On Turning 40

When I was 15 years old, my dad spent two weeks walking around the house singing, "Life begins for me...I'm 40 Now." I thought he was weird. And old. Now, as I get comfortable in my early 40's and watch my friends hit that magic number, I realize he might not have been as ancient as I thought at the time. Perspective is a wonderful thing.

I'm not full of wise and wonderful sayings about dealing with turning forty. I don't have any advice. In fact, I'm not particularly good at it myself. Who likes getting older? But really, in the end, I don't know what difference it makes. People who love me are going to love me whether I'm 21 or 41, and people who hate me, well, I guess it gives them more ammunition.

Topping forty does change your perspective. When I go out in public, I worry more about having clean hands and teeth than whether or not I have makeup on (I don't really think it took me forty years to figure that one out, but almost.) I have finally realized that no tan in my 20's and 30's is worth what it does to my skin in my 40's. (Unfortunately, I realized that one a little late.) I don't see value in large breasts, excess makeup, high heels, or men who value these "attributes" in women. And in my 40's, I have realized that I do have control over what I do and when, who I see, how much I work and play, and everything else that makes my life my own.

My very, very special friend Gena celebrates that landmark birthday tomorrow, on March 28,

2008. I'm proud to say she is handling the occation with more grace and wisdom than I did. But of course, if I had had a best friend to go first, I'm sure it would have been easier for me. All joking aside, I love her and wish her the best birthday ever. Life is good. And better now that we know what's up. Watch out world, for women in their forties.

Matthew-isms

Some things are just too good NOT to share...

This morning as we took our morning dip in the hot tub, Matt told me, "We have to wear green today, mom. . .you know, for Abraham Lincoln."

Matt is a big fan of Harry Potter. He has seen all of the movies, has the games for his PC and just got "The Order of the Phoenix" for Wii. He told me he "really wants to go to Hogsqueal" and meet "A-mile-y." (I think he means Hogsmead and Hermione, but I could be wrong).

And the latest... "Mom, what if the only word we could say was "Euwgh" (or "eewh" or "eeewwww").

Matt's First Short Film

What can I say? He's a genius. Give him a camera and watch him work. I have no idea where he comes up with this stuff. (I like the gum; it's a nice touch.)

Perspective

When I was in the third grade, I won the hoop shoot contest. It was truly a miracle. I shot "granny style" and managed to sink 10 of 20 shots. Not remarkable, but enough to send me to the shootout up the hill. I was thrilled. It was my basketball debut (and interestingly enough, my last real attempt at the sport).

The day of the shootout came, and my family piled into our '56 Ford--four across the front seat, ready for the world. Ready, that is, until we got half way up the hill, and our pickup ceased to function. My mom tells me it was a tire, but I swear I remember smoke billowing out from under the hood. The smoke makes it seem so much more dramatic, but I'm probably mixing memories...

We headed back to town and got the old rig fixed up, then headed out again. Needless to say, we arrived late. They were still shooting, but my group had finished, and I was informed that by no means would I be allowed to compete. Game over, as it were.

My heart was broken. I was devastated. I had missed the opportunity of a lifetime. When I think of it now, I realize I was probably saved from no small amount of humiliation. I doubt if I could have repeated my 10 for 20 record (which at this shootout, wouldn't have made me a contender), and I'm pretty sure several of the boys would have snickered when I pulled out the ol' granny shot. Still, at the time, it was the most important event of my life.

Monday evening, Emily had her own hoop shoot in the form of Missoula Children's Theater tryouts. And, you guessed it, she didn't get a part. I thought I understood how she felt--after all, I had forever lost a career as a star basketball player (I might mention that I'm 5'4" here for emphasis) because I missed the hoop shoot. She could have been the next Hannah Montana, or whatever her real name is. But no. Those college students couldn't see her talent.

I joke, but my heart goes out to my sweet little Em. She didn't go to tryouts on a whim: she's been planning on it since school started. She LOVES the productions and longs to be involved. She has done two so far, and last night she informed me that they are her "favorite thing about school." Ouch.

I think we all have our hoop shoots...missed opportunities that seem so grand, so life changing at the time. I know I had my share of disappointments, like any kid. What I wasn't prepared for is how painful her disappointments would be for me. It's like I'm standing there with tears in my eyes, pleading to do my granny shot all over again. Poor little Sis. How do I give her the perspective that only years can bring?

Wrestling with Motherhood

My little baby boy is in "Little Guy" wrestling. It's awful. Practice is bad enough, but this past weekend, he had a tournament. Honestly, I'm surprised more moms don't break up the matches by chasing down the competition with their purses.

It's tough to see some smart- alec kid beat the snot out of the little guy you have worked to keep bruise-free. I don't have the heart for it.

The tournaments are frightening for me...I can only imagine what they feel like for a five or six year old. Eight matches take place simultaneously. The backboards shake from the roar of parents and coaches screaming instructions to their kids. The dads are the worst--you can tell they were wrestlers in school...or always wanted to be. Their deep voices echo and clash against each other as they fight to be heard. I swear, I SWEAR that last year I heard a woman scream "kill him!" to her kid who was wrestling. Are you kidding me? If she says that in public, I am afraid to know what she says at home.

Matt is not a fighter. I don't know if he knows that yet, but I suspect he does. He likes to win, but he doesn't really want to hurt the other kid. If they could settle the match without contact, I think he wouldn't mind. This is the same little boy that HAS to give his momma a kiss every morning before he runs off to the bus. Perhaps he's a late bloomer agressively, but I hope not.

Well, the end result was not too bad. Matt ended up with a medal, which made him truly happy. However, it did not make him happy enough to try and win another one. (Yippie! We are done with tournaments for one more year.) Good job, Matt. You're awesome.