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.)
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.
And do I did.
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.
I’m a firm believer that being happy is a choice. Is it easy? Of course not. But happy things don’t just plop in your lap. You have to find the happy things. You have to work toward being happy. You have to choose happiness whenever you can. I wrote a little something about choosing happy on Happier. I’m pretty excited about it.
Part of my happiness is to be surrounded by people who make me happy. Or go to places that make me happy. And because it was fun, I scrolled through my phone picking pictures of some of my favorite happy things and people. And places. It’s amazing how happy that made ME.
We had a really nice Easter weekend. We spent some time up at my Gram’s house on Saturday with some of my favorite people. And then spent all day today with some more of my favorite people. Yummy food stuffs and way too much candy. Reminiscing and laughter and fun stories.
(I mostly have pictures from today. Don’t hate me.)
It’s also worth noting that we played a tiny game of war with a tiny deck of cards. Shuffling those bad boys was ridiculous.
For the past few years, Beezus has instigated a tradition on her favorite holiday: a picture with me.
I didn’t realize how much these mean to me until today.
Ramona hasn’t particularly loved having her picture taken over the years but I’m hoping we can start a similar tradition because I absolutely love these pictures with Beezus and I want to have a similar collection with Ramona. As these years SPEED BY, it’s amazing to look back.
This week marks one of those “last times we’ll do this” kind of event and I realized today that I’m a little anxious about all of it. Less than two months until graduation.
Once again, I apologize for how obnoxious I will surely be. I promise to make it up to you. Somehow.
Last week I took Ramona shopping for her birthday. She had a very specific and capable ensemble in mind for her birthday and last week’s birthday party. Not only the outfit but very specific shoes.
Each time she explained what she wanted, it didn’t register that her ideal boots were super specific. The morning of the shopping trip, I was discussing the fact that I had been looking into getting a pair of Birkenstocks (I KNOW) when the conversation turned to the fact that Ramona was looking to get a pair of white Doc Martens.
Apparently we were going to need to hop in a time machine to 1992 for our shopping needs.
My feet have never been happier. And 90’s Jill is completely in love with Ramona’s shoe choice. Hell, current Jill is completely in love with her shoe choice.
I’m gonna stop talking like I’m not here.
By the way, since Vogue says these shoes are coming back. Or are back. Or were back. (Because, let’s face it, I’m always behind the trend.) Whatever. THAT. Since they said that, I have completely disregarded Ramona’s concerns that my new shoes are old people shoes.
We just got home from a chaotic whirlwind trip to San Francisco and another round of senior portraits. Because when your fairy godmother is Sarah, you plan epic 2-part senior portrait sessions. I mean, of course.
I am wind blown and exhausted but completely in love with today.
We drove by and walked around places I don’t normally because I’m usually rushing off to something or some place. Today? Today we were super touristy. And I loved it.
Remind me to tell you how much I loved the new Ben & Jerry’s flavor: The Tonight Dough. LIFE. CHANGING.
But mostly today I got to enjoy some of my favorite people wandering around some of my favorite places.
It was breathtakingly gorgeous. All of it.
I’m so grateful for these people and for these moments and the beauty of all of it.
Just…just someone please remind me of all of it when I’m falling asleep at my desk tomorrow and I’m wondering how I’m going to get everything done.
(It will all get done. But there will be much wondering.)
Our weekends may not be as busy as they once were, but it is incredible how much we cram into such a short amount of time. I’m exhausted just thinking about it. I’m also exhausted because of it. Even with the expectation that this would be a busy weekend, I’m still amazed by this level of tired. It wasn’t until I scrolled through the pictures from the past few days that I fully realized just how nuts we are sometimes. Okay, often. We are nuts on a super regular basis. But scrolling through these pictures was a reminder that I wouldn’t change any of it. There’s nothing I would want to miss. *F*R*I*D*A*Y*
Friday we celebrated a certain someone turning 18 with a huge family dinner. Words cannot express how weird this is especially since Beezus is right behind her. It was just yesterday they looked like this:
I’m not sure what got into all of us, but we were a rambunctious group. A musical, messy and completely insane kind of rambunctious. I’m sure we must be the only ones to find us funny, but does YOUR sister convince your dad to turn his plate sideways so that she can slop more ‘green slime’ onto his plate from across the table?
