Friday, March 7, 2014

This is 40. (more tips the parenting magazines won't tell you)


This Sunday, I’m going to a Happy Hips workshop at the cozy yoga studio down the street. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to go to Lowes afterwards and check out the wall ovens.

And I’ll turn 40.

So I am a little worried about the wall oven. Every time I burn the sweet potato fries I blame it on my current one, which must be twenty years old, and, now that I think about it, half my age, but, you know, in terms of home appliances—old.

The Happy Hips, well, I suppose I do carry tension. I’m working on the multiplication tables. If it weren’t for six times seven, I think I’d be a whole lot less stressed. But what can you do? Numbers are so sequential. (That’s what I tell my 8 year old, the reason I’m revisiting the times tables, by the way.)

Speaking of numbers, 40 doesn’t bother me. In fact, I’ve felt forty for the last fifteen years. I only started looking this age, though, after I had kids. I’m not sure how that happens but it must have something to do with them sucking the life out of you.

Or maybe collagen.

So, no midlife crisis for me. I have started doing yoga at 5:45 in the morning, and I’m back to getting Rolfed, a process that feels a bit like someone taking a rolling pin to your connective tissue, but my posture’s really improved. And that’s important when I’m at ballet--waiting for my kids. That’s right, no crisis in identity; I still drive a minivan.

As for goals, the great thing is that the ones I made last year haven’t been met so I don’t even need to make a new list. That’s one of the benefits of a school year in which the kids haven’t actually gone to school much because of the polar vortex. I haven’t procrastinated; I’ve been trapped in my home with munchkins who drink Swiss Miss.

Turning forty is a blessing, I know that. And in many ways I feel I’m finally getting started. But 1974—the year the universal bar code was first used on a pack of chewing gum—seems like a fuzzy Polaroid photo away. As the distance between then and now grows each year, I can't help but feel the gap between the world I was born into and the one I live in now. And in that sense, this is 40.




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Tips the Parenting Magazines Won't Tell You is an occasional series, made more occasional by my new schedule. Read more in the series here.

1 comment:

Lunch Box Mom said...

This Sunday, I’m going to a Happy Hips workshop at the cozy yoga studio down the street. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to go to Lowes afterwards and check out the wall ovens.

And I’ll turn 40.