Holding on to my Youth

Harv woke me up with a kiss and a “Happy Birthday” this morning. I said…”Wow – I can’t believe I am 27!” I guess I was still in a partial state of dreaming.

I have been thinking about age. Not surprising given that I am turning a year older today. I have been thinking how age is just all relative. Its feeling changes like the swaying of my moods. I feel that way now more than ever. When we are first born, the passing days bring such wonder. Every month we celebrate Sam’s “birthday” and marvel at how fast the time is going. I just want to hang on to every moment. When we are young (no longer babies), the time seems to slow down. We are bursting at the seams to age. We are “Twelve and a HALF”; "Thirteen and three quarters thank you very much” and so on. We are always looking ahead to that next age of opportunity.

I remember it was around high school graduation/college, when I felt somewhat of a dawning coming over me…an awareness of life going so fast. I felt like time was picking up speed. But at the same time, I felt like I was in the prime of my life. Like a slow motion movie picture.

In my mid-twenties I remember feeling so old. I realize now it was very circumstantial. There I was – mid twenties – not married. No prospects on the horizons. Seemingly all my friends were married and starting families. I felt so old. Like the big party ship had passed me by, and I was stuck on the river raft all alone. I was young, but felt old. Old and alone. Then I met and married Harv, and felt young again. All of a sudden life was before me. We were the newlyweds. The young married’s (so to speak). I went from feeling old to young in a pretty short period of time.

In my early thirties I started to feel old once again. But in this case it felt more like a panic situation. Life was passing me by, and I felt like….like I was loosing time. At that point we had no kids – and were feeling pretty hopeless about ever having kids. I didn’t have a career. I did not particularly love my role as pastor’s wife. I felt like I had a big clock in front of me – wherever I turned – staring me in the face, just tick-tick-ticking away. Every year that went by, I felt more panicked, and more old. I felt like opportunity was slipping by me. Birthdays were not really a welcome event.

And today I turn 37. WOW. 37 seems MIGHTY close to my 40’s. Yikes. And how do I feel today? I feel content. I feel happy with where I am. I feel right where I should be. I don’t know what it is…maybe it is just having my Sam; but I feel good. I love where we live. I love, love our new church and I love, love, LOVE being a mother to my little Sam. Holding him seems to make time and age disappear. I don’t feel the same panicked sense that “life is passing me by” like I have felt the last number of years. I am tempted to say that “late 30’s” is a great age. But I know better now. I think that it is just a great time in my life and that makes me feel young. And happy. So happy birthday to me. And happy day to you…whether you are “young” or “old”.

Yes, I AM Aware of how Irritating I am

I remember in my youth being so annoyed by those girls. You know the ones. The ones that start dating and completely fall off the face of the earth. It’s like they meet a guy, and all girl friendships fly to the wind. I used to be so annoyed. I was never going to be that way.

And then I met Harv.

I remember being quite the anti “mommy blog” girl. I really didn’t want to hear about your cute babies. No, I didn’t think your child was the cutest I had ever seen. No, I didn’t really want to hear about what Jimmy ate for supper and how he was on the verge of crawling. And no, I did not want a play by play of his toilet tutorial. I wondered why you were blogging about it, talking to me about it in the supermarket, using facebook as your personal play by play for the on goings of little Susie. I wasn’t going to be that way.

And then I had Sam.

I get it. I get it people. I. GET. IT. And I am now one of you. It’s all I want to write about. And Sam is all I want to talk about. I want to share with you how he is having trouble napping, and how he is on the verge of crawling, and that he is really struggling with tooth #5. I want to blog about his every action, and ask you if he isn’t just the cutest baby you have ever seen?! I want to post pictures and have you tell me how cute you think my baby is. I want to share how I feel like a horrible mother, because I let Sam roll off the bed this afternoon. Right off the bed. A big thud. And a big wail. I want to tell you how I am still, hours later checking him for broken bones and signs of concussions. And how I am still apologizing to my little Sammy for being a bad, bad Mommy. I want you to tell me that it's ok, and that the same thing happened to you. (And really, you probably have already told me, and I may have glazed over at the time.)

And now I am apologizing to you. To all the mom’s out there. I was wrong. And I want to hear about it. I want to know everything. I search for your blogs on line and happily read about little Jimmy and his daily adventures. I bookmark you as my favorites. I delight in meeting you in the grocery store, or in Tim Horton’s, as we compare baby ages and names and laugh over our matching Nestle diaper bags. And I am sorry.

And I know…to some…I am completely irritating. And I know I am. And I am sorry. I am aware. And I am sorry.

Oh, and one more thing….Isn’t he the cutest baby EVER?!?!

Take my Walls and Let them Be...

I spent the morning at the local senior’s home. We were there as a church group – doing a little hymn singing and a little handshaking. I must confess, it is not my most favored of church duties here in Yorkton. I think that if I was a senior, instead of the typical hymn sing, I would rather someone come and feed me chocolate, and catch me up on the latest episode of Grey’s Anatomy. Or maybe we could play a round or two of cards, or peruse the latest edition of Better Homes and Gardens. I would be all over that. Listening to 6 verses of "Take my Life and Let it Be" at record breaking slow speeds is not exactly up there on my list of most desired “must-do” activities, and I don’t think that is going to change in the next 50 years…but you never know.

While I was there this morning I noticed a shocking discrepancy. Since we have lived in Yorkton, they have done some major additions to the care facility. As a result there are now two sections to the Nursing Home. There is a dreary and drab old side, and a brand spankin’ shiny new palace-like new side. The old side is worn out…it needs a new paint job, and the patients sit in the old lifeless sitting area in front of the old TV and are forced to watch the Weather Network all morning long (though to be fair, I must say that Harv would be in his climatology glory). The new section smells great, has a certain glow to it, has a little cafeteria, a beautiful chapel, and the TV was on CMT. Country Music Television! I kid you not. Now THAT is what I call living the high life. Such totally different pictures…and the only thing separating the two is a little code that opens the golden gates of splendor.

The question I need to ask is this: How can they not have total chaos? Are the poor seniors stuck in drab-land completely unaware that there is a senior utopia in wheelchair rolling distance? What do you think would happen if I went over some afternoon and whispered a certain door opening code in a few willing ears?

Well, it certainly proves to me that ignorance is bliss. It leads me to wonder how much discontent and envy I would spare myself if I didn’t know what I was missing? Would I long to live in a Better Homes and Garden house if I never picked up a magazine? What if the only standard of cozy I followed was the one that I set for myself – because that is all I knew? That would mean I would have to ban all TV, all visits to other houses and you can forget about grocery shopping, because how would I ever make it through the check out aisle with all those home magazines that call out my name?

It’s not realistic I realize, but I do think there is a benefit to closing our eyes to things around us and simply enjoying what we have. There is a peace that comes with contentment. I would like to have more of that in my life. That doesn’t mean that I am done with home renovation. It doesn’t mean that I am canceling plans to paint my bathroom. Maybe it just means that I will try to refrain from turning up my nose at its current grey walls until I get around to its face lift. I will practice contentment until that glorious painting day arrives. And in the meantime, I could distract myself. I’m sure I could find some little senior who would love to snack on chocolate with me while discussing the pros and cons of Reality TV. I think I will start with the one who was rolling her eyes during the last slow verse of "I Need Thee Every Hour". She looked like a kindred spirit. I wonder if she could remember a certain four digit code…