Once upon a time, it used to be easy. Life, I mean. Back in the day of huge mall hair and huger shoulder pads.
I could smoke and the only thing I would worry about was getting caught by my parents or someone who knew them, in mid exhale(until they finally realized and gave in, allowing me to smoke outside). Cancer and wrinkles weren’t a concern. I was young, immortal.
Bills were paid. And not by me. Food was cooked, although kind of poorly(sorry Mom). Laundry. Vacations. Housework. All taken care of.
I was along for life’s ride with stops at school, ballet and parties. Ahh, the carefree days of misspent youth.
It was a breeze.
The only priorities I had was being young and keeping my mischief out of my parents field of vision. Which took a lot of Twister-like maneuvers. My parents had eyes everywhere.
I couldn’t wait to grow up and get the heck out of my parents house.
Because truly, despite the ease that life was back then, it went unnoticed and taken for granted. I was suffocating in their overprotectiveness. Rules, restrictions, curfews! I was under their thumb and they had a lot of those pesky digits, or so it seemed.
As a silly young kid, the adult life just seemed so much easier. They didn’t have all these rules with parents breathing down their necks and sniffing their breath to see if they had been drinking or smoking when they came home AT CURFEW. Heck, they didn’t have a curfew. They could do whatever they wanted.
Oh, the naivety of youth.
Because bam. I grew up. Now, I’m the parent. The adult. No more huge hair or shoulder pads. And life? It’s tough. Especially these days. Worries over everything…kids, bills, health, losing a parent.
Life isn’t going the way I had once fantasized it would. I’m not leaping through clouds and sliding down rainbows. Heck, I seem to have a storm cloud the follows me around crashing thunder and torrential rains.
It’s not what I imagined.
I thought it was going to be fun, this adult gig.
It’s stressful. It’s disappointing. It’s heartbreaking. It’s tumultuous.
There really haven’t been an exceptionally fun adventures. Vacations strained by complaining kids and high costs.
Meals ruined by Culinary Refuseniks.
Evenings of indulging in a few drinks met with next morning regret because sleeping a hangover off isn’t an option when there are demanding offspring.
Don’t get me wrong. There are some breathtaking, glorious times where I am so happy that I could cry rainbow tears. I look at my children and my heart bursts from my chest and wraps itself around them.
I’m just waiting though.
Waiting for that part of my fantasy where life becomes as fun as I should have realized my youth was.