ignored with vigor celebrated my 5th 29th birthday.
I pretty much felt like this all day.
I mean it was a Tuesday after all, which meant school, tutoring, soccer, and dinner and someplace fast and disgusting.
Plus, I decided ages ago that I was never going to be okay with turning 30 (or 40, or 50, or anything past 29 really) and have committed to not doing so for as long as I can help it. Which will probably only be until I’m technically about 38.
I figure that will be about the time that it gets to the point that saying I’m 29 makes me look like I’m delusional to the point of mental compromise. Until then, I’m just going with it and you will too or so help me.
I know, I get the whole girl-you-need-to-embrace-this speech every year. And, I really do appreciate your confidence boosting comments and such. For me though, it’s not about being ashamed of my age or whatever. For me it’s a frame of mind.
And, in my mind I’m a 17 year old.
A really tired 17 year old with a husband and some kids and a house to avoid cleaning, who gets really annoyed with people talking in the movie theater.
Sure, I’m pretty crotchety for a teenager, but I love the heck outta J. Biebs, will challenge any human with legs to a dance off, watch those funny videos of people falling off treadmills until I laugh so hard I pee a little, and take pride in the fact that my car-drives-by-with-a-booming-system.
I guess my primary beef with this age thingy is that I still don’t feel the way I always thought I would at 34. I still don’t know what I’m doing with my life (other than being a mom), I still want to hang out and watch movies in my pjs all summer (even if they are all superhero movies and my companions are a gaggle of little Dudes), and I can’t balance a check book to save my life (I really don’t even bother anymore).
When I was 17…
I imagined my 34 year old self to be richer, smarter, talented-er, and a heck of a lot thinner and gorgeous-er.
So, I guess until I start living the life of
Haley Berry the mature, lady goddess I always thought I’d be when I grew up, I’m just not gonna.
Plus, I just have some serious beef with certain parts about aging that seem to be cropping up in my life lately.
My mind says I’m 17, my time consuming responsibilities say I’m a full-fledged 34 year old, while my traitorous body says I’m 53?
I actually hurt my neck looking over my shoulder the other day. Not even a fast look. Just a regular, hey-how-you-doin look.
And, I’d really like to know when exactly “the girls” stop being something
hot inappropriate like boobies or knockers or tits (is that a bad word?), and become bosom?!
GAG! I literally hate that word when used in reference to my lady parts.
Maybe it’s because of the fact that if I’m hearing the word bosom being thrown around, then I’m probably smack dab in the middle of something I never had to do when I was younger: a bra fitting designed to lift the girls off of my lap and back onto my chest while also managing to disguise the fact that I appear to also have a starter set of, um, bosom, growing on my back.
And then there’s this whole thing about respectful titles for someone my age. I’m not really for it.
Note to young boys everywhere: young-ish looking moms with cool glasses and hip shoes do NOT want you calling them ma’am.
Not in a car. Not in a tree. I don’t like ma’am, sir, can’t you see!
Sure I’m a happily married, Dr. Seuss loving mama, and whatnot, but I am cool if you just want to float a Miss out there when you thank me for that handsome tip I just
bribed you with to treat me young gave you when you delivered my pizza. That ma’am business is entirely overrated and I’d be 100% a-ok if no one ever called me that again.
And while we’re on the subject of incorrect assumptions, I’d like to share a little tidbit about being carded.
When I was
19 21 it was really, really annoying.
And now? It virtually never happens to me anymore.
And, if I’m honest, I’m feeling a tad bit stabby about the whole thing. I mean, if you’re going to put up a sign that says, “We card UNDER 40” and then don’t bother to ask me for ID, don’t be surprised if I’m sorta snatchy with my change and if I don’t bother to apologize when my kid asks me just-loud-enough-that-you-can-hear whether or not you are a boy worker or a girl worker.
I mean, I can’t tell anyway, and I clearly don’t look 40.
Getting my ID out to prove it is not an inconvenience, it’s an honor!
See? Even Hallmark agrees with me!
Thank goodness for the sympathetic greeting card industry and friends and family members who get me enough to know that this is funny.
Not quite so much.
Menopause sounds like a horrible way to spend a decade (yeah, it can actually drag on that long!).
And every year as I inch closer to it, I want to eat my weight in cupcakes. I think I’ll get to that.
Feel free to send me a birthday greeting. Or wish me a happy day. Or ask me for ID.
Just please don’t bother telling me I should embrace my age.
I don’t have time for that noise, I’m going to the mall with boys later…
Have a Wordful Wednesday post to share with me & Seven Clown Circus this week?! Link away, but not until you check out this week’s featured links:
- A look at heat to come in this summer-y post from Desert Deals Diva.
- Another seriously cute summer post from My Life and Kids.
- A cute post about a girl in overalls from Living Like Kings.
- A heartfelt tribute to Where The Wild Things Are from Ramblings from Utopia.
*pBd Admits She Works With These People: Today’s post was brought to you by my conception and celebratory cupcakes in conjunction with Hallmark as part of their Life is a Special Occasion campaign. It’s a little ridiculous that the only paper cards I have actually received this week are the ones Hallmark sends me, but at least my friends are awesome at sending me, um, happy birthday texts. Yeah, they rock. And thankfully I have Hallmark to ensure I get a nice, handheld, preferable birthday greeting.