Every Gray

My real-life friends will tell you I celebrated my 29th birthday for half a decade. Then my 39th went on for at LEAST ten years.

Then I had a baby after 40. It was as if the Universe slapped me upside the head. The angels in heaven--the ones assigned to send babies to mothers--were clearly on a bender. They said, "This will be hilarious. She thinks she knows ALL there is to know about mothering--completely intuitive. We're going to send her PIRATE BOY (the child formerly known as Demon Baby). Sit back with a margarita and watch what happens!"

For anyone who didn't follow my Demon Baby and Me blog, suffice it to say, I have replaced the ceiling in my kitchen TWICE, been written to by my insurance company (and been featured in their magazine) over the damage he's done to my house; he's destroyed a vacuum, placed worms artfully on my pillow and on my brie (in the fridge). He fed my diamond ring to the dogs, and refused to wear clothes for over two years. He's given me a LOT of gray hair. And most of the time, I wouldn't trade a second of it.

But this year, in particular, has been horribly unkind. One of those years in which my life has been razed to the ground. I learned how cruel people could be. I've learned about hypocrisy and about shallowness. I've learned about fair-weather friends and cowardice. I've yet again faced down illness and mind-numbing pain.

And now . . . delightedly so . . . I get it.

I am one of THOSE broads. I am going to be one of those grannies who one day gets her nose pierced and rides a Harley. I get it. I really do. Because I realize I have EARNED every last gray, every wrinkle, every bit of it all. I gained wisdom. I once again gave the cosmic middle finger to my illness. I learned who I can count on. I learned--again---for the second time in a decade or so--what I am made of. And it wasn't fun and it was incredibly painful. But now I am laughing again, and MOST OF ALL don't give a sh*t about smile lines.

I am another year older. And I have earned it, Baby.

And it FEELS GREAT!

So here's to another year!!! And to all my true friends . . . I love you!

Only Me

Weird things happen to me.

All right, maybe that's not quite true. I invite weirdness into my life with open arms. So, for example, 5 years ago when my oldest son wanted to learn to fish, I ended up getting him on the CBS Early Morning Show, in a nationally televised adventure in which he learned to bass fish from one of the world's most famous bass fisherman. Oh, and Boston Rob from Survivor. The result was hilarious. But most kids don't catch their first fish on an overnight trip with Boston Rob. So yeah. Stuff like that.

So it was that yesterday, people, I was on a rock star bus. Weird things. You see, there is a really long story here, and considering you all only have a limited time to read this blog, I will try to go to the highlights.

About 6 weeks ago, my Significant Other, who manages a bar in a country club, comes home at 2:30 a.m. and says, "So one of my regulars wants to take you and me to see Sister Hazel."

At the time, I was confusing the band with this one. 'Cause they sang Sister Christian. Once I got over this confusion, I figured . . . sure. Then, two weeks later, he came home and said, "Here's the bad news, it's on your birthday." Because generally, I like to spend my birthday with my FAMILY. Not complete (to me) strangers. I. Was. Not. Happy. But I decided to go with it because it was too late to back out. The tickets were bought. And it was certainly nice of this man to want to take us to the show, and so . . . you know . . . you go with weirdness. You defer to the weird.

But then a week ago, Significant Other came home and said, "By the way, the guy taking us knows the band and we have VIP tickets." This still wasn't taking away from the fact that it was ON MY BIRTHDAY. But again, I tried to go with it. And VIP tickets are better than nosebleed, so you know . . . I was busily learning Sister Hazel songs on YouTube.

And then, a couple of days ago, he said, "Hon, I know you're not going to like hearing this, but apparently he REALLY knows the band, and we're eating with the band before the show."

So now we're reaching the point of ridiculous.

So yes, in a private room at Morton's, I ate with the band Sister Hazel, then went on their rock star bus, and saw their show from back stage.

And I had a ball.

Put it this way, I will remember this birthday forever. I even have a T-shirt! And the above picture, along with a ton of other. And the band sang Happy Birthday to me, and they were just about the nicest guys I've ever met. One is a writer. And of course? The writer in me thought . . . . .

Someday I'm gonna use all this in a book.

Yeah. Weird things happen to me. How about you?

Meeting the Train

I bet THIS is what you want YOU want to hear when you wake up on your birthday.

"Wow . . . you look like a train hit you."

So, my friends . . . stomach flu on my birthday.

No blog today. Catch you tomorrow.

And yes, I am still going out to celebrate tonight. I may be green. I may look like a train hit me.

But it's my birthday.

And I have--as to be expected--appropriately ridiculous and crazy plans. There's a story there, and if I survive the night, I will blog all about it tomorrow.

Enjoy your day!

Happy Birthday, Baby Girl

Eleven years ago, I was in labor waiting to meet you. I had a catheter in my heart, and was wondering if we were both going to be okay, and if my heart could take it. Well . . . at 5:00 p.m., the answer came. A beautiful baby girl with rosebud lips, healthy as could be. Little did I know when I met you that you were a poet and a writer and a photographer and filmmaker, a baby lover and puppy lover, a Jonas Brother fanatic, a funny wit. I did know, right then, you were my heart child . . .

May life bring you dreams tempered with wisdom. Laughter tempered with a few tears just so you know how precious joy is. And love. Lots of that.