Age is All Relative
Watching your 15 year old navigate a “relationship” is brutal. It’s hard to watch. It’s hard to stay out of it when you see what they’re doing “wrong”, it’s hard hearing things, it’s hard not hearing things, the whole thing is just torturous. Now, when it’s good, it’s really good, she’s awesome and in a great mood; but when it’s bad, and really, “bad” is relative, what could possibly be “BAD” at 15″?, it’s the end of the world. I remember that, all those feelings, but a teen dating in today’s world with constant communication and social media has to be just awful, I know it’s hard to watch.
My boyfriend had to actually call me on the corded phone, which I would either talk on in the laundry room sitting in a basket of dirty clothes or I would stretch to my bedroom and hope someone didn’t clothesline themselves walking into the kitchen.
Tell me more about the good old days, grandma Christy.
I remember telling Rhymes with Schmay Schmooper on the phone that I loved him in the 6th grade and my mother bellowing from her bedroom, WHAT DID YOU SAY???
There’s this guy at work that I’m in love with. Like love-love. And I don’t really know him, how old he is, or anything about him, but he’s the guy I should have married, that type of guy. I love the idea of him. You know, he’s employed and he would have treated me right, maybe. Who knows. But he’s the image of someone I imagine I should have at least dated at 19.
Side note: I feel like everyone is my age. Like, how old is he? I don’t know, maybe my age? I have zero concept of how old other people are. And the older I get, the younger everyone’s age sounds.
And then there’s the conspiracy theorist I work with. He’s the one I probably would have dated at 19 and then we’d have gone off the grid and lived underground in a tiny house. That’s starting to sound better and better to me.
I have so much anxiety about what’s going to become of me when my kids leave. For better or worse, my whole identity is wrapped up in being their mom, their caregiver, and when they leave and give their own care, what does that make me?
I started crying tonight in Chipotle when Moonshine said, “Are you excited to register me for my senior year? I’m almost out of here, you know.”
And listen, I have the same amount of anxiety about when they leave as I do about what if they don’t leave. It’s really a catch-22. I want them to leave, I’m excited for them to start their lives, I just want them to live at home forever,
I really don’t. I don’t want this time to go faster because it literally seems like yesterday that I was just bringing them home from the hospital, but I’m so excited to see how they turn out, the kind of people they become.
Moonshine was asking me the other night what would have to have to happen for me to not love her anymore, and I said, nothing would make me stop loving you. Then she looked at me kind of creepy so I said, I would probably stop loving you if you killed me.
These kids are really weird.