40. Bring it.

Posted on May 22, 2012 by

So I turned 40 in March. I knew it was coming. Something like that doesn’t exactly sneak up on you. You’re aware.

I’ve heard people get all philosophical about “age is just a number” and “you’re only as old as you feel”. I know many, many people who lie about their age, or just pick one that they like and stick with that forever.

I’m not all that philosophical and I don’t go in for pithy sayings or Stuart Smalley-esque affirmations. But I’m here to tell you something:

40 ROCKS.

I totally would not lie to you. Not about this.

See, I have a theory. I developed this theory ten years ago when I turned 30. Somehow the turning of a new decade in my age gave me a lot of freedom that I wasn’t expecting. It meant starting anew, at the beginning of a new set of numbers. I no longer had to fit into my idea of what the previous set of numbers had been- I’d outgrown them and passed them by. The new numbers were unwritten. A vast, empty space, waiting to be filled with whatever I chose.

Blank, clear, free. Up to me.

Here’s my Top Ten List of what rocks about 40:

10) I have 40 years of experience in screwing up. It’s no big deal anymore.

9) I have 40 years of experience in figuring out what I like. That’s awesome! Do you have any idea what a time-saver that is?

8) I give a shit about my health. More than a shit, actually, I care a great deal. I eat on the healthy side, have little interest in chemically preserved/highly processed anything, do not actively put toxins (including chemical recreation) into my body anymore, take those damn supplements the doc had been suggesting the past five years, and I exercise. Very little gives me greater pleasure than standing in a Bikram yoga class next to some perky co-ed who was out partying all night and watching her go green down on the mat while I’m solid, holding standing bow. Take that, size zero.

7) I’m not above being petty when it amuses me (see above).

6) I don’t spend much time trying to figure out how everything’s going to work out anymore. My god, I used to make myself crazy with that. It’s far more interesting to just do the next right thing in front of me and let it all unfold as it will. All my worrying and trying to guess what comes next never affected the rising of the sun or the pull of the tides.

5) Less drama. He said/she said, I’m gonna do this to make him/her jealous, I’m gonna do that to make so and so think such and such. . . I have no interest anymore.

4) I’m finally good at my job. God knows I’ve been doing it long enough.

3) I know the value of a good cry and a day in bed with a bag of cookies.

2) I appreciate and can accept my family of origin just as they are. By this point, I don’t expect them to change much. They would probably say the same about me. But they’ll have to get their own blog.

1) I’m still not as old as my car, nor will I ever be.

Disclaimer: I am not 40 in the pictures below, I’m. . .32? But those are the only pictures of me and Miss Lucy.

 

Here’s a picture of me being 40. I’m pretty much the same, just. . . forty-er.

 

I’m looking forward to testing my theory with each new decade I reach. But I’m in no rush.

I’d love to hear the number one thing that rocks about the age you are right now.

I was lucky enough to have multiple birthday celebrations, which I’ll be writing about this week (yes, I’m totally milking it).

Posted in Solely for my own amusement | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 24 Comments

One and Done Sunday #16

Posted on May 6, 2012 by

My friend Michelle keeps giving me a hard time for not writing my 40th birthday post yet. It was in March and she did some fabulous things for me.

This isn’t it, Michelle. My gift back to you is another week to blow me crap about it.

The kids just got back from Sunday school. #4 brought me a flower:

#5 said: You know what would stink? Becoming a zombie after you had died from losing your head. Because then you couldn’t eat brains. 

I am unclear as to whether this was part of today’s teaching.

#5 has also developed an obsession with Llamas, and my belly fat. CC is trying to teach him that if he wants girls to like him, he probably shouldn’t smack their stomachs and say, “It jiggles!” but so far the lesson hasn’t penetrated.

The Beatles’ You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away just came up on Pandora. #1 asked: Did this song come out in the 80′s?

Here’s your picture (I know, I cheated; two pics today):

Just a dusty pansy in the cemetery before we got all that rain. I like pansies.

And here are five links that are worth your time:

The best marriage advice I’ve ever read: Lydia Netzer 15 Ways to Stay Married

Three pictures of pit bulls that will make you smile: Sadie and Dasie

A simple way to shop the grocery store when you’re looking to eat healthier: Kate Miller on the Healthy Wage blog.

