Sunday, December 30, 2012

The Rules for Being a Grown-up

Hubs told me that when he was a kid, he thought one of the things you had to do to be considered a grown-up man was to have tons of baseball stats memorized, and he was worried about his upcoming maturity.  Not only did he not have stats memorized, but he didn't even like baseball.  He said the weirdest thing about it was that he didn't know where he got the idea, his dad wasn't a stat spouting baseball groupie.  At least my milestone for being grown-up had some basis in reality.  When I was a kid, my parents listened to country music (except for Saturday mornings, when my dad would crank up the radio to the local polka music station).  We had a steady diet of all the country greats, Donna Fargo, Mel Tillis, George Jones.  My folks even went to the Grand Ole Opry on their honeymoon and Hee Haw was a Saturday night staple at our house.  I thought you couldn't consider yourself an adult until you listened to country music - rock music was for teenagers, when you hit your early twenties,  you started listening to country and became an adult and when you were a grandparent, you advanced to easy listening.  Those were the RULES, people!  It was simple, if you listened to rock music, you weren't allowed to have kids, yet and the minute you got the call from the hospital about grandkid #1, you immediately switched over to elevator music.  I'm not sure when I realized that you could, in fact, give birth while still loving Van Halen, but it was a huge relief, because I'm still not a huge fan of Country music (of course, Dwight Yoakam is the exception to that rule).  I'm not sure why I'm sharing this with you other than the fact that hubs just had Freebird blasting in the other room and I was jamming along in here and I realized that we broke all the rules for being grown-ups (neither of us know any baseball stats either).

In case you were wondering, Diesel has been making a wide berth around the dishwasher the last couple days. I'm sure he'll eventually forget the traumatic experience of Friday night, but in the meantime, it's nice to know my dishes aren't getting pre-washed while sitting in the washer.

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