Thoughts on 33

I'm another year older today, and more importantly, it's almost the end of the academic year (which is how I really measure my time, having never really left school).  So maybe it's time for some reflection, because this has been one heck of a doozy.

Eric and I have been married almost six years!  That seems like forever, and also no time at all.  You're married to someone for six years and you think you know them, what they think, how they think, what they want.  And you end up being wrong because you stopped listening, filling in their blanks for them.

Like how I use the impersonal "you" there?  What I really mean is "I."  I was doing that, do that, because I've been married for six years and think I know it all, and tend to operate in shorthand anyway.  So that's my big life lesson in the old marriage arena.  Stay together long enough, and you find out you've married a whole bunch of different people, who inhabit one body but slowly reveal themselves to you in new and fascinating forms over time.  I've been taking it for granted, had fit Eric into some neat little boxes.  But, um, surprise.  He was never really in those boxes to begin with, and now, as we're learning to communicate in new ways, shows me the boxes were wrong anyway.

We're also in new bodies.  Bodies that are getting a little older.  The hair at my temples is completely gray, and when I pull it back into a ponytail, a swath of shiny silver is revealed.  My knees and shoulders--which I recklessly abused playing college sports--are creaking and painful and might need surgery.  50% of the time, a good sneeze and I've peed my pants.  The creases under my eyes are permanently purple, even if I do get caught up on sleep.  My hands are getting a little crepey.  My belly bulges.

I've been fighting against this all year, mourning the gone tautness of my twenties.  I think that's fine to do that, to mourn the passing of certain parts of yourself.  I think I can move in to new ways of being and seeing myself because I took some time to feel disappointed that my body is acting and looking a little older than I expect it to.  I'm not saying I'm thrilled about the creaky aches and pains, or that I'll stop dying my hair anytime soon.  But I don't feel so panicky about all of it, either.  Kicking ass at the gym helps the self-esteem, too.  I'm still strong, and I like that.

And the girls?  Well.  The girls.  They're shocking and amazing and incredible.  Nolie is incredibly athletic and jovial.  Her best trick right now is to stand stock still, then shoot both legs out in front of her, landing with a gigantic thud on her butt.  Then she laughs uncontrollably.  She is completely fierce in the world, and also completely tender and open.  She'll dive headfirst off the slide at the park, but always knows where I am, coming to me, demanding "Hug!" before racing off again.  She'll still fall asleep in the rocker with me occasionally.  She knows an incredible number of words and can feed herself.  There is a thin halo of brown hair that wisps down over her forehead and ears, and she glows with beauty.  She has incredible, deep, brown eyes, and my heart contracts every time I look at her.  What a spirit.

And Addie.  Addie who just turned four and seems so wise, older than her years, but who is still a little kid and often shy and afraid, too.  She understands so much, teaches me about science and kindness and about how I (often mistakenly) categorize the world.  She is funny, and already understands puns and sarcasm.  She commands my complete attention, and rebels when I can't or won't give it to her.  She moves haphazardly through space, often bumping into things, but her movements have a lovely grace to them, too.  She is knock-kneed.  She is solemn.  She is terrified of the smoke alarm in her room.  She needs more of my time.  She is so lovely it sometimes takes my breath away.  Sometimes we battle fiercely, and then collapse into each other.  She is my own spirit, halved in two, and also completely herself and separate from me. 

Such strange bonds.  So different.  Equally strong.

I'm also overwhelmed by the incredible friendships that have sustained me through all this, even when I've been out of contact, or hasty, or a jerk.  Eric, who has stayed with me through this most difficult of times.  All of the incredible women in my life who call or show up at my door or who whisk me to Florida (yes, I'm going) when I most need it.  I feel like saying I don't deserve them, but they wouldn't accept that.  They just stay in, hunkered down with me.  Immense gratitude for that, and for my family members, who are locked in their own happinesses and struggles, but who think of me every day.

Work.  Work, work, work.  What an incredibly difficult year it has been, trying to figure myself out, what it is I want, who I am.  So many mistakes made.  Errors in judgment.  Things wrongly understood.  But I feel like I've come out the other side, and am much better for it.  The path seems laid out before me now, a flow of creativity established.  I have moments where I am still filled with fear and regret for taking all this on.  I wonder if I can do it.  I wonder if I will feel sorry I did it later.  But louder is the voice that says the work is right, that I have these things that need to be said, that might have impact.  There is an alignment between belief, action, and work that feels correct.

