It’s been a good week.
Obviously a good week because it was my birthday and because it is March and March is consistently a good time for so many reasons…including the fact that it is my birthday.
A birthday my favorite son forgot. Yes. He. Did. He’s still my favorite son.
My favorite son who just so happens to have some pretty good taste in music as he introduces me to his latest discovery. Yes, he asked me if I had ever heard of Radiohead…as we were together listening to Radiohead.
It was a good week to honor the strong women that my darling husband and I have raised. I can’t imagine that there will ever come a day where I am not in awe that these humans share my DNA…mine!
It’s the perfect time to save computer-simulated lives…
and wonder where the hell is the computer-simulated code team already. Next week is my date with the mannikin. I am certain that there will be dirty talk.
It’s the perfect time to warm your bare toes in the sunshine…and ignore the weeds…or, better yet, watch your darling husband and favorite son pull the weeds whilst warming your toes in the March sunshine.
It’s also the perfect time to drive around the Valley with the roof open …allergies be damned.
Oh, and let’s not forget Daylight Saving Time because, in spite of everything wrong with Daylight Saving Time, turning the clocks ahead one hour means after dinner walks with views like this. It also means that I am back in the same time zone as darling daughter #4.
For me, March is good, so very good.
Only those with tenacity can march forward in March. ~ Ernest Agyemang Yeboah
I’m fifty five.
And suddenly I move up into a new age category on most surveys. I actually can now get the Senior discount at some fine dining establishments like Dennys and Ihop – heh. My body won’t stop reminding me the number of times I have circled the sun thanks to gravity either.
Happy birthday to me!
I won’t lie, there is a feeling of ambivalence yet at the same time the usual optimism because it is my birthday and I am fifty five…and very much alive! Inspired by photographer Justin Hackworth, I decided to attempt a new photo project which includes a little bit of personal navel gazing – 55 self portraits to represent me at 55. Justin is right, this can be a challenge. But in that challenge I see me as I turn 55 – and, if you will indulge me, so do you.
It’s a whole different lens you look through the older you get. ~ Andre Agassi
Twenty five years ago, we met face to face for the very first time. That’s right folks, my Zoë Elizabeth is twenty five years old!
She steals my breath every time I regard her while basking in her warm, bright, shining face.
Twenty five years ago I was her mother and she was my child. Through the years we challenged one another in many ways. There were the times where I did find myself saying out loud, “I am not your friend, I am your mother.”
I might have even screamed it through an abruptly slammed door. But that is part of being a parent. I won’t lie though, I wanted to be her friend. I really, really wanted to be her friend. I have always loved talking to her, laughing with her, playing with her. Yesterday she called me her friend and with her now at twenty five, we are at a place where we can be friends.
Always her mother, always my daughter, and now my friend.
Happy birthday cheers my darling daughter and friend!
I’m really glad to be fifteen, Mom. And you know what the best part is? I’ll get to get my driver’s permit and practice driving.
Why does my favorite son now imagine that this is the time to take a page from a sister’s, or another sister’s adolescent life story to give me heart failure?
True, today my son is fifteen; which makes us all old here. Remember when I first began this adventure and he was that adorable sweet-faced three year old?
Well, he still has a very sweet face.
A sweet face with the shadow of a mustache and peach fuzz and baritone voice that reminds me that he thinks the best thing about turning fifteen is he will soon be able to get his learner’s permit…in six months and one day and AFTER he completes driver’s education which will be offered in his freshman year next school year.
I look at this young man I call son and am reminded that the fact he is alive is a miracle. Will I ever not pause to honor the memory of that early morning, the day that he was born? How tiny and fragile he was and, at the same time, how strong he was?
Likely never. Sorry, son.
But today I celebrate that day and the young man standing before me. Happy birthday my favorite son!
Thirty years ago, I embarked an adventure. I was fearful of the changes that were to come, but I was more anxious believing all the declarations that there would be nothing but pain that would take me into this adventure; and that there was literally nothing that I could do about it.
Accept it, they told me. Submit to it, I was advised. Wisdom passed down to me by those who had been there and done that…and who shaped me into the person who believed that I had no strength, no power in anything.
And then, Hollie was born. Thirty years ago.
Thirty years ago, I began to see some of my deepest fears about myself and realized that I was so much stronger than them.
Birth is the sudden opening of a window, through which you look out upon a stupendous prospect. For what has happened? A miracle. You have exchanged nothing for the possibility of everything.
– William Macneile Dixon
From my nothing, or at least the nothing I was raised to believe to be true about myself came the possibility of everything. Thirty years ago today, it all began.
Thirty years ago today, it all began with her.
Here again I literally gasp out loud finding it hard to believe that I am the part of someone so beautiful in all the ways…in spite of the million mistakes I have made along the way of this adventure. But I am.
Thirty years ago began the adventure.
Happy birthday my dear, darling daughter. Thanks for making me Mom.