"When I Grow Up" #122

My four-year-old second daughter, who has been helping me cook more often lately, said to me:

"Mommy,
when I grow up,
I'll make dinner every day except Friday!

So you only have to cook on Fridays, okay?"

I was taken aback.

I am an adult, but
am I not the kind of adult she imagines?
I wondered.

For someone like me who isn't good at cooking,
preparing three meals a day was a chore.

My eldest daughter is a picky eater,
my husband is very particular about food,
and my second daughter is a challenger who loves trying new things.

First,
I have to think of a menu that satisfies all three of them.

Next,
I go grocery shopping while consulting my wallet.

And since I don't have time to make dinner at night, I have to plan it around my schedule for the day and
make dinner before picking up my second daughter.

Just writing this makes me feel heavy.

This is the "adult" I portray.

But the "adult" my daughter imagines is completely different.

It's freedom.

And she is genuinely looking forward to it.

When I heard my daughter talk about "when I grow up,"

"Yay!
Then let's have curry every Friday!"

I replied with a laugh, acting quite childishly.

But my daughter was dreaming of becoming an adult,
and she was so excited.

The adult my daughter imagines was much freer.

At some point, I had started

collecting only "I have to do this"

and "I should do that,"

becoming the "adult that adults imagine."


Maybe it's okay to be an adult who lives more freely.

Thinking that,
I decided on a whim to use the time before picking her up
to do something I actually enjoy.
I haven't made dinner yet.

Honestly, I'm panicking.

While desperately trying to hide my anxiety,

I say to my daughter when she gets home,
"Today,

maybe I'll have you make dinner for me."
"Yay!"

And so, in the evening,

I stand in the kitchen with my second daughter.
Wearing an apron,

standing on a step stool in the kitchen,
I watched over her small, grown-up-looking back,
acting quite childishly myself.

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