Adulting Sucks

I was reading through all of my previous blog posts and noticed that as time has passed they've gotten less funny and more serious. Then I had to wonder why that was the case? Cal is still funny as hell. Kaia still has hormonal breakdowns worthy of a B-rated thriller with poorly timed comic relief. And Dillon is still mildly OCD and the classic middle child. So what has changed? Age. Mine. Theirs. The only one traumatized by all of this age progression seems to be me. I hate being a responsible adult. Despise it. And some days I stomp my feet and refuse to do it. Well, I do the bare minimum. It's incredibly frustrating to watch my kids speak and act like adults, but think and react like children. Of course, that basically describes me. I struggle with their literal ignorance. What do you mean, why am I yelling at that car? And having a daughter in high school.... Well, there should be a support group. I have started one of my own, with a few other members; Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, Vodka. Anyway, I'm fairly certain I'm entering my mid-life in full-on crisis mode. I bought a gun. Honestly, it's just because our little town has gone bat-shit crazy, but I've fantasized some scenarios where a few people get maimed. I swear I wear parental guilt like a silk scarf, and some days it tries to choke me. I fully understand that it is irrational to think I can make it to every meeting and every function and not murder someone; but if I dare miss one game, it feels as though I might as well have sent my kid straight to Juvie. And some of you moms are just mean. Bad mouthing the other moms for missing something- don't think I don't know you talk shit about me. But to be fair, I talk about you too, so we're good. And at night when I am exhausted and crawl into bed, it rips my heart out if my baby girl has to stay up doing homework. Anyone else have the urge to do it for them? Bueller? And what's with these age spots that popped up overnight? In a 24 hour period I turned into a damn appaloosa. What in THE hell. Most days I do feel a little wiser, until my 9 year old comes home and proves me inept. I'm still not smarter than a 4th grader. I have absolutely no desire to buy a Porsche though. Or a Harley. Now, a four-wheeler? I'm down. In the meantime, I've got some pretty groovy bitches who are helping me navigate the road to 40. Who's old? Your mom's old.