37

I’ve never made my age a secret…but I spent a lot of years avoiding the question. Especially when my kids were much younger. Divulging my age brought more questions and, well, judgment. It was just easier to let people do the math on their own. If they said anything, I was just glad to not know about it.

Thankfully, I’ve gotten better at not caring. And, hey…this past Saturday, I turned 37. (I just thought I should throw that out there.)

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To be honest, I’m pretty proud of 37. It’s been a while since my age has felt so…strange. And maybe it’s not that 37 sounds so strange, maybe it’s just that I feel like each year should make me feel more like a grown-up. Although…is there ever a point you feel like a grown-up? Isn’t sending a kid off to college grown up enough?

At any rate, I enjoyed the hell out of my birthday and I just don’t think that’s a bad thing.

IT WAS JUST SO NICE.

As I finished up getting ready Saturday morning, The Dude sent me a text message from downstairs with a picture similar to this one telling me I should come downstairs and start my birthday.

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And do I did.

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My brother happened to call just as I took that first sip of my Super Special Birthday Bloody Mary (I’m pretty sure that’s the official name) and I laughed when I realized how spicy, but delicious, it was. Explaining to my brother what had happened, and me mentioning the spicy, my husband says (loudly) that I must like my Bloody Marys like I like my Mexican husband.

(For the record, he’s not wrong.)

At that point, all you could hear was Ramona sputtering how gross and “Ew! Ew! EW!” it all was and I’m pretty sure we’ve scarred her for life. But I guess maybe that’s how you know that you’re doing old and grown-up-type-person right. You know, when you completely and thoroughly disgust your children with what can only now be described at spicy talk and that you find it completely hilarious and awesome. I think THAT is how you know that you’ve made it.

 

Growing Up and Growing Older is Not the Same

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I don’t write much about The Dude here. At least not specifically. He resides somewhere in the periphery of this website because REASONS but I promise he really does reside where all the stuff happens in real life. I just felt like I needed to say that before moving on.

(Most of you know us in real life, so I feel like I’m stating the obvious. Just go with it for storytelling purposes.)

My point of bringing him up now after saying that I don’t really bring him up here is because he’s been on my mind a lot more than usual. We celebrated him being born last week and then this week he had some pretty big deal happenings at the place he goes to every day during the hours of 8-ish and 5-ish. I’m, obviously, really glad he was born and I’m really damn proud of all that he does for our family and how hard he works in everything that he does.

There are a bunch of other feelings that go along with all that but I don’t even know how to put it into words. Or even if I should put it into words. I guess when you spend most of your adult life wondering if you’ll ever start living instead of surviving, it’s hard to imagine anything different. He’s done so much to make so much happen and, yeah…I’m really proud of him. And us.

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I’ve been trying to write a post for another site for the past three days and the words have been completely stuck. It’s not a hard topic, but I feel like every time I get going, I sound like an absolute idiot who doesn’t know what she’s talking about. It’s kinda like when you need to be the parent and sound like a grown-up at the kids’ school or whatever and you totally laugh because, duh…who said we were grown-ups?! As if.

Capable looking ensembles only go so far at making you look like you’re a responsible grown-up.

I don’t know why all these Clueless references showed up in this post, but I’m pretty sure it proves that I’m super NOT a qualified grown up for making college decisions and writing posts that seem important. I mean, I’m the one that left their coffee mug AND lunch bag on top of the car this morning after getting to work.

But I do drive on the right side of the road, even in platforms* so there’s that.

 

 

*Just kidding. I don’t wear platforms. Except for that one time at a pole-dancing class and that’s just gonna have to be a story for another day. (But yes, I was a spectacular idiot there, too.)

 

 

Back in Time

I promised myself that I would get to go to more softball games this year. Afternoon games are hard when you have to leave work SUPER early but this year is important. It’s always important. But you know what I mean.

Today, I got to see my kid play AND somehow I was roped into keeping the scorebook. I haven’t done that in a million years. You can tell by all the mistakes I made. Ha.

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The games were at my old high school and I’d be lying if I said that it wasn’t a strange walk down memory lane. I mean…that’s where I met my husband. The guy I was standing next to tonight keeping track of runs and strikes and outs – watching our kid play one of her first games of her senior year.

Time is weird, you guys. My kid is the same age I was when I met The Dude. Watching her play softball where we met is just funny.

It was strange and awesome and completely perfect timing.

I’m glad I left work early.

 

my marriage is now old enough to drive

A few weeks ago, I was headed to pick Beezus up from school. There was a difference in schedules that day, so I was headed out to the high school a little earlier than normal. And as I stopped at a light not far from the school, a truck pulled up next to me.

I thought,

“Huh. That’s funny. That looks like The Dude’s truck.”

Being that I drive a car much lower than the truck, I couldn’t really see in the window. And, like always, my mind was filled on the next thing. Like my to-do list once I picked up my kids.

“Huh…funny. That guy’s arm looks like it could be The Dude.”

And then the truck’s window rolled down and I happened to look over into my husband’s smiling face.

I laughed. I hadn’t expected to see him. And so my mind ignored the possibility that it COULD be him.

Not that I shouldn’t be happy to see him, but this unexpected “running into each other at a stoplight” seeing him made me stupid happy. Like, my heart did that pitter-patter/flip-flop thing.

I rolled down my window, still laughing. And after some funny hello’s, I found myself blurting out,

“It’s my person!”

I don’t know why that stuck with me. And why it still sticks with my now. It makes my heart swell and it still makes me giggle. But there was something about that chance meeting at a stoplight that reminded me how much I love that he’s my person.

So much of this past year has been a near-constant reminder why he’s my partner in crime. We can both be such pains in the ass, but we are better because we have each other. We are a team. We are the balancing act that beats all.

We are beating the all the odds.

anniversary

Someone told me yesterday that The Dude and I did everything right.

And I laughed right out loud.

Because for 16 years as of today, I’ve joked that we did everything backwards and wrong. Because our baby was at our wedding. Because we lived with my in-laws. Because we’ve barely made it through all the obstacles. Because life was so, so hard.

Because we’ve done nothing by the book and nothing by the rules. Okay, almost nothing.

But something that this year has shown me (again) is what a crock of shit those rulebooks often are. Because maybe you have to make your own rules and blaze your own trails because the path on the map doesn’t make any sense. Instead of being worried about our rough beginning, we can be so damn proud of our present and our future. And if someone pays us the compliment of doing everything right, say THANK YOU…and recognize how blessed we really are!

My life is insane and crazy and chaotic and, well, hard. But my life is also full and wonderful and fun and amazing. And sometimes it’s nice to be able to sit back and remember all that.

So who cares that maybe sitting at a stoplight was the best date we’ve had in a while.

Don’t tell my husband, but apparently it doesn’t take much to make me ridiculously happy.