Thirty-two

Yesterday was my birthday. I know this because Kara charged into the bathroom while I was getting dressed and cried out, "Mom, it's your birthday! We got you presents! Come and check it out!" My Facebook wall exploded with posts of happy thoughts, well wishes, and proclamations of "The Year of Bree," and flowers and bagels welcomed me when I came into work. I am blessed to be another year older, surrounded by all this love. I am blessed to be thirty-two.

In a lot of ways, I feel thirty-two. Luke and I will have been together eleven years this year, married six in May, and we have far surpassed the honeymoon stage of our relationship, now challenged with keeping things fresh amidst regurgitated formula, clogged toilets, and stretch marks. I have kids who wear UNDERPANTS and make grand statements about going to KINDERGARTEN next year (hear that, Kara? NEXT YEAR) and who remind me not to talk with food in my mouth. I've spent late nights and long hours combing through finances at the dining room table to make room for insurance premiums, association fees, and preschool - and cried when I couldn't do it. On those nights I think about my own parents with tremendous respect and empathy for the decisions they had to make to raise five children. I never feel more adult than when I'm sitting at that table.

I've walked away from relationships, and I've been dumped. I've feared for my job and my health. I've lost faith in childhood heroes. I've taken the wrong side. I've eaten plenty of crow. 

And yet, at the same time, I'm still a bright-eyed, virgin fifteen, waiting earnestly to come into my own, wondering if I'll ever nail the part of a mature, sophisticated woman. Last month Luke and I took the kids to a Christmas program in town, and we bumped into the mom of one of Kara's friends from preschool. Her perfectly applied make-up and posh handbag put my clearance fleece from Target and ratty Sauconys to shame. How can we possibly have children the same age when clearly I'm late for P.E.?

Mistakes and petty hang-ups aside, my goal for thirty-two is to be more intentional in my thoughts and actions every day, because it's hitting me like a ton of bricks that this one life - this one day, really - is all I have. If I want memories I'm proud of, if I want change, if I want to make a tangible, meaningful impact on this world - it is up to me.

Thirty-two, bring it on.

Comments

[Diane Frusolone]

And you still look 15.......well maybe 24.

[Dan]

A ratty pair of Sauconys show far more character and accomplishment than any posh handbag!! Most people can't even say the name Saucony!

[Liz]

Is it a sign that I don't even have kids (yet) and I already struggle with feeling more frumpy than the next gal? I know I can fix it if I would just trade my yoga pants for some form-fitting jeans and a cute sweater, but laziness and comfort gets the best of me, every time.

[Liz]

P.S. HAPPY BIRTHDAY BREE!

[Kim]

Sounds like a pretty good day!

Here is to you getting your every wish for 32.

Don't feel less than by the put together Mom. She was probably thinking the same about you. Be proud of the Mom you are!

[Jen L.]

You're gonna rock 32!

[daddyd]

32 is a very favorite number of mine. It is yours at this age. The best of everything.

[Heather]

Happy 32!! I'm just a few months behind you and also have a child who likes to remind me that he just turned five and he will be going into Kindergarten and that makes him a big boy thank you very much!! :-)

Enjoy it!!

[eva]

Happy birthday again!

Just so you know, I have experiences with Posh Handbag Moms every freakin day at daycare drop off and/or pick up. The ones who work from home look fabulous in lululemon, the office types have great long legs in gorgeous boots, they all wear make up...I always feel like the class frump!