I have a question, Dear Reader. Ã‚
This question came to me just now, while I was eating Emeril’s Favorite Potato Salad over my kitchen sink. Ã‚ Right out of the container, with no desire to reach up and grab a plate.
When do you become a grown up?
I’m pretty sure I’ve already crossed over into “grown up” territory. Ã‚ The facts:
- I’m 29. Ã‚ That’s pretty darned close to being old.
- I’m married, and I have a kid. Ã‚ When Grace thinks of “Mom,” my image comes to her mind.
- I pay taxes. Ã‚ I calculate my own taxes, in fact, and my husband’s.
- I own a home and a car, and I paid for both of them. Ã‚ I have two mortgages on my house, but I’m paying on them in a timely and reliable fashion.
- I have credit scores.
- I am old enough to vote and drink and buy lottery tickets.
- I have an advanced degree and a career.
- I invite my parents and my in-laws over on the weekend for dinner.
- I made my own jam and canned it this week. Ã‚ For real. Grown ups can their own food. This very event is what prompted me to ponder grown up-ness.
So apparently, I am a grown up. Ã‚ But see, I don’t feel like a grown up. Ã‚ Listen, I was eating leftover potato salad out of the Gladware at 11:30 at night. Ã‚ That says something, doesn’t it?
I guess a better question is, when do you feel like a grown up? Ã‚
Rescue me here.
© 2008, Tara Ziegmont. All rights reserved.