Thursday, February 13, 2014

No Gloating

"NO George NO!" Sam is telling the television right now as George is yet making another poor decision.

I want to tell Ted-the man with the Yellow hat when he says "Stay out of trouble George and be a good little monkey"

"Stop setting him up for failure sir. You are leaving a crazy monkey unattended. Its a good thing he isn't an aggressive Gorilla"

All this while I am sipping diet coke (yes I am trying to wean off real sugar-keep the bloating just not the basically empty poison) lounging in my rusting beach chair wearing paint stained sweats and watching the world in a kind of position old cranky people do when everyone is dumb and being crotchety is ignored because are just old and expected to be that way.

I mean. I am only 29 but I'm working very hard on getting old (why I want to have more kids they add at least 5 extra years to your life each but it is drained from the youthful glowing beauty you realize you used to have before they emerged from newborn hood.

And yes I do think an extra 10 plus years of joy in my life is worth the youth being sucked from my once plump and unlined face. But I would like to learn not to be so surprised by it

Can I please tell you that lately being a grown up is not fun. I hate being called "mam" because yes, I look like a 'mam' and not a 'miss'. And I hated how when I went back to my family ward everyone looked so old. Because I think everyone shouldn't age including myself.

Its like being on a flat conveyer belt down a long hallway and every  couple hundreds of feet I glance over at the mirror and I'm like "aaa! who is that?!"

I feel like I should be 15 still and although I do sometimes act like it when we are into the nitty gritty of selling our home, disciplining, packing, cleaning, paying bills, saving, paying more bills from savings because of x y z I look over at my forever 25 year old looking husband and am like "being an adult is soooo boring". And I hope you get gray hair soon because I am tired of people thinking I am older. Huruumph. (He smiles politely and nods like you would to the 2 year old who is mad because her brother has parts she doesn't and why "can't she pee like a boy!?")

I dont' wish to literally be 15 again (heaven knows I am a lot happier with myself and I would like to add maybe a bit more mature and have a very wonderful life) but I dont' think I would recognize myself.

I went to dinner with a good friend from High School. And I was telling her about how I found my old California license. The one that has the picture of me when I was 15 getting my permit

Height: 5 4
Hair: blonde (a light blonde naturally)
eyes: Hazel
weight: 128 (which my sister told me when I filled out the form I was supposed to lie about my weight because everyone does-I didn't)

And a picture of a tan girl, no glasses, bright blue shirt, non smiling looking in the picture like a version of skipper from the waist up.

This year I am going to be 30. And that seems so old to me. 21 used to seem old to me and now 29 does and now I am going to be in my 30's!!!

In 10 years I will think myself being dramatic perhaps but life I think is about continually growing up. There is always more room for maturity. There is always more room to love more and have more compassion. That is a forever and ever thing but Its kind of hard to fathom that your body really does age and change despite you on the inside getting better.

Being in charge of awesome, small, exuberant, little persons is an amazing task (and huge undertaking) and although you grow into your role in what they need in different stages of their lives while always trying to maintain the dignity, tranquility and love of your home ( mostly while ignoring the cleaning of it)

Yes, the beloved Curious George is not my piece of pie (along with grammar....real words....meatloaf...literal cherry pie...) and that being an adult is totally at times exhausting but I am fully signed up for life. A good life even. And that involves a lot of nitty gritty. And I hope that one day I can judge The man with the Yellow hat while on a tandem bicycle wearing white emmaculate tennis gear with my 2-5 children behind me peddling wearing coordinating outfits with me. And instead of hissing out my judgment I'll simply say

"Oh tsk tsk. That poor man. Yellow is so not his color" in my best british accent of course. And low enough that none (or neither) of my children hear my petty judgement.

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