I suppose that's enough for now.  I promise to post more in the coming weeks, now that the semester is almost over, and I'll write more about these kids, who blow my mind every five minutes.  I welcome in a calmer year, an easier one, more focused.  I'm sure with more lessons and challenges, too.  In invite the spirit of my ten days in India to diffuse more of my life.  I welcome in peace, calm, and purpose.

I let.

Another Year On

 

In about an hour, I'll be 32. 

My stepdad is going to be 70 in May, and he and my mom are planning a birthday bash for him.  When I talked to him on the phone this morning, he didn't seem too excited about it.  70 seemed old, he thought.  "Your thirties are the best time of your life," he said.

I'm pretty sure he said the same thing about my twenties at some point many years ago, but he was wrong then.  My experience of the twenties was pretty painful.  I was struggling through graduate school, working crappy jobs, and since I'm a late bloomer, I tried on a bunch of different identities, some with disastrous results.  I racked up a fair amount of credit card debt and student loans, dated the wrong man more than once, and made plenty of mistakes.  I had fun, too, I think, but mostly it felt miserable.

I don't know what to think about the 30s yet.  So far, they've been great.  I've got this great family, and a job I like, and my neck hasn't completely deconstructed yet, which seems to be the thing Nora Ephron says aging women worry about most (seriously?).  I get stressed and I haven't figured out how to prioritize very well and I still have plenty of insecurities, but on the whole this life right now is very, very good.  Mostly, I feel really grateful for everything.

One thing in particular that I'm grateful for is that Nolie is now on the outside of my body.  A year ago on my birthday, I was about five months pregnant and, though I don't remember the actual day last year, I can almost guarantee you I was pissed off.  Pissed about being big, about my back hurting, about Nolie scraping her little scritchy-scratchy fingers across my pelvic floor like a fetal Freddy Krueger, pissed I couldn't drink a few glasses of wine to celebrate.  Whatever else happens, pregnancy is one event I won't have to experience again.  I've also got these amazing little creatures scuttling around my house to show for the two pregnancies I did suffer through, and I wear that fact like a freaking badge of honor.

So.  Forward march, I say.  32nd year, I welcome you.  I welcome whatever surprises and delights and heartbreaks you might bring.  My hands are open.

Celebrations and Shenanigans

 

Addie turned three on Friday.  Last year, we figured we could get away without having a party.  We just strung some lights in the dining room, blew up some balloons, and invited Nancy over for cake and presents.  Addie thought it was the best thing ever.

But she's a year older and wiser now, so we figured we probably better do something more birthday-esque.  It's a busy time, though, and I'm not exactly Martha Stewart, so I just sent out an email to the parents of the kids in her class at school, and to some of our friends.  It was a cheeky email--sort of, "hey, we're not doing anything super special, but come on over and hang out and eat cake and drink beer."  I somehow thought that a casual event would ensue, with everyone in the backyard lounging on our new grass, hanging out and watching the kids scamper around.

Which is not what happened at all.

First of all, it snowed.  So everyone who came to the party was going to be inside.  Still not a big deal, we thought to ourselves.  The house is pretty empty at the moment, and kids will have fun running around together.  No worries.

But then, about a thousand people showed up, 500 of which were under the age of three.  It was total MAYHEM, people.  Two kids got stuck in one of the moving boxes, their heads poking out of a little hole Eric had cut out so that Addie could play house.  Much screaming and panicking ensued, until the mom was located and Eric ripped the cardboard apart with his bare hands.  One kid was grabbing huge fistfuls of other kids' hair.  Still other kids were totally overwhelmed the moment they walked in the door, and began crying almost immediately at the noise and insanity of it all. 

We also burned the pizza, so the house filled with smoke about half-way through.  Then our realtor came over and wanted to give us the scoop on the inspection the buyer had done on the house on Friday.  Juice was spilled, cake was smushed, kids had meltdowns.

But you know what?  I still had fun, and I think Addie had fun, too.  Nolie, thankfully, slept through almost the entire thing (how was that possible?).  I was sweating and tired and yet, there was a moment where I just decided to give myself over to the chaos, and to enjoy the noise and hubbub, and to just be glad we had this many people who wanted to celebrate with us.

This was my favorite moment of the day:  I started walking out of the kitchen with the ginormous cake we bought from Costco, and everyone started singing Happy Birthday.  Addie, too, until she had the brilliant moment of realization that all these people were singing for her, that it was her birthday.  And she broke out into the best grin I've ever seen.

What a kid, that kid.  Three years old.