My guess is no. Unless you’re related to me and we have the same siblings. (Most of it actually made it onto the plate if you can believe it. Most of it.)
*S*A*T*U*R*D*A*Y* We are new to the band life and all that entails. We’ve had band concerts and parades and carnivals, but this was our first experience with a band festival. I guess I would liken it to a softball showcase except there are festival judges that score and critique each band. My kid was a little disappointed with their score, but this was supposed to be a learning experience only. They’ll be even more ready for the next one. (We also ran into my brother who was out there representing the company he works for. It was kind funny and hilarious that we got to hang out there for a bit.)
After a late breakfast and taking care of a few things around the house (and maybe a nap) it was time to get ready for the high school crab feed. I was so excited to have some of our favorite folks join us and we had just the right amount of us to splurge on a VIP table. It wasn’t even that much more (really, not at all) and it was sooooo worth it. We. Had. A. Blast. We had our own waiter (Joey!) and some little extras here and there that were super enjoyable. Courtney has taught us all how to come prepared for a crab feed (complete with a candelabra, of course) and our brand of fancy won us the best table! (It may have been called something else but I’m going to believe it was BEST TABLE EVER. Especially since Joey said so.) The Dude (aka The Mayor for this particular crab feed – only to us) picked out our gift basket. Some of it immediately went *SPLAT* on the floor, but the vodka and martini glasses were spared.
I fully expected this to be my last crab feed with the high school, but we had SO MUCH FUN (and they really do a bang up job) we’ve preemptively committed to next year along with plans for t-shirts and complete with nicknames.
This picture doesn’t really have much to do with anything except for it’s AWESOME. Sarah wanted to take a picture of Amy and I standing in front of the flag mural before the crab feed and a two-gal salute was the only answer. (I have no idea why that sentence sounds a little dirty so just pretend that it’s not if it is.) *S*U*N*D*A*Y* Waking up early for a half marathon seems like a bad idea after such a fun crab feed, but this is how life works sometimes. Sarah, Dina and I had trained so hard for Shamrock’n but NONE of us were super excited to do the actual race. Our training had gone so well, but I think we all realized how tough this race would be. First of all, IT WAS SO DAMN HOT. Most of our training was done in the wee hours of the morning so you can imagine how the heat might affect us. I’m not sure if I have ever been so grateful to cross a finish line. (You know, besides every single race I’ve ever done. Besides THOSE times.) I was proud of us for finishing…but I was most proud of our training.
I’m trying to keep the negativity to a minimum, but I’ve also realized it’s okay that this wasn’t my favorite race. Not by a long shot. Mentally and physically it was just rough. ROUGH. Let’s just say that there were a few miles that were fueled ONLY by the thought of this view after it was all over: (That and icing my knees.)
I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t a little discouraged by the outcome of this race. Our training had gone so well, I really thought the race was going to be different. I walked into the office to hang my medal with the others. I was deliriously tired by this point so I know my emotions may have been more on the surface because of that, but I grabbed all the medals off the little shelf where I haphazardly hang them and laid them out on the kitchen table. (Someday I’ll actually buy a race medal rack. Someday.) I’ve done six half marathons (one medal is not pictured because I was too lazy to go upstairs and get my Nike necklace), one full marathon , three Ragnar relays and two CIM relays. (Plus a handful of 5k’s, etc.)
Yesterday I became a little more proud of this collection. Maybe even a lot more proud. Not one of those races was easy for me by any stretch of the imagination. Running will never be easy for me. But the fact of the matter is that I did it anyway. I know that I always say that running teaches me to do hard things but I don’t know that I let myself be really proud of that very often. I don’t think I’ve ever displayed all my medals all at once just let myself be proud that I EARNED each one of those. I earned them. It doesn’t make me feel tons better about a shitty race, but it does make me feel really proud of all those races as a whole. Although, this level of tired is off the charts and there are FIVE whole days until the weekend. Which, thankfully, isn’t quite as busy as this one. I might get to actually sleep a wee bit more. Plus, I get to look forward to going on a run because I WANT to and at a time that is as early in the morning as I want it to be for whatever distance sounds like a good idea. I have enough medals. For now.
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.
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.)
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.
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.