Milestones

It's so strange to have another mature adult living in our home.

I mean, he didn't start out that way, of course, but here he is.
24.
Getting ready to finish the last 18 months of college.

How is this possible?? I still feel like the 26 year old mom who was handed that little baby for the first time. Oh sure, I don't look like her. I definitely wear larger clothing, have more gray hair, and oh my GOD gravity has taken its toll.

But that's not what this post is about. I'm just doing my customary digression off into wtf-land. If you visit here, read my ramblings and leave, going, hmm, wtf? then I have done my job.

So Matt has matured. Last week, he went shopping with a friend who is a girl for clothing to wear to another friend who is a girl's wedding on Sunday. He did not ask for my input. Or money (not that he ever asks for money) or anything. He just said he'd be out all afternoon shopping with friends.

Then he came home and modeled the clothes he had picked out. He looks really nice in them. Adult. Mature.

For two afternoons before the wedding, he was driving to a rental place in Clackamas, picking up chairs and tables and a salad bar and all kinds of stuff... which he delivered to the venue for his friend.

Remember, the boy works graveyards. But he stayed up to do all this stuff. Had to take the cover off the back of his truck, drive here, drive there, and try to catch up on his sleep in between. He's such a nice guy, really. I'm awfully proud of him.

Fast forward to Saturday night. I don't mean evening, like seven or eight. Nope, I mean night. As in 10 and I am about to go to bed. And he says, "Mom, will you help me iron the clothes I got for the wedding?"

I said,"Yes, go get them."

And then he said, "Well, I haven't washed them yet."

He hadn't, either. In fact, hadn't even cut the tags off the damn things. So as I wandered off to bed on Saturday night, he was busily doing laundry and getting ready for work.

I set my alarm for 7:30 on Sunday morning (GAHHHHH) and got up and ironed his shirt and pants. Took longer to get out the ironing board and find the iron than it did to do the actual ironing. My usual ironing method involves a damp towel, a load of wrinkled stuff and a clothes dryer. Tumble the friggin' wrinkles right out. But I do know how to iron, unfortunately.

So he got all dressed up and went to a friend's wedding and it made me feel so weird. I remember when my friends started getting married. Long after I had, actually. Or most of them. And how it made me feel so... adult.

Then, we all reproduced. Or most of us, anyway.

Thing is, the next milestone is bunches of friends starting to die.

Ever realize how short life really is?