I'm going to be honest with you but then I've always promised to be honest with you and as far as I know have never told a lie. There are definitely things I haven't talked about, not necessarily out of respect for other people. I'm not that nice. Rather, I tend to be embarrassed, humiliated, mortified and just down right ashamed.
No more! I'm 50. I don't care what people think. I really never have, but from this point on, hate me or love me, it won't really matter (see, I just burped and I didn't hide it from you). The Comanche, a tribe I've always been interested in, have no word for "past". I like that. What has been can't be changed no matter how much we wish it to be so. The Comanche don't even bother trying.
My children still live with me. Yes, I'm not joking. They are 21 and 18 and they still live in the same rooms they have occupied for the last 12 years.
Before I get started,
I want to make clear that my girls are terrific young women. They are respectful. They are kind. They are nurturing and for the most part, they do whatever I asked them to do.
The problem is, they still live in my house. Now I could say that they're trying to save money because they're both going to school and that's true. The oldest one is working and bringing in money and generally tries to contribute to the household. Bottom line though, they still live in my house and I'm not parenting them. Which if you think about it places Beerhound and I in a fairly difficult situation to navigate.
They don't seem to have any desire to move out at all! I'm afraid they'll be here until they're 30. It wouldn't be so bad except there seems to be no boundaries in this house. They've lived here sooooo long, that what seemed right for them at 8 seems right at 18.
For instance, they have their own bathroom. I don't clean it. It's disgusting. Here's the crux though, my family and friends have to use it when they come over. If you live with roommates, and I did for many years, those roommates would kick their ass. Should I kick their ass? You'd think so but it's harder than you can imagine. Yesterday I came home from the barn to find that their toilet was plugged and instead unplugging it, (both of them think that's just downright "ooogey".) They were using my bathroom. In my bedroom. My bathroom, in my bedroom.
I love them both dearly but when I gave birth to them, I had an idea of how life was going to unfold. I thought you just gave birth. You raised them until they were 18. Then they packed their suitcase. They hugged you. They waved to you. You cried. They cried. They got in their broken, taped together car, drove away and life went on. At that point all you and your husband had to deal with was empty nest syndrome. What was I going to do with my life? What dreams did I want to tackle first?
Instead my kids kiss me, hug me, wave goodbye, and say I'll see you in a couple of hours. They have their own yet they constantly beg to drive my car anyway. WHY? Because it's the better car. I'm 50 for god's sake. I'm not driving a beat up, taped together car anymore.
I live so close to them (what an understatement), they're always hitting me up for money even though they have money. They don't want to spend their money. "We're trying to save money mom. We won't to move out, ONE day." And why not when you can hit your mother up for money. They will drink out of my glass and then ask if they can have a drink. They come in and use my bathroom because, "it's closer." They've even gone through my clothes. I have to put my name on my ice cream. Good God, didn't I go through this in college?
They still like to sleep with me. Sounds like major inmeshment doesn't it? On one hand I'm really happy that they both love me so much and desire to be near. They are certainly, both, hands down my best friends. On the other hand, this is my house and I had plans for those rooms. Beerhound had plans for those rooms. He wants a man cave. I want a superior womans residence. Yet we are still stuck in the same room together. Trust me, as much as we love each other and have been married for 28 years, I would love for Beerhound to have his own room. He really makes a lot of noise when he sleeps. I have to sleep with headphones. I like to read it night. Even my little, itty, bitty night light bothers him (or so he says - I'm not sure with all the snoring and farting he can really tell). It would be the best of both worlds. After all it's not like you have to sleep in the same room to have great sex. You have sex in one of the rooms. Trade off. Make a schedule. Then you go back to your room, surrounded by all your girly things and life's great. But alas, we don't have that option. I would love to have a room where I could just relax and have tea. The walls and furniture all painted pink or purple or yellow. All colors I hate but that's not the point. I could still have the room painted those colors if I wanted.
I suppose complaining to you at this point doesn't matter. What's done is done and since I am paying for tuition and I enjoy saving money, which I too enjoy, I suppose I'll simply have to suck it up for another four years. God help me if they decide to stay here for graduate school.
Which brings me back to the point of looking back. I know the situation is my fault. I homeschooled them from the very beginning. Homeschooling isn't bad. It's one of the best things I ever did as far as academics. I really loved being with the girls. They were funny, outspoken and kept me company well Beerhound spent all those months, even years on deployments. We traveled all over Virginia and DC, visiting historical sites. We're all crafty. It was a joy to make an Indian village or recreate the civil war. I was their Scout leader. I was the swim team mom. I was on the board of their swim team. I taught in the co-ops they attended. Whatever they did, I did.
**Please note, I did work part time and did have my own life, no matter how it sounds.**
They never complained. I never thought to complain. Their only beef was I paid too much attention to other kids in my responsibility.
Beerhound and I kick ourselves almost every day. I think I need to look at the way the Comanches would view this. What is, is. The mistakes of raising my daughters are forever in the past. The good news, if you're having problems with your kids just think of me and feel better about yourself or email me. I have an answer to almost every child rearing problem that exists. It doesn't necessarily mean I used them but after 22 years I am a bountiful resource.