and experience tell me that's not how it works. I've turned off the porch light first thing in the morning. Refilled the BRITA water pitcher. Bought business suits. And yet, sometimes I wonder if I've missed some steps. If I'm any closer than the day before. If tomorrow I'll wake up, look in the mirror and finally see Miss Responsible staring back at me.

Nope. Reason and experience tell me that there are days when the empty pitcher sits in the fridge. Days when I can't find my keys to save my life (that may happen a little too often). Days when Life seems to be staring me right back in the face and all I want to do is sit in the back of a classroom with Kates and fantasize about the future.

Good days, bad days, I'm beginning to realize that it's the process that counts. The discoveries along the way. Discovering that, although you pledged you never would, you're turning out to be just like your mother. And, it's not so bad, because your mother found your father (who is pretty dang wonderful), which means she's pretty great and you hope hope hope that in some small way you can leave your mark on the world and achieve even an ounce of what she has achieved. It's the attitude that fronts itself in an "oh-great-now-what?" situation. And the lessons learned when your head hits your pillow.

So while the play dough recipe hasn't been out for years, and while I'm no where close to my asparagus limit, I've learned sometimes a good day still consists of good conversation and your favorite sandwich.