cliches are cliches for a reason

if your twenties are now your thirties, then am i really twenty (!?) it sure feels like it as i have nothing fully figured out. although i go to an office everyday and perform a job that i somewhat enjoy, i have no clear career goals. I have a husband, but at the moment he's been banished miles away, and i have a 9 year old and a baby. oh and a foreclosure and many unpaid bills and angry creditors.
contrary to popular belief, none of the above make me a full fledged adult. if anything i'm a work in progress.
my dad told me once when he was watching me with my son that i was never going to fully be a grownup, and that statement floats into the veranda and saturates the peonies in my head ever so often.when i do catch a whiff , i smile because i don't ever want to loose the inquisitiveness and relentless pursuit that makes me a teenager at heart. my curiosity will never be satiated, nor will my hunger to learn.
i'm always open and willing; i always jump before i look. i break the law, and wake up late and choose between work flip flops and weekend ones.
i make my own rules and follow the tried and true ones. i'm a stickler for no nonsense tradition and against any kind of modern fetishism.i make breakfast for diner and champagne sorbetto for desert.
i've grown up with my nikolas and he's turned out just perfect so far. his neurotic, silent little soul has been my labor of love, and he's been gone now for 10 days and i miss him. he's my buddy, my pal. he needed the break from me too; i am quite intense. too much sometimes for a boy. boys need their fathers. we belonged to each other for 10 years and i cant help but feel he's slipping away some. my partner in crime, smart enough to know that i was just trying my best and savvy enough to know and be ok with the fact that his mom is not the norm. i'm not stupid, i can tell he's relieved to go over and spend the night with friends with older, more settled parents. he thrives in the deliberate, cozy feel of their homes, their kitchen tables, the full fridges, the nintendo wiis, the jello pudding.
I cannot offer him any of this. i wont. when he makes his own money he can decide what kind of household he runs. until then i'll spend my mommy time writing scholarship letters for art camps, downloading indie rock music for mix Cd's, and making sure i'm there picking him up myself from every activity. i don't like carpools and i don't like groupthink.
in this economy he no longer does very much and the days of theater, swim lessons, tennis and small sided soccer are over. the arts remain because that's intrinsic to the soul and i can always justify eating spaghetti and canned tuna for creative pursuits. call me small minded. after all i'm, just a kid myself.