Don’t tell me to grow up … this is as far as I go

A little while ago I saw a discussion on TV about people’s mental age and after giving it the once over to ensure it wasn’t simply more garbage plumping out daytime TV, the thought crossed my mind that I could well have an explanation here for ongoing sillyness that those around me have to endure.

When I mentioned this to my father he too indicated in familial fashion that he thought it was rubbish, until I pointed out to him that my brother (who is three years my junior) in practice acts fifteen years older than me. At least.

My dear old dad had to concur that it was true; I am still a little girl (my words and not his, but I’m sure the thought ran through his head as he sighed in accepted resignation)

Only yesterday I visited my “older” brother and we took our offspring to the park. During the visit said bro shot me a glance that said he was mildly embarrassed when I got my swing to at least eight feet off the ground at it’s peak. The only thing my biological age has done is instilled a fear in me that now stops me trying to do the 360º.

And then this very morning my five year old boy caught me with my hand in the Maltesers bag at breakfast time. I smiled nervously at him explaining that it was OK for Mummies to have chocolate instead of weetabix, at which point he muttered … “Oh Mummy …. sort yourself out”

I have to say I found his middle-aged approach to my perceived weakness a tad worrying, until I realised that it could actually work well for the both of us. I’ve long since known that I need the voice of reason whispering in my ear on occasion, I just didn’t think it would be coming from a person quite so tiny.

Our teatime dancing sessions that more often than not involve gyrating to Girls Aloud have become legendary. I rarely can wait for the ice cream to have been devoured before I’m up shimmying to Can’t Speak French; we can now perform the cheeky wiggle with such panache that you’d think we’d choreographed it personally for Cheryl and co.

This is all standard parental practice you might think, until I admit to the fact that these dance frenzies take place all the time … even when I’m alone. I’m guessing I’m possibly around the nine year old mark, so perhaps I still have some jurisdiction over a five year old.

I think little Debsy only came out to play about two years after said son was born. I really was a proper grown up until then; you need to be in order to select the drugs you want in the labour ward.

So what drawbacks does this have in practice?

It can make me an incorrigible tease; I’ll push and push until I’m staring over the precipice mouthing “oooops ….”

And coming from a family of “adults” (save for my auntie who is around the same “age” as me), I frequently get cast as the “lost cause”. I do tend to find that dipping my head and flashing my eyes gets me out of most bothersome situations though, along with extra helpings of cake.

Of course, the grown up version of acceptable cheekiness is flirting. Oh, don’t we love that? Once you have the grown-up attributes to drive as fast as you want down the suggestive highway, it’s the most fun you can have that’s legal, calorie-free and non-taxable. And when you add a childish predisposition for high jinks it can add a propulsion that leaves standard interaction stalling on the start line.

Whatever the true reason is for my apparent refusal to grow up, you can be sure of one thing…

Tea will be late tonight due to last minute dress-rehearsals of “Love Machine” taking place in a dining room near you NOW …

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Filed under dating, flirting, Life, love and the universe, Men, parenting, relationships, Uncategorized, Women

5 responses to “Don’t tell me to grow up … this is as far as I go

  1. Jan

    Right there with you Debs.

    After I lost my dear dad last year last year, I started to let go of my adult. I figured that we were not put here to be so serious, and that our lives should be joyous. As an adult, lik emost of us, struggling to simply survive in a society that strangles us with taxes, I decided to just let it all go – in my head anyway.

    Now, at 51 I have discovered the absolute joy of doing things like a kid. I run, I skip and I cycle extraordinary distances once a week. Last week I bought a hula hoop and practice every day, a skipping rope is on the way and I am training as a dance instructor, particularly to do the new fantastic Zumba dancing and also as a laughter facilitator – something kids do a lot, adults a little.

    I feel liberated. My childlike wonder of lifes experiences, and my enthusiasm and joy gives people around me permission to let their kid out as well – which is awesome.

    Ever seen two ‘grown’ women head bashing together, on the motorway in the car singing [aka shouting] to Adam Ant ‘Stand & Deliver. One singing the main song, the other the stupid chorus ‘diddly diddly quark quark’ – yes really it does, listen to it!

    Same two women standing at the tube two weeks ago with two hoops, experimenting with it as earings, lip piercing and around hips ‘ does my bum look big in this?’. People laughed… on the tube!….. kids make people laugh..

    Surrounded by ‘adult’ parents as a child, I never experienced the joy of being a kid. Having discovered it, I must thankfully admit that I have attracted a whole plethora of friends [almost all younger than me and some 20 plus years younger!!] that know how to ‘play’.

    Not everyone gets it, and that’s ok. We do need some adults around but, in my view, I am no rush to start dribbling over my porridge and smelling of cabbage, so I will probably plan a marathan when I am in my 70’s.

    Great article..

    • debsylee

      Jan, thank you for your wonderfully heartfelt comments.

      Of course, you will hear nothing but encouragement from me. You go girl … and tell me more about this fabulous Zumba dancing …

      Bless you, and keep in touch! x

  2. William Bobick

    This is so great!! I refuse to grow up to and so I can relate completely. You are wonderful!!!

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