Have you seen the internet meme “adulting” that highlights the unfun tasks of adulthood? Well, this summer the noun-verb has achieved crossover status to my offline life.
I think it started when we bought the kids a trampoline. We caved after a year’s worth of pleading, but delivery was a couple weeks off so we had time to lecture about the stringent rules of engagement. Privately, Kristen and I discussed emergency room protocol as we were certain a visit was in our near future. By the way, if you’re interested in jumping you’ll have to first meet with my attorney and sign a waiver.
Because unless adults engage attorneys for various aspects of their lives they’re basically just drifters, right? That’s why we forked over a sizable chunk of money to an attorney to properly update and organize our Living Trust and Will which is a gentle euphemism for When I die, do this. Planning the nitty gritty that follows your own demise is so adult we needed a witness. By the way, thanks Becky.
To further beef up our adult resumes, Kristen signed us up to host a coach from England who was coming here to work the Soccer in the Streets camps. So we’ve added a red headed, college kid with a British accent to the household mix. Aaron is a gem of a guy and now we’re all using descriptors like “quite lovely” to assess things like a nice piece of toast. The extra laundry isn’t too bad, and a ride here and there is no worry, but the food detail is for real.
Each night Kristen takes a deep breath and says, “Ok, I’m going to prepare the lunches” with all the gravity I imagine a heart surgeon might impart upon the first cut. The abundant lunch sacks are tailored to individual specifications to keep all three of our kids happy at their respective camps the next day. Aaron relayed that the other soccer coaches tease him about how mothered he’s been and Kristen just beamed.
Aaron’s last name is Simpson, so while the kids were anxiously awaiting his return home one evening they decided to find “The Simpsons” on Direct TV. I was in the dining room reviewing our newest tax bill (which went up by 37.5 percent!) trying to calculate exactly how much more expensive our adult lives just got when I overheard Kristen say, “I’m not sure this episode is appropriate for you guys.”
“Because it’s all about sex.”
Just then I noticed the real-life Simpson, who had only been here a couple days, walking up the front steps. And there’s me with my tax bill, frozen, wondering what happens next.
She told them. She just up and told them! Who does that? As our 19-year-old Brit keyed open the door I heard from the family room, “Ewww! So you and daddy had to do that? Twice? Ewww!”
Suddenly the tax bill was of little concern because apparently I’d rather be impoverished than find myself in a terribly awkward situation. I ran misdirection to prevent our houseguest from jumping headlong into the weirdness. I think I may have asked him to tell me all he knew about property tax appeals. Margo and Elliott made certain to share their new knowledge with him once he broke free though.
The trampoline arrived and, honestly, it was great. The kids were having a blast and being careful enough to ease our concerns. I thought, “well, this sure beats them sitting in front of the TV,” because that is the sort of thing adults think. And then Margo jumped off the trampoline, walked inside and rode down the hallway on her scooter just like she’s done a thousand times. Only this time she tripped on the rug, flew over her handlebars, and broke her arm. It’s okay though, we can handle it. We’re adults.