Being 33

Last April, I heard a news report that a survey found that people over the age of 40 reported that 33 was the happiest age.  Well I’ll be, I thought to myself, that bodes well for me since I just turned 33!  Come on 33, bring it on!  

To be honest though, 33 wasn’t much different from 32 and 34 probably won’t be much different from 333.  It wasn’t the happiest and it wasn’t the saddest.  It was just 33. 

But there was something else about being 33.

In November, I read the Dear Marilyn column in the PARADE magazine.  A reader asked her “at what age are you twice the age of your child?”  Her response was “When the child reaches the age that you were when he or she was born.” 

My mom at 33 and me

So, up until Wednesday, my mom was exactly twice my age and I was exactly half her age.  Because, you see, she was 33 when she had me.

33 was her happiest age. 

Or so I like to think.    

But I could be biased.

My mom at 33 and me at 33 – it’s something that I’ve thought a lot about this year.  This year of 33. 

Going through my baby book, I came across a card that my aunt sent with a cute baby outfit (long-since outgrown, of course).  She wrote “Couldn’t resist it.  It better be a girl!!” 

So much anticipation in those exclamation points.  So much expectation.     

As we now know, it was a girl.  Me.  And I was so not what was expected.* 

At 33, I only just began to understand how hard it really was for my mom. 

At 33, her life’s trajectory took a bit of a left turn.  But at 33, she never wallowed in grief or asked why her or why me.  At 33, my mother was stronger, wiser, braver than I think I’ll ever be. 

She relied on faith and love and a steely determination to make sure we made it through.

The road hasn’t been easy.  There have bumps and hurt feelings and a few staples and scars that don't ever seem to fade.  

But for 33 years, we’ve traveled the road together.  And we made it through. 

Tomorrow, I will turn 34; but today, I’m celebrating 33.   

*I didn’t turn out so bad though, right?! 

Turning One

I went to a birthday party for a cute baby-face baby tonight.  It was the First One – you know when you turn that all important ONE. 

It all started – for me, at least – on a cold January Wednesday night in 2012 when I broke a state law (not to mention my own strict rule) and answered my cell while I was driving and heard “He’s here.”

Now, he’s been here for a whole year!

And what fun it’s been!  Well, at least the last six months have been fun – when I knew he could hold his head up and I couldn’t break him. 

I am in no way hugely important to him nor do I pretend to play any major role in his life – most certainly not the role of diaper changer – but I’ve been along for a little bit of the ride this year and it’s been amazing.

First, there were his firsts – I was there when he went to his very first sports bar (for my birthday), I was there when he went to Texas Roadhouse for the first time – and ended up experiencing his first parking lot picnic, I was there when he celebrated Easter for the first time – as much as any baby laying on a floor can celebrate, and I was there when he sat on a mall Santa’s lap for the first time. 

Then there were my firsts – certainly not as monumental – holding him for the first time, holding him unassisted for the first time, holding him unassisted and not shaking for the first time.  Seriously, are there no instruction manuals for kids these days?!

He’s learned so much in this past year and so have I!  Most importantly, that babies don’t break. 

It’s been amazing to watch him grow and develop and now understand the world around him! 

He giggles when something’s funny.  He knows the difference between a hand and a hand wearing a glove.  He brings you things that you tell him to go get.  He can turn on cell phones.  He can text me.  

He’s done this much – and more – and he’s only ONE! 

I can’t wait to see what Year Two brings!

Act Like a Kid, Think Like an Adult

On Saturday night, for the first time since I was 10 years old and stopped having them, I had an actual birthday party.  I’m talking cutesie invitations, birthday hats, cake, and ice cream.  All that was missing was Pin the Tail on the Donkey.  Actually, there wouldn’t have been time for that because we were too busy roller skating!  That’s right, I had my birthday party at the local roller skating center.  What?  Your town doesn’t have a roller skating center?!  You don’t know what you’re missing!

Walking through the doors of the Laurel Roller Skating Center was like stepping back in time.  1977, to be exact ‘cause the place probably hasn’t been updated since the days of disco.  I imagine that the skates that my friends and I laced up have been worn by generations of skaters…which only creeped me out later that night when I got home and my kitten took a unnatural interest in my socks. 

Once the skates were laced up, there was only one other thing required.  Absolute vodka courage.  I clung to the side of the wall and thought – oh no, what did I get myself into?  There wasn’t much time to think about anything else because the referee yelled – fast skaters on the outside lanes, slow skaters on the inside!  Okay, there was a little time to think.  It went something like this - &@#%!!!  I need to get into the MIDDLE of the floor?! @#$&! 

Somehow though, I managed to roll out to the middle of the floor, joining my friends who were already skating like the wind.  I took a slow and steady approach because, well, skating is hard work!  And also, I needed a lot of time to plan my exit strategy.  But somewhere along the line, the worry went away and my friends and I were just skating around, acting like kids, without any cares in the world, yelling “Wheeeeeee!” 

