Adulthood or Something Like It

When do you know how to really be an adult?

I remember lying in my bed as a teenager with thoughts rolling through my head like...

How do taxes work?  Will I ever have a clue how to do them?  What if I don't do my taxes right, then what happens?

Who decides things about insurance?  Do you always just have an insurance man come to your dining room table and hammer it out for the year or is that more of a Dad thing?  What do you do if you aren't Dad?   

What will I ever do if the furnace breaks, freeze?  

Please tell me I wasn't a completely neurotic teenager and you all had these types of items running through your mind as well.  Or at the very least, it happened to you once college hit.  No?  Twenty-five then!  It had to start happening at twenty-five! 

The good news is - I now take care of my taxes, insurance, and have successfully handled a new hot water heater, which I feel is close to the heater of my previous thoughts.  

Does this mean I'm an actual adult?  Probably.  I mean, I am thirty-two.  

BUT.  

Every once in awhile something comes out of right field where I think, "Alright.  Who takes care of this for me?  Oh.  I do?  Shoot."  

Or every once in awhile my mom stands in my kitchen as we are packing it up for the big move and says something absolutely genius to my little sister, "Emily, we are going to put each piece of china in a Ziploc bag.  That way, it won't break on the trip and we aren't wasting a bunch of paper.  She can still use the bags once the china is unpacked."  

That's an entirely different level of adulthood right there.  That is most likely described best as momma-hood - specifically, MommaDebi-hood.  

Someday.  Someday I'll be as cool.  

Do you get that smart when you have kids?  I'm betting that's the ticket.  I don't even have a dog; I just claim the neighbors as my own because he loves me.  Lefty, not my neighbor - let's not start any rumors.