toys r us kid

i was never a toys r us kid.

that was the FANCY store (aka: expensive) and they didn't sell books.

i remember walking through it a few times with my dad and he told me to pick something out but it was so overwhelming i never knew what to even look at.

then i would ask for another babysitters club book.

and he would look at me funny.

and we would go get a babysitters club book.

i don't know where we would get them...that was in the days before barnes and noble. that was before borders or amazon.

WHERE THE FUCK DID I GET ALL MY BOOKS AS A KID?

fuck. that's really going to bother me now.

BUT. despite never being a toys r us kid, i very, completely, wholeheartedly bought into their tag line: I DON'T WANNA GROW UP.

i even remember one of my MANY counselors growing up laughing at me for saying that.

counselor: *smirk* so you're just not going to grow up?

me: if growing up means becoming an adult like you that tears other people down all the time, NO, i WON'T grow up. 

counselor: *no more smirk*

for what it was worth, it was actually my youth pastor, and he quit being a youth pastor a few months after that and became a computer tech.

probably not totally related, but i'd like to think i played a small roll in him not destroying another teenager's life like he tried his damndest to do to mine.

he's the same asshole that made me "confess my sins" in front of the "select group" (rich kids) in the youth group about my pregnancy because THEY deserved better than to hear the rumors in the hallways.

aces.

gee, why am i not involved in organized religion anymore? it's a mystery...

but. back to the not growing up.

*spoiler alert*

i did it anyway.

as soon as the first crib midget popped out of my "birthing hips" (thanks random guy in the hallway in high school) i grew up pretty damn quickly. taking care of my kiddo became the top priority and since he was 9 months old we had our own place, i had steady work, and shit was dialed in.

in 2011 when i quit my job i wasn't exactly smart. i bought the house, blew through all my money trying to fix up the house, and ended up having to go back to work to keep shit together.

this time *knock on wood* i've been slightly smarter and am able to carefully consider what work i want to do from here on out.

and...i kinda don't wanna grow up.

more to the point, i don't know what i want to be when i do grow up.

what did i talk about when i was a kid?

i remember wanting to be a kindergarten teacher for a while. then i had my own kids. a classroom full of 5 year olds? 

i mean...weed is legal now...so...maybe?

my dad wanted me to be a nurse. that dream abruptly died the day he knocked down the broomstick that help up the double pane on a window which then shattered all over his back. i cried, he got stitches, my brother ended up marrying a nurse and it worked out better for everyone in the end.

i wanted to be a writer for...well...as long as i can remember. but making a living at that? while i still have a kid under my roof?

let's be honest, i'm chicken shit when it comes to giving that a try.

i had ZERO plan in high school for post graduation. getting pregnant was probably the best thing to ever happen to me, i suddenly HAD to have a plan.

so now, now i have a moment to breathe, i made sure to have a bit of a safety net, and i get to figure out what i really want to be when i grow up.

do i want to go back to office work? i'm damn good at it. i should be after 20 years.

do i want to get a part time job and write part time and try to chase my oldest dream?

do i want to go back to work full time at some unknown job?

remember the time i had a whole business plan drawn up for a coffee shop that was geared towards parents with kids? i had it all figured out: a computer bar (no internet) with old school games like carmen sandiego, oregon trail, that incredible machine. a small tv in the corner with kids movies playing all the time (lord knows i have that part nailed). an open floor plan to make it a safe place for parents that need to do visitations with their kids to come to- they can play on the car-pet with old school micro machines. they could read books in the take a book leave a book corner, their supervisor could enjoy a nice cup of coffee in a comfortable chair with full visual at all times (and the one thing i've discovered in the last few months is that theres NO PLACE like that anywhere in the valley).

so. now that i'm closer to grown up than not, what do i want to be?

toys r us is going under. so. i guess i won't be a toys r us kid.

one option off the list.

it's a start.

i don't wanna grow up:

when i was about 15 or 16 my mum was INSISTENT that i needed counseling. what i NEEDED was a mum who listened and liked me. but that’s a whole different blog post.

so…needing counseling. i will admit that i wasn’t the easiest teenager but i was not in need of intense counseling (as later evidenced by being kicked out of counseling for having it too together). For years i was drug from one counselor to the next, hating each one in turn, flat out refusing to talk to some (are you kidding me? you expect me to discuss my life in detail with a guy wearing jeans tucked into his cowboy boots? who’s the crazy one there?). i did end up finding one counselor when i was pregnant with my oldest son that i LOVED. she’s the one that not only kicked me out of counseling, but then asked me to go speak to other kids because i had such a good handle on what was going on. turned the tables on that one!

my mum was CONVINCED that i was fucked in the head though, so she never gave up shoving one therapist after another down my throat. at one point she decided that i should talk to my youth pastor. yes, i was in a youth group growing up. shut it. well, this particular youth pastor and i didn’t see eye to eye on much...hell, ANYTHING. i HATED, LOATHED this man. his wife was sweet, i liked her, but he was an egotistical pompous ASSHAT of the highest degree. HATED this man. this is the guy that found out i was pregnant and made me go before the whole youth group to confess my sins. no, i’m not kidding. he thought they should hear about it from me before hearing about it in the hallways of school. DID IT MATTER IF THEY HEARD ABOUT IT AT ALL? fuck that shit. scars. seriously. SCARS.

so. it’s always good to force your (normal) teen to talk to someone they hate. good plan. i remember sitting in his office for one session just SEETHING about how he was mocking me and openly making fun of me in front of my mother. at one point he asked what my plans were for when i grow up. i looked straight at him and said “I WILL NEVER GROW UP.” and i know that sounds a little peter pan, but i followed it up with this: “if being “grown up means being like you, then i chose not to grow up, ever. i would rather stay the way i am now.”

