This is 40, Installment 7

Remember when kid food was cute? I mean, in the beginning it was adorable-- baby's first solid foods, funny faces. Then it got a little messy as they started feeding themselves, food all over the upper bodies. But still cute. And little. Then you could do creative things with the food-- shapes and colors and such, and they'd semi-appreciate it, maybe even help you with making it. Still, it was little.

I am past the little food phase of my parenting life. I'm pretty sure I'm now on to the huge food phase. I have three boys and all they're doing is eating and moving.

Recently I just owned it and started feeding the twins two dinners a day on hockey practice days. They'll down a frozen pizza or two after school and before practice (to be clear, I cook them first), come home from practice, and eat tacos and drink smoothies. The second dinner is the one where they smell like dank hockey gear and sweaty helmets, in case you wondered.

Brian often makes them two breakfasts on hockey game days. Piles of sausages and a carton of eggs. Twice. If they don't eat that much then they end up eating 20 granola bars and 25 string cheeses and we will be out of school snacks for the week. And they're skinny and they're not very tall.

Guys, it's only going to only get worse from here. We might need to take out a second mortgage to afford our grocery bills.

This is 40.

Eaters

This is 40, Installment 6

My countdown to turning 40 has been inspirational. Ten years ago, when I first started staying home with my twins, I started writing a novel. TEN. YEARS. While it is not polished and I'm sure will still undergo many edits, it is FINISHED. I finished the ending last weekend. Maybe I cried. When you know characters and their dirty secrets and conflicts and what makes them laugh and love, and what they want in life, for ten years, you get emotionally attached.

Since September this year, I have been working feverishly on finishing the story, with my 40th birthday looming like a sweaty mountain ahead of me. I had to finish writing a book by the time I turn 40. Had to. And I did. I have never been so focused on one thing... maybe forever. It's the closest I've come to feeling like an Olympic athlete. It was almost all I thought about. Sorry, if I was absent from our conversation last time I saw you. Totally living in my book. Major shout out to my husband here... he has been amazing at supporting my writing, well always, but especially the past few months. He basically does everything.

However, my next goal is to send out query letters to literary agents by my birthday (March 17). So last night I sent copies of the manuscript (I feel so naked about this) to a bunch of wonderful humans who have agreed to be my beta readers* and give me feedback ASAP, so I can make edits before I send those letters out to agents. Now I have to write what most writers hate-- my synopsis. So, I'll work on writing that, while sweating profusely about what my beta readers will say, and await my birthday.

To think that I started this entry out thinking I would write about the gradual acceptance and incorporation of Mom jeans... this is better.

And this is 40.

*If you'd like to be a beta reader also...contact me. :)

My unattended kids have stolen my phones and filled it with pics like this. 

This is 40, Installment 5

You know the social formalities we all go through with acquaintances, coworkers, even strangers:

"Hi, how are you?"
"I'm fine, how are you?"

"How was your weekend?"
"It was great, thanks, how was yours?"
"Good, thanks."

Whenever possible I try to switch things up and say something unexpected and funny, but let's face it, sometimes we're all just trying to get through our days without being rude. Just trying to get by, and falling into these comfortable exchanges is just that-- comforting. Predictable.

Some expressions I've heard lately have rubbed me the wrong way. Probably because of my impending 40th (which I am now referring to as Black Tuesday). I'm absolutely sure there was no malice in any of the things these people said, but still... I'm sensitive right now.

"You look tired."

What am I supposed to say to this? Yeah, I've been flying through the solar system on this rock for 40 years, of course I'm tired. Shut up, you're 16 and you smell weird. (I mean, that's just an idea.)

"You don't look good. Are you okay?"

I mean how do you respond? Ok? Thanks, you don't either? And I mean, is anyone really okay?


I've said these things to people, and I'm probably still going to say them to people, and they will say them to me, because it's just habit, and I believe most of the time well-intended. But still. I want to try not to say these things to adults. Who knows, someone else might be in the throes of midlife crisis like I am and cry themselves to sleep after hearing that they look tired, even though they slept for 10 hours in a row last night and spent the weekend at the spa.

Too soon, people! It's coming too soon.

This is 40.

Plaid pajamas make me think of old people. 

This is 40, Installment 4

I've learned that some people don't make sense, and that's okay.

You know the ones:

She's in the express lane checkout with 105 items and a handful of coupons and she's writing a check. 

He's in the left lane happily going 12 miles an hour in a 45 zone, next to someone in the right lane who's on her phone.

These people don't make sense.

I'm almost 40 and I think I've come to terms with that. These people happen. They will continue happening for the rest of forever. And nothing I do or say or how many times I roll my eyes or make annoyed coughs, she will continue to stand in the bathroom line with a huge gap between her and the person in front of her while the end of the line snakes down the hall. He will wait for 20 minutes with his turn signal on, while the family of eight loads up their groceries and buckle up for safety, so he can claim the parking spot ten feet closer to the store.

And that's okay.

We won't be best friends, we won't even maintain eye contact, but I don't have to try to teach you a lesson with my indignation or a "thoughtful" word of advice, or even be involved in any way.

Coming to know and practice this is freeing. And for some reason it has taken me awhile to internalize. I do not understand people. I love many of them and I like many of them, but not all of them. But they will always be here, with their turn signals stuck on, or completely blocking the bread aisle with their cart.

And that's okay.

This is 40.

And that's okay.

This is 40, Installment 3

Just. Say. No.

It's something I've learned can be SO freeing. Maybe it's a growing-old revelation. This fall I was working on finishing my novel and kept saying no to things. Things like my gingerbread house building party that we've thrown for the past 14 years. Things like turning down various Christmas invitations. Things like not going to my kids' hockey tournament in Buffalo (I know, so tempting) in order to write. Even things like going to see the Capitol Christmas tree and White House trains and trees that we've traditionally done. I said no. I don't HAVE to go to everything I'm invited to, even when I like the people who invite me! Even if we ALWAYS do it. Most people already know this, but it's been a little addictive for me to say no. Consider it.

I lived primarily in my head this fall and first part of winter, and I've enjoyed it. My inspiration to dive into writing again was fueled by a literary society of two other writing pals from college also working on novels. It is a virtual society, and we communicate via Google Docs and Marco Polo, which is an amazing app that everyone should have (unsponsored plug).

On the flip side, I said yes to something that we don't usually do, which was to visit the beach over Christmas/New Year's break. It was delightful and relaxing. Now I am in a mad dash to finish grading essays and plan the rest of second quarter. Unfortunately, all I could say to those essays was, "No, not yet." Now they're here and real and staring at me menacingly.

Here is a poem I wrote this fall about drifting away from writing over the past few years. I'm glad to be back. And if I say no to something, don't be offended. Just know that it's an addiction that I'm currently not seeking help for.

This is 40.

I Lost You

somewhere 

on the path

in the weeds

sidewalk cracks

playground mulch

silent desks

I’ll see you tomorrow though

I always say I always say

when the spirit prompts

when the wind blows tree leaves

sequins flipping in flight

but diapers

but dinner

but laundry

but dishes

but bathtime

but stories

but essays

but meetings

You’re in me but never

on the lines

white, barren, beautiful

infuriating

mocking

flying, flitting, dividing my 

sky separating my thoughts my

world shattering my air my breath

my dreams

You are loud as cat’s feet 

on pine needles

predictable as time

surprising as sunrise 

Always there

unwritten  

And now a couple beach pictures from the thing I said yes to this holiday season.