by Heide Fitch

Created on: May 09, 2008

A few days ago I stopped by the house that a friend of mine had recently purchased. We (meaning Cora, 3, Claire, 1, and myself) were there to take the grand tour and stare in awe at how clean and contemporary a child-less house can be. Upon pulling into the driveway, Cora looked the house up and down and said, very matter of factly, "Well that is good. If the Big Bad Wolf comes they'll be safe."

I was puzzled. The look on my face must have given that away, because she sighed and said "It's made of bricks!" If she knew how to use the word "duh" I am certain she would have, but the tone of her voice left little need. She, being only 2 months shy of her fourth birthday, was wiser than me and she knew it. After all, who was the one to conclude that, because of the structural soundness of her house, my friend would remain sheltered even after a heavy huffing and puffing session from the resident hairy villain. Pretty simplistic point of view.

We both pull into the same driveway, yet our views are miles apart. Cora believes that you build a solid house and live happily ever after. I arrive at the same conclusion, but only after assessing the distance from her new residence to her place of employment, evaluating her potential bonding ability with her neighbors, considering the cost of her new mortgage weighted against the benefits of homeownership, reviewing the proximity of good schools, grocery stores and restaurants, and calculating whether all of these factors together will make this new house a perfect setting for their days spent endlessly rocking into retirement from this very front porch (wait, I forgot to check if you even have a front porch Michelle?!).

And now do you see why my daughter, like many children her age, was right in believing that she is in fact wiser than me and many my age? I know that growing up is a package deal. With each added candle on your cake, your belief that the birthday wish you just made will actually come true diminishes, while your responsibilities increase. The reason I initially had no idea what my daughter was talking about had little to do with the fact that I no longer believe in fairy tales, but rather that I had trained my mind to replace the tendencies toward make believe with the harsh realities of life.

I have said too many times to count that adults complicate a life that children live simply. So why don't we look to them when we are on the verge of a melt down or completely stressed out (perhaps because they are the root cause of said meltdown, but I digress). Watching them can teach us endless lessons. For instance, when Cora is sad she asks for a hug, when she is lonely she finds someone who wants to play with her, when she can't quite get her pants buttoned, she asks for help. Pretty simple behaviors that we, as adults, often fail to mimic.

When does childishness become immaturity? Is there a magical age when we are supposed to stop playing hide and seek with our friends and start hosting dinner parties instead? Why can't I like roller coasters as much (if not more) than Cora? Why must I feel guilty when I want to play the games at Chuck E. Cheese, too?

Oh right, because I am the parent. I am the responsible one who must worry or no one will. I get that. I really do, and I actually enjoy being the token worrier in our family. Someone has to pay the mortgage on time or the Big Bad Wolf won't even get the opportunity to test out his lung capacity. But is there a happy medium? If I had you over for a nice home cooked meal, would you play freeze tag with me afterwards?

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