and i know some of you are rolling your eyes at my naïve teen angst, but it’s true, and it’s stuck with me to this day. if THAT is what it means to be a grown up i NEVER, EVER want to be one. i don’t want to be the person that always knows best and is better than everyone else. i don’t want to be the person to laugh in a kids face and tell them they’re stupid (yes, my youth pastor told me that), i don’t want to be the one to make a teen in a not so great “christian” house (or any house) feel even worse about themselves. i don’t want to be the one to openly mock a child in front of a parent who will never, ever, even in the worst circumstances stand up for their own child.

time has passed, and with september and the inevitable 30 drawing closer, i realize that i am a grown up now. yes peter pan, wendy has become an old woman. but what kind of grown up am i? i’m the grown up I WANT TO BE. i’m the grown up i wish was around when i was a kid. i’m a secure, confident, happy (most days anyway) independent woman. i know who i am and what i like. i’m not afraid to be myself even though at times i feel pressure to “fit in” or be what people expect a grown up to be, i’m not what “growns ups” are supposed to be. i’m not a suit and tie and SUV person. i’m not the standard cookie cutter khaki capris and sweater sets middle aged mom. i’m the grown up that isn’t afraid to talk to kids and tell them the truth. i’m not afraid to carry a “kid” purse that says “i hate people” instead of a $150 designer name purse. i like having my own funky taste in clothes and hair and letting myself express it. i like having tattoos that i designed myself that show who i am and what i’ve been through. i like eating cereal for dinner instead of a betty crocker cook all day roast. i like watching cartoons with my kids at night and wearing purple nail polish and downloading disney songs onto my mp3 and dancing like an idiot in my kitchen.

but slowly and surely i’m noticing certain “grown up” things creeping in- i have fancy furniture now. i’m passing over long islands for a good glass of wine. i signed up for home/life/auto insurance instead of just the standard auto. i have a retirement account and 10 years seniority at work. i budget my paychecks and make sure all my bills are paid. i make (and keep) regular doctor and dentist appointments for the kids. i’ve helped people figure out big problems in life. i’ve figured out my own big problems. but i’ve done it on my terms. i’ve become a grown up, yes, but not the “grown up” that i was expected to become. so, part of my naïve teen was wrong, but thankfully more of her was right.

i don’t want to grow up. and i know i will, but i never will.

it has been decided (for me)

so. i’m not weak. i think that’s the last word that 98% of people who have ever met me would use to describe me. i have this funny growth in the lump that’s three feet above my ass…it’s called a brain. and believe it or not, i have actually learned how to use it over the years, and i am surprisingly capable of making decisions on my own…at least enough to get me through the last 29 years or so. now admittedly, they haven’t always been the best decisions, but they’re ones that i made. ME. I MADE THEM. ON MY VERY OWN.
so it astounds me when people decide to think for me. to make decisions for me. that’s a lie. it doesn’t astound me. IT FUCKING PISSES ME OFF. are you fucking kidding me with this shit? you thought you knew what was best for me and went ahead and decided? it’s happened more times than i care to count in the last few years.
when i was a kid…had to have been 10 or 11…we got a call that my dad had been in a really bad car accident. had rolled the car several times, punctured a lung, broken several ribs, BAD shape. the accident had thrown the glove compartment 100 yards from his car, and completely totaled the car (a cop car…reinforced and all). we were told about it a week later and not allowed to go down to see him. “…it would be best if you didn’t see him like that...” FUCK YOU. my dad is in the hospital WRECKED UP and you think it would be best if i didn’t see him? are you fucking kidding me? he’s my dad. i should ESPECIALLY be able to see him then.
then when my little brother was in an accident this last august i was called FOUR DAYS LATER when he woke up from the coma. “…well, we didn’t want you to worry and rush over here, so we decided to wait and call you till we knew it was a little better…” WHAT THE FUCK? my brother is in a coma and you didn’t want to worry me? if i shouldn’t be worried then, when SHOULD i be worried? what if he hadn’t made it then? turns out he didn’t really make it then and i never did get to see him through all of that or through the end.
it same thing with his death. i was called THE NEXT DAY. “…well, we didn’t want you to stress out and drive down here so we waited to call you…” EXCUSE ME? stress me out? he’s fucking dead. why shouldn’t i be stressed? why shouldn’t i drive down as soon as i hear? shouldn’t that be my call? NOT YOURS? so i get there a day late and a dollar short. i swear to all that’s holy, if they don’t call me to spread his ashes, a few of them are going to join him in the great beyond.
and it’s still happening. people making decisions for me: “…well, i didn’t think you’d be comfortable so i didn’t think you should go…” WHAT? well fuck…i’m so glad someone knows what i’m comfortable with more than i do. i’m glad someone can make decisions for me of where i would feel okay going or which social situations i would feel comfortable putting myself in. nothing like a fucked up excuse twisted for exclusion. if you didn’t want me there, just fucking ball up and say it. don’t hide it behind some fucked reason that you are trying to force on me.
i’m a fucking big girl. believe it or not i can say yes please or no thank you to situations. i can handle being stressed out about things. i can handle being upset. i can handle making my own fucking decisions. i don’t need people to fucking think for me. trust me, if nothing else, thinking is one thing i’m more than capable of doing. ALL THE FUCKING TIME. i don’t make a decision without thinking it through roughly 100 times. i know what i’m comfortable with, i know what and where i want to be. i know what i can handle and what’s too much for me. it’s honestly a fucking slap in the face when a decision is made for me. it’s saying i’m not good enough. i’m not smart enough. i’m not grown up enough to be in control of my own life. yes, i might ask for help or input once in a while on a decision…but in the end, i am capable of making the final decision without having it made for me.