My 22-year-old daughter moved out of our house and into an apartment with her girlfriend last November. It was very exciting to help her with this very first totally independent adult endeavor. Which makes the following even more understandable:
- Christina’s roommate likes to cook. Christina never graduated beyond grilled cheese sandwich at home. As an example to show just how much I have taught her about cooking, she came home on a weekend and said, “Mom! Did you know you could freeze meat?!”
- My husband was showing Christina how to work the fireplace in her living room. “But be careful the first time you use it,” he told her. “Oh, don’t worry,” she replied. “I would never use it without adult supervision.”
- “What? Use the laundry facilities at the apartment? Are you crazy? Strangers underwear have been in those machines. I am just going to come home every weekend and wash my clothes here, okay?”
- My husband emailed a link to my daughter on new iPhones. She immediately emailed him back fairly screeching “ARE YOU NOW TELLING ME YOU WON’T PAY FOR MY PHONE ON THE FAMILY PLAN AND I’M ON MY OWN??!!” My husband forwarded her email to me asking in confusion: “What did you say to her?” I replied about the little “I hate being an adult because I have to pay bills every single month, do all the cleaning myself, go to the grocery story and do you have any idea how much tampons cost?” rant she had last weekend. And THAT was the real issue. I totally understand that it sucks having to be responsible and grow up.
- No, Christina. I will not clean your bathtub. Even if you offer to pay me.
- Christina has given up on the custody battle for her dog, Casey. He lives with us. Mainly because every time he wants to go outside she has to put on his harness, use the leash and then take him down three flights of stairs outside. And he wants this done often. And it’s winter. We have the pet door. We win.