Monday, August 20, 2012


When I was a teenager, the weekends were never very fun for me. I spent most of my time lounging around my house or running errands with my mother. It was very rare that I would go anywhere or do anything mostly because my mother, a professed home body, and my overly cautious father usually refused to allow me to travel outside my own yard much less to a friends house whose parents they had not met (they never met any of my friends parents by design I think). My days were filled with messing around in the yard or watching television.

Then, my sister got a car. She is two years older than me and was always my closest friend. Granted we always had to get permission to leave the driveway and even then we had a very strict curfew of usually about an hour after we left. Still, we were free. We left and roamed the neighborhoods, raiding convenince stores of all the candy we could buy with what change we scraped together. We spent time with our friends, going to dinner and Starbucks with them. We went to every theater event and outing that the school had. We just went out.

It was my first taste of freedom from the house and I couldn't get enough.

So of course by the time I got a car, we had changed states and my parents had bigger things to worry about. I had my own freedom and I was rarely home. I spend my afternoons and evenings out with my friends. Going to theater events and Target as often as I could manage.

After graduation, I spent every waking moment away from the house. My parents, by then involved in a rather ugly divorce, had little time to watch after me and I would leave home at sun up and sometimes not return until well into the next morning. The weekends were no exception. Especially after I hit 21. My friends and I would go out to the clubs and spend hours dancing and drinking and making fools of ourselves. We would be out all night and then some how make it to work the next morning.

Those were the days.

Now, though? I have new priorities. I rarely leave the house unless I just have to. I prefer to spend my time at home with my boys. Doing crafts or watching a movie or playing outside in whatever assemblance of a yard we have at the time. Don't get me wrong, we spend our fair share of time out running around and goofing off too, but mostly we stay home. Part of it is lack of funding. Part of it is lack of energy. Part of it is lack of gumption. Its been fifteen years since my sister got her drivers liscense... fifteen years. My sister's drivers liscense is almost old enough to have its own drivers liscense (That ought to make her feel old). Maybe that explains my turn as a homebody. Oldness?

Of course it could just be the fact that leaving the house with both of the boys is a bit like leaving the house with a couple of rabid, greased up monkeys that haven't eaten in days. That might play a part as well.

Still, I suppose I have sewn those wild oats and am just settling down into life a little. Being a homebody isn't near as bad as it used to feel like it was. There is something nice about being surrounded by things that you chose for yourself (and you won't have to pay for if your kids break). Not so bad after all.

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