Last week was Spring Break. As mentioned in the previous post, it was spent with my aunt, uncle, and two little cousins outside of San Francisco in a little place called the Central Valley. Aside from there being just about as much to do in their town as there is to do in my hometown: eat, watch TV, bowl, get your nails did, walk the dog, drive nowhere–I had a wonderfully educational experience.
You may be asking yourself–Educational? Really Jess? Please, do let me expand. First off, my aunt is quite the homemaker. She never seems to be that much older than me, until I visit her. It’s when I step into her house and notice that not a single thing is out of place, not even a crumb to be found on the kitchen counter, that I realize–Man. She IS getting old. Now, now. I jest! It’s just that my tiny one-bedroom apartment is, um, far from this level of immaculate. Most people my age tend to shower regularly, sure…but clean our apartments? Please. I would rather do something more productive with my early twenties like watch Rock of Love or Housewives of New York City while thinking about why Rumer Willis looks like that.
Another thing I learned: kids can wait. Not forever. But for the time being, I do not want ’em. I love the tykes known as my cousins, but they require a certain level of patience I just don’t see in myself yet. Maybe patience comes with time or the desire to want children of your own like, immediately. I’ve just never been a “little kid person.” You can’t be competitive and play games with them, because they’re always supposed to win. ‘Cause if they don’twin–watch out! You’re about to see the biggest, bat shit-crazy, hissy fit of a lifetime. I was there. I know what I saw, and it was frightening. I had no idea what to do in this situation. I’m supposed to be the cool, older cousin. They are not supposed to throw tantrums with me. All I wanted to do was lie and say that he had in fact won the game. This would be followed by me throwing my Monopoly Junior money at the kid. Here. Take it. It’s not even real. What do they know? They’re just kids! I think I tend to connect more with the 9-13 year-old age group. –Not because I think they’re cute or anything, but because I don’t have to speak an octave higher in order to sound nice.
This weekend my little brother comes into town. He’s a pretty laid-back fellow who doesn’t require a squeaky clean abode to sleep comfortably when away from one’s home, nonetheless I will be fixing up the apartment in anticipation of his arrival. And if he happens to start talking to me about girls, I’ll let him in on a little story about what I see parenting really being like. It’s like my friend Michaela always says, “Abstinence is a condom for the heart.” So. True.