Life is full of raw irony. When you are holding down the middle ground on the aging timeline, it becomes all too apparent that not only is life unpredictable, it is downright impossible.
For example, who would have imagined that the daughter who screamed at the very sight of a car seat for the first year of her life would turn out to love driving more than anyone else in the family? I can, even now, visualize her red little nose and her dripping eyes as I stuffed her into the dreaded seat which would confine her for the entire ten minutes it would take to get anywhere. She would look at me with salty disdain from her perch in the center of the back seat, angry and unforgiving, until I pulled her out again.
When she got a little older, she got more enterprising, and put her brain power to work on thwarting me in my quest for ultimate safety. I would buckle her in and sit down in the driver's seat to pull away when, pouf, there she would be, hanging over the seat, clutching me around the neck in a death grip. This maneuver was usually accompanied by a wailing sound, and it wasn't always the kid.
Ultimately, you can shove a child into their car seat, but you cannot make them sit there, and she won. I got a booster seat, which was the first of many negotiated automobile compromises to come. While I knew it wasn't really up to approved safety standards, it was better than a two year old hurtling around unrestrained in the interior of the moving car. Ultimately, in the interests of ever leaving the driveway again, I had to give in.
Ironically, as I said earlier, that same child is now firmly planted in the driver's seat of her car every chance she gets, and loves the power and the feel of the car on the road. In fact, she would rather drive than do almost anything. The car that once confined her is now her ticket to the larger world outside her home, and she rushes here and there with unrestrained passion for the freedom she now enjoys.
As a parent, I find irony in much that happens in life. I have spent the last 25 years making myself obsolete, only to find that I don't want to let go. Just when your children get to be interesting people, they suddenly want to spend time with everyone but you. The same children whose impeccable manners are widely praised by everyone else cannot remember the most common courtesy at home.
There is also irony in being an adult "child." I have seen my friends and relatives struggle with the caretaking of a parent that is no longer able to do so for themselves. Instead of depending on the adults who have cared for them their entire lives, suddenly, the roles are reversed, and they are now taking care of their parents. It is a difficult transition, both mentally and emotionally, for both parties.
All their lives, my children have heard, "I am the parent, you are the child, and that means I am in charge." How ironic it will be when suddenly the child holds all the cards, and I won't have a deck any more. Hopefully they will be old enough that their memories will be failing.
Ironies come in all shapes and sizes, of course. It is one of life's smaller ironies that the number of red lights you will have to stop for is directly proportional to how late you left the driveway. If you left on time for a dinner party, or, even better, early, you will have the green light express and arrive 20 minutes before the hostess has gotten out of her shower. If you left five minutes after the last second, it will take you 40 minutes to go ten miles, and you will arrive after dessert is on the table.
Mixed in one way, flour and water make paste. Ironically, mixed another way, they make lefse, the Norwegian version of a tortilla. One is inedible, the other is delectable. Sweet irony.
Irony is defined by people differently, I think, meaning that what I consider to be ironic, you may not. For example, I find it ironic that I ended up with two children, because when I was in college, I was never going to have any at all. I also find it ironic that every appliance goes bad at once, that we fertilize the grass so we can cut it down, and that eating "natural" and organic foods is more costly than shipping in chemically preserved foods from the other side of the world.
I find it ironic that there are permanent press clothes, which are always wrinkled. Does anyone else find it ironic that the garage door always breaks when you are on the inside and can't get out, rather than stopped outside, and struggling to get in?
Mother Nature is full of irony. Beautiful roses also have thorns. Honey bees have stingers. Ten minutes is forever standing in line, but flies by when you are on the ride. Water is so soft and formless it just washes over you, but it can also carve deep canyons that can be seen from outer space.
There is an old saying, strike while the iron's hot. Although you can get burned, a little irony goes a long ways in removing the wrinkles from life. It's up to you - do you want your life to be safely permanent press, or are you going to take the chance of getting scorched on the hot iron?
I say get out the ironing board!
