a grown woman

My mother tells me I'm a grown woman. I wonder at those words. Am I really grown up enough to make some of the decisions grown ups are called to make?

Like, I'm qualified to make decisions concerning insurance carriers and tax documents? Really? I'm not feeling it.

My mother stayed at home and raised four kids while she watered the rose bushes. She's the smartest woman I know. Talented, too. She can pray the rosary while she does just about anything. Like make Saturday morning pancakes (Mmm...) and syrup from scratch. Mama reads hefty archaeological texts for fun. And has no problem making decisions about insurance carriers and tax documents.

Daddy is candy. He went to work every morning in a tie and swung a five iron on the weekends with generals and their daddies. He can fix anything and gives the best hugs, hands down. He's a natural story teller and a pretty great listener, too.  He was always smart. He married Mama.

Together, they made four pretty wonderful, pretty good looking kids. Just kidding about that last part, I have to remind myself I'm not writing fiction. Anyways, they're proud.

I'm thankful I'm the youngest of four. I like being the baby. Always have. There's security in that like no body's business. They all had to do it first. I got to watch. And sometimes laugh.

With two sisters in the house I always had something to wear and someone to help me with homework. Theoretically speaking. Help is truly an interesting word, but that's another story.

When I got older, there was always someone to explain, to guide, or just assemble something for me. My job was to look on and pretend to help. In fact, just recently I helped my sisters put up an electric fence. It seems some pooches like to dig under hidden places to escape lives of leisure. I like a bit of excitement, myself, from time to time.

I got to hold the wire. And hand out twist ties like a pro.

And then there's my brother who has helped with every one of my cars at one time or another. It seems I like to leave the lights on. And run out of gas.

Don't get me started on the number of times I've moved. From here. To there. Nine times in my twenties, that was fun, now let's stop.

And they always showed up. Every time. All I had to do was take the teasing....

I guess I am a grown woman. I'm just glad I didn't get here by myself. And that they're still showing up.