Okay, now carry on.
I wake up today with only two thoughts in my brain:
1. I am 42 years old, so Happy Birthday to me.
2. Good riddance to that fucking 41st year.
Those of you who have been tagging along for this
One year ago, on a rainy day in 2014, I planned for the visit of two people to my home. I knew they wouldn't stay the night, but I had been told they'd have dinner. With me. With the kids. (Remember this now?) In the end, they stayed all of 27 minutes and didn't even wait for the kids to come home from school. In the end, I was hurt. So I took my wounded feelings, wrapped them up with no room to breathe, and tried to push them to the back of my closet. And I wrote about the experience, hoping to move forward with my life.
And I did move forward with everything in my life--teaching, parenting, helping with homework, cleaning, running (or trying to do so), writing, editing, and all the other bits and pieces that take up a day. But when I reflect on that year, I feel like I needed to take heed on August 21, 2014. That perhaps that day was a harbinger of something and I missed it. Shouldn't I have known that the situation on my last birthday screamed foreshadowing? I'm a writer for goodness sake. Had I been reading the story that is my life, shouldn't I have paused on that section of the page and thought, Oh shit. What's next?
But I didn't pause that day, and the only thing I can do now is think about each of those 365 days that transpired since I missed the Oh shit moment. During those days, I had a tough time adjusting to twelve-year-old nastiness, dealing with our non-listening redhead, and making sure I'd given enough time to Melina. It was difficult to fit in soccer practice and choir and writing group and teaching. I never seemed to get enough sleep and I found myself worrying, often, about something: my running injury, the mole that needed to be excised, the dog we adopted (and rehomed), Shadow, Lucy, my parents, my parents, my parents. In fact, as evidenced by the second thought of my morning, this past year has left a very bad taste in my mouth.
So what to do?
You know me by now. I am so predictable, you know what I'm going to say, right? (It's okay, go ahead and tell me...)
I'm not going to do anything but what I have been doing. Living my life the way I think is right, trying to find the lesson in most experiences, loving my children until they burst with all the emotion I'm giving them, and hoping that no matter what I do, that some people (ahem) learn by example. Because if I have the ability to make those two comments I started with, it means I woke up. I am alive.
And that's all I can ask for. One more day.