Just when you think they're all
grown up, they prove to you that they really aren’t. Children, that is. Goats just kind of merge into adulthood, like
merging onto the interstate. Why can’t
children be that easy? The other day I was reminded all over again that no
matter how mature she acts, Katherine is still just a kid.
This time a year ago, Katherine and I bought our very first trailer to tote
the goats. I refer you back to my post “Trailering
Goats” (June 1, 2015) for the details of my ineptitude and anxiety. As a recap, I was too afraid to drive
the Suburban and trailer so I made Katherine do it. We figured it out together in the parking lot
of the fairgrounds. We just decided to
overlook the fact that Katherine was 15 with no driver’s license or
permit. Details, details.
As the year progressed, Katherine wowed me again with her goat-birthing prowess. She has nerves of steel as she plunges her
arm into a goat’s uterus and pulls out a baby goat.
Then she actually GOT her
driver’s license and the trailer “training” began in earnest. I hesitate to call it training, because it
was a classic case of “blind leading blind,” but we bumbled through somehow.
Throughout the year, she orchestrated more rounds
of kiddings, vaccinations, hoof trimmings, castrations, breedings. She did it ALL. I sat back and took pictures and notes.
By November, after scary
moments on one-lane roads in the Plumas National Forest, Katherine was driving
the trailer all by herself. (I refer you
to “Looking Back,” November 20, 2015, for the death-defying details.) By the end of the month she drove the trailer
home from a goat show, 4 hours on a dark and rainy night– ALL BY HERSELF.
In December, Katherine
bought a goat from a breeder in Arizona and had to figure out a way to go pick
him up – 13 hours away. I kindly demurred,
“No road trip for me, thank you.” So she went to Plan B: coerce the older
siblings to go with her.
My kids get along pretty
well. Some days better than others, and some combinations better than others. But,
on the whole, they seem to like each other. I pray that it stays that way.
Anyways, Charlie (age 19)
and Bella (18) were key to this plan because: 1) at 16, Katherine is way to
young to drive that far ALONE, and 2) one of them had to be over 18 to check
into a hotel. I think it was #2 that
worried me more (I’m nothing if not practical.) Katherine enticed the siblings
with promises of a “roadtrip to remember.”
Charlie took some convincing
because he thought the trip entailed going to a full-on goat show (3 days of
blissful goat-time). When Katherine assured him that it was only to pick up a
single goat and then come back, he was more amenable. (She didn’t tell him it
was a buck they were picking up until about 6 hours into the drive…)
The three kids loaded a crate in the back of the
Suburban and headed south. Every few hundred miles they sent me a selfie of some
sort (probably to reassure me that they were alive):
The hotel issue was sticky,
as I had suspected (I did not, however, say “I told you so”). The first hotel stopped
at refused them because you had to be 21 to get a room. What? I called and
talked to the girl myself: clean-cut kids (smile kids!), siblings (check their
IDs…no hanky panky here), nice car (big shiny Chevy in the parking lot…) But
still no go. She was kind enough to recommend another hotel down the street
that would allow an 18-year-old to check in.
They made it home the very next
day, goat resting comfortably in his crate, car smelling like a goat cheese
factory on a hot day.
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| ages 5, 4 and 2 |
Super. I’m so proud of all of them! My babies are
growing up. (Even in that baby picture to the right, Katherine may just be more mature than Bella…
just sayin.)
Then it happened. Katherine
reverted to her natural state: childhood. Without going into the details,
Elizabeth (age 12) vomited in Katherine’s car on Christmas Day. Somehow, I
ended up cleaning the car (Merry Christmas to me), but the car still had that
certain … je ne sais quoi.
“Just go get a car wash –
the expensive one – and they will scrub the seats and vacuum the floor,” I told her.
You would’ve thought I told
her to fly to the moon.
“HOW do I doooo that?” she
whined at me.
“Well, drive to the carwash
and read the instructions at the pump.”
“HOW?!!” she was getting
shrill.