Peg-o-Leg: she’s funny! Don’t get in her line at the store. The Line Slayer

I totally stole this from Piper Bayard: Epic Rap Battles of History: Shakespeare VS. Dr. Seuss. Also, if you click on the Piper link, there are a couple of awesome coffins.

 

 

Happy Sunday.

Posted in #1, #4, #5, One and Done Sunday | Tagged , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Just this.

Posted on May 4, 2012 by

I was in a yoga class this week and the teacher said something that stuck with me:

We come into this room to learn how to be comfortable in uncomfortable situations.

Probably makes more sense if you know that it was a hot yoga class, but I think it applies to most yoga, and many other things as well. All of those things that we do to try to be better . . . “us’s” when the easy way out just won’t cut it.

Yeah, that punctuation is intentional.

Here are some more pictures from a cemetery trek with Team Puggle. Enjoy.

Posted in Interesting Places I Went, Solely for my own amusement, Things That Make You Go Hmm, Yoga | Tagged , , , , | 16 Comments

Where This Week Went. With Bonus Profanity.

Posted on April 28, 2012 by

It went in a cold snap.

One with lots of wind that made a rare opportunity to see a home track meet unfortunately very short.

To an afternoon of cleaning out my closet, of trying on every item of clothing I own and deciding:

I’m fucking done being neurotic about my body.

Life is too short, and forty is too awesome, for neurotic. Four bags of  donated clothes later, somehow I feel like I have a new wardrobe. Less truly is more, sometimes.

The week passed with a meeting of my writers’ group, followed by a much-needed, greatly enjoyed lunch with the ever-fabulous Christine from Quasi Agitato. It passed in a sushi dinner with one old friend, and two new ones.

The week went to an ivory evening gown, which I bought four years ago at Nordstrom’s Rack in Chicago for only thirty-five dollars because it was pre-altered and had a heel hole in the train which my tailor sewed up for me so you can’t even tell.

I wore it to CC’s opening night, even though it doesn’t hide my stomach.

My only embellishments were red lipstick and my handsome, handsome husband.  Away from me, someone told him I looked like a badass angel goddess.

That pretty much made my whole life.

This is a picture of me taking a picture of myself in my mirror. Just under my left elbow is my dress, folded over the back of the chair. We did not get a picture of ourselves at the shindig, partly because that useless little purse you carry with an evening gown doesn’t hold your lipstick, phone, car keys AND a camera. Hell, it won’t even hold a camera by itself. Or an epi-pen, I’m told. I considered putting the dress back on just for a picture here, but ultimately decided I was too lazy. Trust me though, we looked fabulous. Also, I am too lazy to figure out how to use the timer on the camera so that I don’t have to look like a douche holding the damn camera in the mirror. Hmm. . . this picture is a remarkably helpful illustration. Of nothing.

The week passed in six commutes, eight shows, eight onstage hangings and crucifixions. Eight times of laughing to myself out loud at the end of the night and saying, “Holy shit these guys are on fire!” because our band is that damn fantastic. It passed with one Drama Desk Best Sound nomination, followed by the crappiest show I’ve mixed here.

Well.

These things happen.

The week passed in a couple of yoga classes and some miles on the treadmill and an awful lot of staring myself down in the mirror saying yes I can when I really wanted to just stop.

And eat a cookie. Or ninety.

The week went to this thing in my refrigerator:

I can’t decide if I want someone to tell me what it is or not.

The week passed with Metallica, Sixx A.M. and My Chemical Romance. It was spent with my Uncle Tupelo station on Pandora.

It went to parenting that was neither funny nor satisfying- the ugly, unsettling kind that leaves you second guessing yourself while simultaneously knowing that, given the chance for a do-over, you would make the same decisions. You would still be left feeling sad and anxious and  nauseous.

It passed with Jenny Lawson’s stupidly excellent book Let’s Pretend This Never Happened. She’s so awesome it pisses me off. I love her. I almost want to be her when I grow up except then it wouldn’t be as much fun to read her stuff. Which is the exact same reason why I don’t want to be a yoga teacher. Sort of. Also, I think I’m older than her, which would make being her when I grow up even more difficult.

The week went to lots of dog hair and stinky puppy feet, to puggle butts trotting through the cemetery as they sniffed about the freshly dead, of which there were many.

