I turn 40 this year. In 10 month and 4 days to be exact. We often kid, it is the obligatory thing to do, about the horrors of it. Truth be told though, I am not upset. At all. In the least bit. Come December 29, 2016, I will get up and have what I am sure will be a normal day. There will be no wailing, hair pulling (well, no more than usual), sobbing in an empty tub surrounded by wine bottles. At the most it has made me more reflective on how I have lost myself a little bit. Okay, a lot. Like Grand Canyon size a lot. But alas, I am more of a “Let’s fix this shit.”kinda gal and not a “My life has been wasted, I might as well pick out a grave plot and call it a day.” lady. I do have a list of what I want to accomplish. Some of it is trivial. And some it is huge. And some of it is private and not appropriate to share. Boundaries people, believe it or not I do have them. But first, a pros and con list of turning forty. Because I love lists.
- Random hairs that only seem to show up when I am nowhere near a pair of tweezers. Seriously, WTF.
- My cute little grey hairs have literally over night turned into a streak that would make Sooki’s character in X-Men look tame.
- The lack of bladder control has reached an all time high. I fear sneezes, coughing, laughing, and shopping in the far back of Target.
- Mammograms and colonoscopies have become more of a reality and less something your mom had to do.
- Metabolism. I can’t even with that lazy bitch.
- An increased awareness of important adulty stuff, like retirement plans and something kids these days call a credit score. Neither of which I have.
- Everything hurts in the morning. I have a sneaky suspicion that I look like Danny Devito’s Penguin as I try to move around before my joints are loosen up.
- I have to dig my ID out less and less. Which is a good thing, I kinda don’t even know where it is right now.
- I literally do not give two shits what people think of me anymore. You either like me or you don’t. My dance card is full. I am happy to write your name on the back but really, I am not going to chase you. I don’t have the desire, time, or energy to win people over.
- Bathing Suits. You would think this would be in the con section, you know with saggy 40 year old boobs and all but nope. I officially have joined the “It is okay to not look great in a suit” club so there is way less stress. While y’all are worrying about your ass in that two piece, I am having a blast swimming with my kiddos and sneaking alcohol in coffee mugs into the community pool.
- People assume you have your act together. Naturally, how does a person get to 40 without getting it together. I mean, I totally don’t. I walked into Kroger’s the other day with no bra on and bedhead to buy cheese and a chocolate milk. But it is nice to know that people think I do.
- My car insurance rate isn’t too bad.
- I am sure there is more, but I am a little hungover right now so I can’t think too hard. My brain cells hate me.
So there ya go. This is going to be a two part blog. It would be terribly long otherwise. So I have chopped it in half and saved the other half for this weekend. I can only assume most of you read this while using the bathroom and I have read that it isn’t good for you to sit on the toilet for too long. You will get the ‘roids (ooh maybe that should be in the con section). So I am doing this for your own good. But please feel free to comment and let me know if you have any pros or cons to add. I would love to hear where others stand on this age thang.
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Last Friday, I got so pissed at Blondie that I yelled. Yelling happens a lot in our house. I am not super proud of that but it is our go to form of communication. I am a work in progress, what can I say. She didn’t even do anything terribly wrong. I didn’t catch her breaking into homes or making meth in her room. Simply I caught her with something outside that I had told her multiple times, including the day before, that she needed to leave in her room. She got me on a bad day and I laid into her as she sat on her bed and cried. After several times of asking/yelling why she took it when she knew I didn’t want her to, she broke down sobbing and said those dreaded words….”I just want them to think I am cool.” This is the point where you could hear my heart shatter into a million pieces.
Blondie, to my knowledge, makes friends very easily. She is adored by the neighborhood kids (the very ones she was trying to impress), younger and older. She has not reported to me any difficulties at school, minus one little girl last year who tried to tell her that it was super weird that she wasn’t more girly. She shrugged that off easily enough or so I thought. I have raised her to be kind to all, a trait that fits her sweet nature and helps her fit in wherever she goes. And yet, she worries about being liked. She worries about being cool. She worries about fitting in. I feel like I am entering into a whole new territory. I struggled at her age with self esteem and fitting in. I struggled until I was in my twenties. I really don’t want her to do that too. I don’t want her to lose who she is in order to fit the norm. because she is different, she is amazing.
Back to last Friday, those words hung in the air for awhile. I took five deep breaths and sat down. “You are so awesome kiddo. And so loved. Why do you feel you need to impress someone? Did something happen?”
“No. I just worry a lot. I know I am a little weird and I think they might realize that one day.”
“Everybody is weird. Weird is good. Otherwise. life would be very boring. I promise you baby, you are impressive in your own right and do not need to go out of your way to impress people to like you. If you have to do that, they are not worth knowing.”
We talked a little longer but somehow my anger dissipated and was replaced with sadness. I am not ready for her to carry these weights on her heart. I don’t know what to do for her when she hurts like this. I don’t want her to change one bit. Not for others. Saturday morning, we went out and got supplies for her Doctor Who themed Valentines box and cards and grabbed some lunch. She seemed to be back to herself but my worry lingers. We haven’t talked again on the subject but we will. Instead at lunch, I put my phone away and let her control the conversation as we slowly ate our fries and sipped our “beers’ (mine was of hops, hers of root). She designed a new superhero and we made up his powers. She spoke briefly of a little crush at school. And then proceeded to go into great detail about Benjamin Franklin and his involvement in the Revolutionary War. I dare say, I may have learned a thing or two. But mostly I just sat there and thought about how cool she was already.
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A week ago, I was doing the typical “Holy shit, Moose is on his way home. Let’s try to make it look like we are atleast a bit productive and not huge pigs when he is gone.” straightening of the house. In the kids bathroom I was wiping a week’s worth of toothpaste off the counter (how flipping hard is it to get it on the toothbrush?) when I noticed a brown thumbprint on the cold water controller thingy. “Oh….please be chocolate..” I said to myself. And it hit me. That’s the name. The name I have been looking for. I have been sitting on the idea of doing this, writing, for a long time. The thing that kept me from it, or atleast what I tell myself, is I didn’t have a name that properly described my life, my thoughts, my moods, my kids, the unexplained stains on my furniture.
Back to last Saturday, me standing in the bathroom staring at the sink. The reality is the stain on the cold water thingy could have been chocolate or it could have been poop. The Dude had been in there recently to wash his hands after I snuck him a chocolate covered pretzel. But then again, both boys are in the learning to wipe their own butts phase and quite frankly, it doesn’t always go well. It could have been poop. There was a high probability that it was poop. Can we just celebrate that they are atleast washing their hands? It is gone now, sprayed with a crap ton of bleach cleaner and replaced with toothpaste fingerprints. Seriously, what the hell is with the toothpaste abuse?
Please be chocolate is something I mutter to myself no less than twenty times a day. It isn’t always about actual chocolate vs poop, atleast not as much as when the kids were younger. It is about good vs bad. There is a lot of both in life and I try my best to not pretend otherwise. I promise to share both as I have always done.
With that maybe chocolate (but most likely poop) fingerprint, a concept has become clearer to me. And I am going to run with it. Hopefully you will join me. Hopefully you will share this so it will grow. It won’t always be about the kids, it won’t always be about me. It will be about life viewed through my eyes. It won’t always be perfect so be kind and forgiving. Or atleast respectful.
I will be referring to the family by their nicknames for their own privacy. Many of you know them but still, I would prefer to leave it at Moose, Blondie, The Dude, and Red. Especially in case this gets bigger for which I have no expectations of but still….just in case it turns out to be chocolate.
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