Yay for us

Most of us find out, eventually, that life as an adult is not all it's cracked up to be. Sure, when you're a kid adults tell you that you can spit in your shoes all you want when you're an adult, but then you grow up and get married and find out that your spouse somewhat frowns on this practice as well.

Of course, this is not to say that you have to give up all the perks of being a kid. My niece was telling me about the kindergarten class her son will enter in the fall. "Some of the days are full days, and some are half," she explained. "But they don't do academics after lunch."

"That's a good policy," I said. "I try not to do any academics after lunch, either."

"Hmmm," she mused. "Maybe that's why Tom's having trouble with some of his employees."

Her son has always been his own best cheerleader. Any accomplishment -- taking another bite of hot dog, pretending to take another bite of hot dog, promising to take another bite of hot dog -- is accompanied by shouts of "Yay!" and clapping for himself. Joe and I have picked up this trait, although not necessarily in connection with hot dogs. We clap for things like remembering to take the garbage out. Also when we refrain from putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher befor taking the clean ones out.

Unfortunately this tendency to self-congratulate has now become so ingrained that I do not think about it anymore. Which means I have started to clap for myself in other, more public settings, such as at work. One day I met with a co-worker to ask her some questions I had on a project, and when we were finally done I wrapped things up with a very mature "Yay!" and clap. My hands were still clapping when I realized what I was doing. I was horrified.

I needn't have worried. She pumped her fist in the air and declared, "Yay for us!"

I wish I could say that milk and cookies followed, but we do have to grow up in some ways.