It went to a couple of fantastic mornings on my deck, listing things for which I am grateful. Like not being a reason that the cemetery is busy.

It went to Peanut Butter Puffins and skim milk. Skim, because it makes the best gooey-peanut butter milk at the end of the bowl. Trust me.

The week passed in many games of Scramble, with my sister and also my boss- whom, I am now certain, is cheating and has a ringer sitting in for him. Pretending. But still not winning.

It passed in saying goodbye to my two men as they went on a Scouting trip for the weekend.

It ends with not enough sleep in a bed that is far too empty, even with a puggle or two.

I hear myself say, “Where’d the week go?” but I know exactly where this week went.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | 33 Comments

One and Done Sunday #15

Posted on April 22, 2012 by

This week I came across a post on Not-So-Wicked Step Mom where the author confessed to not knowing of a Narwhal’s authenticity. I’m not talking like, a specific Narwhal, maybe one without proper identification or one that was behaving like a gazelle or otherwise being a poseur. I mean she didn’t know that Narwhals were not imaginary until she walked in on her family watching a documentary about them.

I had to confess that I didn’t know, either. I didn’t know until I read her post.

Is it because I grew up in Indiana, sans Diego and sans Wonder Pets? I definitely never saw one in a zoo. I certainly learned more world geography than Narwhal facts (and that’s saying something).

In fact, the only time I had ever heard of a Narwhal before reading this post was in the Archie McPhee catalogue, purveyors of all things hilarious and ironic. They used to have a Narwhal/Unicorn death battle action figure playset. I believe I drew my own conclusion.

CC says it’s because I’m blond.

I asked #4 and #5 :Narwhal, real or imaginary?

#5: Real.

#4: Real. I know a song about a Narwhal.

Me: Really?

#4: Yeah. Narwhal, narwhal, swimmin’ in the ocean, causin’ a commotion, cause you’re so awesome.

Me: Huh.

Then later this week, we went to the elementary school for parent-teacher conferences. Outside one of the classrooms was a display of kid projects on ocean animals. Guess what was represented? It wasn’t no damn unicorn.

*sigh*.

Here’s your picture. I took it with my phone last night to demonstrate how awesome I am to go with this post. Saturday night on Broadway, waiting near the subway for my husband to finish his show. I’m set up with a seltzer and a stack of critiques for my writing group.

Do I know how to live, or what?

Also, I could use a manicure.

Here are your links.

A really damn good list of dating hints for teenage boys: Given Breath: Pick You Up At Seven.

The pros and cons of dating a yogi (what you should know before you get into it): The View From My Mat

Musings from the mind of a three-year-old: Coffee Powered Mom.

I never watch videos, but I howled at this one. Henri the Existential Housecat. (Julie from Go Guilty Pleasures sent me this link.)

And again, I never watch videos, but this one is so awesome I sat through the whole damn thing and it makes me want to take a trip to LA. It’s worth your time. I’m linking through the blog I found it on, Steadily Skipping Stones: Caine’s Arcade.

Posted in One and Done Sunday | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

Jack Otis and Casey McCrea, Geniuses

Posted on April 18, 2012 by

Nothing gets by us. We're geniuses.

If they had business cards, that’s what would be printed on them.

What? Yes, I know dogs don’t have business cards. In no small part because they have no thumbs. But I’m thinking about getting them little tags for their collars because they’re so, so smart.

What? No, I don’t believe for a second that we’re the only family who gave their dogs middle names.

Not only are my dogs smart, they are terribly aware. Observe:

Looking the wrong way.

We’re puggles. We’re so smart. Hey, look! Grass!

What was twenty feet from them in the other direction.

No, we don’t need to look the other way. What could possibly be in the other direction? We’re puggle geniuses.

Completely at ease, with good reason.

Nothing gets by us! We’re geniuses! Did I mention we’re puggles?

Smooches!

Below is the deer’s reaction to me taking pictures. My dogs actually did not notice the deer until after they stood up.

Then Casey lunged, and the deer bolted. Mama went one way, babies went the other way.

I say babies, but they’re practically grown. They were babies last year and we would see them in this part of the cemetery while we were walking the dogs. The dogs didn’t see the deer then, either.

Now the babies are losing their fawnliness.