“Pump gas, like so…” (I
pantomimed…) “push button that says “YES car wash…” (more gesturing…) “PREMIUM
car wash… yes.. print receipt… voila!”
Her eyes were like
pie-plates, so big and round. “Then
what?!!”
Was I telling some suspense-filled horror story, or what?
“Well, dahling, you drive
over to the carwash area and roll down your window (pantomime), smile
pleasantly at the attendant (always be polite), and hand him your receipt.”
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| Jolly Washer 76 |
“But I can’t line up my
tires on the conveyor belt!!” she protested.
“What the hell, Katherine?
You can tow a stock trailer with a Suburban, forwards AND backwards, on
one-lane roads… I think you can manage.”
“NO I CAN’T!” she screeched
at me.
OMG. Could this be the same child that only a few
days ago was so “grown-up”?
“Fine, I’ll go with
you.” So, I devised a complicated scheme
to drive with Katherine to the carwash, while Bella drove to the gym next door,
whereupon I would exit the car (after driving THROUGH the wash with Katherine,
of course) and meet Bella at the gym.
If I do say so myself, I was
pretty impressed with this bit of logistics that satisfied the whiny
requirements of TWO teenage girls at the same time.
We made it through the wash,
I jumped out, put the tip in the tip bucket, and trotted over to the gym.
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| http://2scoopsdetermination.tumblr.com/ |
I had just barely punched in
my time, weight and age on the elliptical machine, when Bella came over and
said Katherine was on the phone for me.
“What now?!”
“MOM – I HAVE A FLAT TIRE!”
Katherine howled.
For Pete’s sake. “You’re in
luck! There is a tire shop DIRECTLY ACROSS THE STREET from the car wash!” I bubbled.
“But Mommmm,… where? How? …”
I think I hung up on her.
Honestly, part of having a car is learning how to take care of it and how to
deal with the really inconvenient, un-fun aspects of car-ownership. Grown-up
stuff. Adulting.
She managed the rest on her
own. I’ve talked about self-efficacy and teaching your kids to be independent –
here is yet another example of self-efficacy in action. “We are rooting for ya',
Katherine! Go team!”
This episode got me
thinking: when do we ACTUALLY become adults?
I am certainly not alone in this line of thinking, as an article “When
Are You Really an Adult?” came out in The Atlantic just last week (1/5/16).
It’s too long to summarize here so I’ll give you the link and an enthusiastic recommendation
to go read it:
Then, of course, there is my
favorite YouTube video of all time: "I Hate Being a Grown UP," by Jenna Marbles. Beware, this is an “ear worm” for sure and
the language is … salty:
But, back to the topic… I
polled my children for their opinion:
- Charlie (19): “I don’t know.” [Read: “I don’t want to even think about it.” sore topic… in denial]
- Bella (18): “Financially independent... or when you turn 30. Whichever comes first.” (But what happens if, say, at 30, your parents still pay your bills…? We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, I suppose.)
- Katherine (16):"I don't want to think about it." (More denial)
- Elizabeth (12): “When I start paying my own bills and renting a house. Wait, no, either that or when I turn 22.” (For the record, she did NOT consult with Bella … 22 is ambitious. But, wait, at 22 I was married, renting an apartment and paying my own bills. Did that mean I was grown up? Then where did my childhood go??!)
- Robbie (10): “When you have a loan.” (WHAT? I asked the question again, and turns out he said “when you live alone.” But I like “have a loan” better, don’t you?)
(Sorry, I didn’t poll the 4
and 2 year olds…)
When do we stop adulting –
going through the motions, pretending that we are more grown up than we really
feel, acting more mature than we might be – and actually become Certified Adults?
I don’t know what the answer
is. Many days I don’t feel like a grown-up at all even though I have children,
have loans, am financially independent, am over 30 and can navigate the
carwash. I, for one, and going to muddle along with one foot in each world and
enjoy the ride. I'm in no hurry.
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