A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to Being a Grown-Up

I'm a lawyer. Not a soccer mom. But little boys do funny things to their mothers. My little boy does particularly funny things to his mother--like lick her arms during church and hang from her like a spider monkey (while she flaps her arms and shrieks "Spider Monkey! Get down!" She might encourage him to do funny things.).

Little girls do funny things to their mothers too. After GiGi, I don't look at my career as mine alone. It's an example for a little girl who will grow up in a world where telephone cords don't exist (RJ saw a picture of one in his Llama, Llama book and had to ask what it was), a world where college girls believe they can do anything a man can do (which I'm not sure I believe anymore), a world where moms carry the same handbags as movie stars--and we don't think that's unusual or extraordinary.  It's funny, in a way. 

I'm 35, but I'm not a grown up. I still want to sleep in my little girl room at home sometimes, and there's nothing quite so comforting as my mom puttering in her kitchen--or mine. I still call my dad "daddy," and I always will. It's funny.  I have a mortgage, a driver's license, a bar license, and life insurance. But, I still feel like the same 12 year old girl who got a giggly thrill from staying up past 10. I still feel naughty if I'm out past curfew, and every time I have to put RJ in timeout, I wonder how I became the enforcer. 

A funny thing happened on the way to becoming a grown up: I mommied up. Gave into practicality and functionality. Gave up the cool factor (if I ever had one).

I got 

a 

Minivan:

It's true. It finally happened:

And I love it. The automatic doors flip my switches. 

So does this guy. A minivan man, so to speak. Or rather, the guy who gave up his turn for a new car so that we could get a family truckster. With automatic doors.  'Cause he's awesome like that. 

We're turning into grown-ups together. And sometimes, he puts RJ in timeout too. But on the best days, he turns into Coach Daddy: 

They lost the first game. Big time. But if you asked RJ if he had fun, "Yes!" And that's what matters. That, and his "Thank you for coaching my team, Dad," even after a rough start to the season.

He didn't kick the ball. Not once. But he had a ball. 

GiGi cheered from the sidelines, in the rain. Her Auntie Amy cheered too. 

And I'm growing up. I'm learning that being a soccer mom isn't such a bad thing. 

Our soccer player is also a photographer.  I think he did a pretty good job. 

And....Just completely gratuitous--because I haven't had time to keep up with my family memory keeper duties:

She's walking. And thinning out. But she's still got some junk in her trunk.  

These two are helping me be a grown up. Most of the time. But they also remind me to have fun, to take time to play super hero--not to try to be a super hero. 

And one more shout out to one of the world's best daddies. (I've got a world's best daddy too. I may be a soccer mom, but I'm not a grown-up yet.). 

Thanks for the van. And thanks for turning me from a lawyer into a soccer mom. 

Even if we do lose a few.