Yep, any day now these fawns will realize that they’re full grown. That they probably should get  full-time jobs; maybe go to summer school.

You can't see me. I blend right in.

Don't look at me. Don't look at me. Don't look at me.

 

They’ll realize how awesome it would be if they started cleaning the kitchen without being asked and stopped leaving their shoes in a death trap pile at the bottom of the stairs so their stepmama deer doesn’t break her damn neck.

 

 

 

 

They’ll buy their stepmama deer Godiva.

The extra dark truffle bar.

Hmmm. Where was I?

 

 

Oh right.

Geniuses.

Posted in Ha, Puppies | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 21 Comments

Releasing the Salamanders (no, that’s not a euphemism).

Posted on April 16, 2012 by

#5 went on a camping trip this weekend. It was the first time he’d spent the night away since he came to live with us. It was unnerving, having him gone. But he returned on Sunday with salamanders.

CC and I are up way too late, sucked in to Kill Bill like we are every time it comes on. It’s my turn to get up with the kids in the morning.

Me: Whoa. There is some serious salamander activity next to me here.

CC: In what way?

Me: There was a splash.

One salamander is still at the bottom of the bowl, but the other is very determinedly attempting to get out.

splash.

Me: Dude is getting out of that bowl for sure. What should we do?

CC: {sigh}

Me: Really. What do you do with a salamander? I feel a tremendous sense of obligation for these little guys.

CC: Fine. Get the car keys. I’ve had two scotches and half a bottle of wine. You’re driving.

Me: Okay, but you have to carry them.

CC: Oh sure. Make the impaired guy carry the salamanders.

I pause to take a picture.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We have a park near our house that has both a pond and a stream. It’s a nice park. A great place to release your salamanders. Except it’s the kind of park that has police who notice and come to question you if you’re there after dark.

Me: Wait, these aren’t like zebra mussels are they?

CC: No. Get in the car.

We go out to the car- me, CC, and two salamanders.

Me: You know, there’s an X-Files episode about this.

CC: No there isn’t.

Me: Yes there is.

CC: About dumping salamanders out in a pond?

Me: No, but about salamanders. This guy who has it out for Mulder gets worked on at prison by some crazy doctor and he gives him a salamander hand, thereby proving my theory once again.

CC: Which is?

Me: That you can name pretty much anything, and there’s an X-Files episode about it.

CC: {silence}

Me: The end.

CC: {silence}

Me: Don’t drop the salamanders.

CC: I’m not going to drop the salamanders. They’re going to get eaten by fish the instant we set them free.

Me: No they won’t.

CC: Yes they will.

Me: Well, better to be eaten by a fish than by one of the puggles, which would cost us $400 and three days of emotional duress while they’re hooked up to an I.V. at the vet.

CC: We’re going to get arrested for this on some eco-violation. They’re going to come and arrest #5, and all the rangers that took him on the camping trip, and we’re going to have to sell the house and move into some tiny apartment where we don’t all fit to pay remediation costs to remove and restore these two salamanders to Western New Jersey.

Me: I’m pretty sure we don’t have that much equity in the house.

CC: {sigh}

Me: I forgot my flashlight. Also, I’m in flip-flops.

CC: Can we just drop them in the pond instead of the creek? The last thing I need to do is break a frickin’ ankle tonight.

Me: This decision of where to drop them probably is the single most important thing that will determine their length of life, isn’t it?

CC: Who cares? The cops are gonna be here any minute. “What’s that, officer? No, sir, we’re just taking our bowl for a walk. We do it all the time.”

We dump them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Into the pond.

 

One stays put. The other heads for dry land.

I like to think he was the jumper.

Me: I wonder how long it’s going to take #5 to figure out they’re gone.

CC: About as long as it takes him to cross the floor. He did leave them on the kitchen table. It’s going to be the first thing he checks when he wakes up.

Me: Yeah.

CC: {laughs}

Me: What?

CC (re-enacting our first phone call eleven years ago when he was interviewing me to be his assistant on the Aida tour): So, I’ll hire you for the gig. In like, eleven years, you’re going to be dumping two salamanders out of a cereal bowl into a park pond in New Jersey while looking out for cops. I have no idea what happens between these two events. You still want the gig?

For the record, I still would have taken the gig.

Posted in #5, Bad Parenting, wuv tru wuv | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 19 Comments