I spent half of my lunch hour at work today on the phone with my father. (The other half was spent being awesome at Wheel of Fortune.) This is a pretty common practice for me, since I am very close with both of my parents and I usually speak to at least one of them every day. When people are around to overhear my half of the conversation, they are often surprised to find out that it is my dad on the other end of the phone because of the way that I talk to him. Such was the case today; a couple of my coworkers were there and thought that I was talking to a friend, not my father.
I like that I have this kind of relationship with my parents. A lot of the time I don’t really feel like our relationship is “parent and child” so much as “experienced adult and (much) less experienced adult”. I know that to my parents (especially my mother) I will always be their little girl, but I appreciate that they don’t treat me that way anymore. I feel like they treat me like I am a responsible and intelligent adult, which I might not always deserve but I’ll take what I can get.
I think that my parents are proud of me. I have a degree, I have a job, I have a boy that is good to me, and I have experienced a lot of things that many people can only dream of. I don’t think they worry about me all that much. I mean, parents will always worry, but I haven’t given them much to worry about. They raised me to be able to support myself, and they did an excellent job of that. I might not be exactly where they hoped I would be, but for 24 years old I think I’m doing pretty well for myself and I think they agree.
I wonder about what the boy’s parents think about him moving all over the country with me and what he is choosing to do with his life. Is he everything that they hoped for? In their minds, is he still a kid floundering around with no real direction in life? I also wonder what they really think about me, but then maybe I don’t want to know the answer to that. I know that my family has fully accepted the boy into their lives; they love him like a son, my sisters love him like a brother. I don’t see that happening with me and the boy’s family at all… I still think that his mom is miffed with me for stealing him away from her house. I wonder how the boy feels about his relationship with his parents; whether they make him feel like an adult or still like a child only somewhat taller. I suppose I could ask him, but maybe it’s not the kind of thing that he gives much thought to.
I wish that my parents and the boy’s parents could be friends. I think that my mother is a bit too outgoing and overwhelming for his mother though, and his father lives a bit too far away from my father to really have a friendship. Even though I think they might really get along, given their shared interests in homebrewing beer, arguing for the sake of arguing, and giving me advice about buying a home. I don’t know. I picture us having a wedding like in that movie where the bride’s side is full of loud people and the groom’s side has maybe 10 to 15 people that are all quiet and prim and proper looking. But I digress.
Oh hey, was this supposed to be a knitting blog? Look, I’ve been knitting:
I almost have new socks.