It was so much fun!  And we hadn’t even had any ice cream and cake yet!

There were some tumbles though, me included.  Man, when you take a roller skating fall at 33…it hurts a little more than it did when you were in the seventh grade!

That’s why the next morning, I thought like an adult and went to the local emergency room to get an x-ray of my arm (note to self – next time you go roller skating, your butt should break your fall, not your arm!)  Luckily, nothing was broken although they gave me a sling – which oddly, the other kitten has taken an unnatural interest in!

My Sunday morning adventure to the ER didn’t put a damper on my Saturday night roller skating adventure though.  Honestly, Saturday night was the most fun that I’ve had in a long time.  It was kinda like we were all kids again.  Or maybe we’re all still kids inside and they came out to play on Saturday night.

The only problem that I have now – what should I plan for next year’s birthday party?!    

Some of my friends getting their skate on!

Hello Thirty-Two, So Nice to Meet You

Today at exactly 12:38 PM, I turn 32.  I actually spent quite a few months last year thinking I was already 32 (it’s not that I forgot how old I was, I am just really bad at math.)  That was pretty embarrassing and proved that once again, my mother was right about something.  But today’s the real deal.  I’m 32 years old.  

The sum total of me may be 32 but there are still parts of me that are decidedly not 32.  Not to go all Sybil on you but I’ve got a lot of different people in me - the seven year old girl who kinda sorta wishes she could have a Barbie play-date with TopChef’s daughters; the obnoxious 11 year old boy who finds potty humor hilarious (seriously, I cannot drive past the Port Deposit sign on I-95 without cracking up); the shy 15 year old nervously awaiting her first date; and the 76 year old who needs a daily nap and thinks early-bird specials are a diner’s dream.  Because of them, I don’t take life too seriously but I'm serious when I need to be; I climb up shelves and stand on carts at work but never in open-toed, backless shoes; and I’m always up for fun adventures as long as laws (or lunch hours) don’t get broken.  Each part makes up 32 year old me and I’m glad they're in me. 

Last year, when I turned 31, StyleMaven told that my thirties were going to be great.  I didn't really believe her.  But that was when I was 31 and I’ve grown (up) a lot over the past year (well, not the 11 year old part - he’s still a handful).  So, what does 32 have in store for me?  I have no idea...but I’m excited to get to know this new part of me. 



My 2nd birthday...30 years later, I still enjoy a good piece of cake.

Birthdays

I have to have a baby girl on March 5^th.  Not this year’s March 5^th…and probably not next year’s March 5^th…but definitely a March 5^th in the future.  (Considering how slowly I’m moving with the online dating thing, that future might be a long, long time away!)  I know what you’re thinking.  Huh?  Here’s the scoop – my mother’s mother was born February 24^th, my mother was born on February 27^th, and I was born on March 2^nd.  If you’re good at math (and not counting February 29^th because, really, whoever does?) you’ll notice the pattern – three days separates each birthday.  This, aside from our annual trek to the Poconos to chop down our Christmas tree, is about the only family tradition that we have so I’d really like to keep it going.  So, that’s why I have to give birth to a daughter on March 5^th (preferably, it should be the youngest daughter but I don’t want to put too much pressure on myself.) 

I like having my birthday three days after my mom’s…I’m like the greatest birthday present that she ever got!  But, I’m not so sure she likes it.  Especially, when I have a tendency to leap out of bed on her birthday and shout - It’s your birthday, do you know what that means?  Three days until my birthday!  I can’t help it that her birthday happens to be the beginning of my birthday month, give or take a day!  My mom always lets me have those days though because that’s who she is, generous and kind-hearted.  But this year marked her 65^th birthday so we made it extra special – there was a surprise party and a surprise gift and a surprise cake.  And it was all just for her.  Because she deserves her own birthday celebration every once in a while.

My mom is my best friend (or my bff as my brother likes to tease me.)  She’s probably the single-most influential person in my life, which isn’t to say that I always listen to her!  She tells me what she thinks (never what I want to hear), watches as I figure it out, and never rubs it in when I  tell her that she was right (well, except this past Thanksgiving when I swore there were no giblets in the turkey that I prepped…she found them after the turkey came out of the oven.)

If there was one word that I would use to describe her, it would be resilient.  She’s gone through a lot in her life and she always manages to get through it without feeling sorry for herself or asking why me?  I wish I could say that I followed the example that she set for me.  I didn’t.  But then, I’m not my mom and we all have to find our own way.  And yet, I know she’s there for me every step of the way…and that’s all I really need.

If I actually manage to carry on the tradition and I do give birth to a little girl on March 5^th,  I know that  my mom will be there with me…and that’s the best birthday present that I could ever hope for.

Happy Birthday Mom! 

Technically, this is a day late…so, you know what that means?  My birthday’s two days away!!