Whew, having two attachment challenged adult children in the house is fun, just like having two 12-year-olds on a mixture of Crack and Downers. When our kids turn 18 they are adults, right? Not quite, they just think they are. Still, for their sense of well-being it is important for me to support them in managing their new found freedom. It is a lot like pushing two boulders up a hill while having the appearance of walking side-by-side. Very tricky. I could get smashed.
You are living here more independently now, so you have to take responsibility for your stuff, dishes, visits with friends, and money, I say encouragingly. Lots of head bobbing and excitement when I say this, because both of them only heard four words–visits with friends and money. Everything that came before, poof, like magic never happened.
When I came home from work yesterday at 7:30pm to a sink full–and I mean FULL–with dishes, my son says, “Mom, don’t worry, I’m going to do these.” Cool–he is showing a sense of noticing, accepting responsibility, and providing assurance.
This morning when I woke up, the sink was FULL and spilling over onto both sides of the counters. Running out the door, my son yells, “Mom, I’m going to do those when I get home. Don’t worry.” Apparently he thinks I worry about dishes a lot.
About this time my other budding adult shuffles in wearing neon pink ear-muff-like headphones and matching fuzzy jammie shorts with “Bunny Butt” printed in large white letters across, you know. She is getting more food in more dishes that I know she will put somewhere, maybe the floor. I say, It’s pretty messy in here, to which she responds in a near inaudible, distracted whisper, “Yeah,” then wonders out slurping milk from the bowl.
This is going to be interesting. The good new is my lid is firmly affixed with Super Brain Glue, so there will be no flipping it, right? Right.