So, about a week ago I got the email notification. It was out for delivery. I was so excited I began pacing through the house and stalking my front door. I was like a woman possessed. I was standing on my tip toes and peering out the windows on the top of my front door at least every 7 minutes convinced the delivery guy was right around the corner and determined to see him pull it off the truck. You’re probably wondering what had me so excited and convinced it had to be something totally amazing. It was. It was my brand new Dyson Animal vacuum cleaner. It finally showed up at my house at 7:30 PM and by then I was in a complete mood. At this point it was bed time for little midgets and I wasn’t going to be able to play with my brand new toy. My husband thought I had completely lost my mind and he was probably kicking himself for not getting this for me for Christmas or our anniversary as excited as I was. I’m sure in his wildest dreams I would have never been SOOO excited over a vacuum. Later that night when I was lying in bed I started thinking….
“Is this what my life has come to? I used to be THE life of the party. I used be waking up from my nap right about now to go out and paint the town. Now I’m reduced to obsessing over the new (and totally amazing) vacuum that was just delivered.”
I started taking stock of some of my favorite things. It only got worse. I love my new Honda Odyssey minivan (which I like to call my pimped out mom mobile) with a passion that probably borderline unhealthy. I hate when my husband drives it because he messes up my seat position and makes it smell funny. I love it so much I forget it’s a minivan. Sometimes I’m sure that some young guy is checking me out while I’m rocking out to Adele on my way to Target and then I remember….oh yeah, I’m in a minivan with 2 car seats. He’s probably thinks it’s cute that I still think I’m “cool”. The sad list goes on and on. I love my organizing totes for the back of my van and my jogging stroller. I love my new washer and dryer.
I could see a pattern and it wasn’t a pretty one. Somewhere between that night at the Willie Nelson concert in San Antonio 6ish years ago and last week when my vacuum was delivered I had become uncool. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m not styling mom jeans or rocking a mom purse or anything….but still. When had vacuums and minivans become so exciting? The answer was simple. Somewhere over the last 6 years I had become a responsible adult. A husband, kids, a home, deployments, and long hours of staying up with sick little loves and real life had turned me into an actual adult. And I guess that is pretty “cool” too.
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