Suburban Oblivion

If you ever decide you MUST install new plug-ins, don’t do it before you have to leave for a family function. Nothing like coming home, checking your stats, and pouting over zero visits in four hours, only to realize it’s because you were a fuck-up and broke your blog with said plug-ins.

Just sayin’.

Love,

Me

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I remember thinking as a child that 30 was old. As old as dirt, and that at 30 you must have a foot in the grave already. You were ancient at 30. Funny how the perspective changes as the years go by.

I’m not 30 yet, but it certainly seems close as I turn 29 today. I’m feeling the weight of this milestone as I realize my 20’s are pretty much over. Damn, where did the time go? As I look around it seems pretty obvious where it went- a divorce, a marriage, an adoption, 2 moves, several jobs, friendships discovered and lost, and the addition of 2 little boys who, despite their wily ways, have managed to capture my heart as thoroughly as their sister did 9 1/2 years ago.

A small part of me wants to hold on, for fear of what’s to come at 30.  I have crinkling at the corner of my eyes when I smile that will probably be more and more prominent in a year or two. I wonder if my first gray hair is just lurking somewhere, waiting for a bad hair day to pop up and scare me like a monster in a bad horror flick. The weight gets harder to lose the older I get, and I worry one day it will just look at me, laugh, and say it’s there for good. Do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars.

My 20’s were pink. I wanted to prove to the world that I was still young, despite having kids. I wore things that I shouldn’t have, thinking they made me look my age instead of looking like a mommy. Damnit, I was still sexy even if I did have kids, and I was determined to prove it! Don’t you see me?? There is still a woman under these children! Look at me!!

As I edge into the brink of 30, I realize pink is indeed the color of youth. The color of inexperience. The color of cute.

I’m done with cute.

My 30’s will be red. I have always feared red, feeling like it would overpower me, call attention to me, and  show off how unsophisticated I was. Yet now at 29 I am starting to realize the power it holds. Not a fire engine red; no more of that desperate, ‘look at me!!’ here. A burgundy. The color of a finely aged wine ready to come into its own. The color of a silk gown that hints at curves but leaves them guessing. Strong and confident, but subtle. Sophisticated.

The French have a saying that life is too short to eat bad food or drink bad wine. It has taken me till 29 to grasp this, and I plan to not only embrace it, but revel in it.

From pink to red, the woman emerges.

I’ve noticed being a mom is like juggling. Each child is a ball, and with each one you have to have to work to keep them balanced with each other, and with the rest of the balls you are juggling- the spouse, the home, the finances, the job, the family, the activities. Adding in depression is like trying to continue to juggle it all, but blindfolded.

I was feeling really good when I wrote my last post. The blindfold was gone, and I felt like I had all my balls in the air, so to speak. I have been happier, my kids have been happier, even my husband has been happier seeing the house looking better, me feeling better, and things overall being calmer here. We spent some time alone last night laughing and enjoying each other’s company like we haven’t in some time.

Today another ball dropped.

Seems in my recent fog I made some mistakes, and failed to keep a good eye on the checking account. We agreed awhile back that would be one of my responsibilities, and this is not the first time I’ve screwed things up. Unfortunately this screwup is going to cost us a lot of money. I am so beyond upset right now. Ian is so mad at me it’s not even funny, and I can’t blame him a bit. We go to Orlando every year for our one vacation, and I may have put that in jeopardy with this.

The only possible redeemer right now is I subbed for the first time at my boys’ preschool, and apparently did really well with it. I’m told once you get your foot in the door they will call you to work more often. I went in to the director earlier and told her I’ll take as many days as they will give me, so please keep me in mind when teachers call out. The pay isn’t outstanding, but it’s work, and I can bring my boys with me when I am there and drop them in with their teachers even if it isn’t their usual days. No nights, no weekends, no eating into family time.

Do me a favor and cross your fingers they call me often, this is one ball I have got to get back in the air.