Times they are a changin.
I'm 29 for only about another month, and then I'll be that other age. Sometimes I think about that other age and really have no qualms with it. All of my friends have hit that number or are right behind me. I don't want to be associated with those who don't know who Urkel is anyway-- those who never knew the thrill of playing Oregon Trail on the only computer in the classroom. Sorry, you have lost all your cattle in the river and will soon die of dysentery. Those kids who don't know what a Popple or Wuzzle is. How sad for them. But on the other hand I am having a really hard time letting go of some things, and I don't enjoy being shocked into being old.
For example. I heard on the radio a new coffee place was opening, and the young adult scene was welcome to come hang out specifically on a certain night and time. How fun! I keep listening for the details. "...so come on out all you young adults, ages 18-23, Friday nights!"
Um. I am not invited to the young adults coffee scene. And most likely if you're reading my blog, you're not invited either.
Thanks a lot stupid coffee place. Am I invited to the old adults bucci mixer? The middle age coffee social? How dare they broadcast all over the radio waves that young adults are 18-23! Whatever. I only just started liking coffee, and I wasn't going to go anyway, thankyouverymuch-you agediscriminatingjerks.
When I went into Forever 21 this weekend for the first time in 2 years (not by choice-but by geographical hardship) I'm overthrown by the taller than me middle school and high school girls looking like they just came off a Japanese music video. I like the store, but the Saturday mall thing was never fun to me at any age. I'm not a black friday, clearance fighter sort. Still, I try my best to enjoy the moment. I pick up some great costume jewelry for myself, a quartz and faux pearl necklace and another great chunky gold necklace, and think, "These would go great with tons of my clothes--super wearable. Church, downtown, everyday. And Juliette will love these too!"
Juliette is my 3 year old daughter. Awkward thought, but fleeting. I pay for the jewelry and zip out of the mall, already overwhelmed by the first store experience. I text Ryan to come pick me up, I'm ready to go. Vieja.
To ease my transition, I will start using the number 30 in my everyday. But if 30 means I am looked at strangely for painting my toes glittery gold, then yeah. I have a problem with 30. Is it ok to share jewelry and hair bows with Juliette when I turn 30? (There are those who would say it was never ok, but we aren't friends.) Once I passed that 10 year high school reunion mark, I knew things started to shift. And I know how to count, and that 30 has been in the works for awhile. But we all know, it's not exactly as exciting as 18 or 21, or even 25. Is there any age left that people look forward to? Please share if so. I'd love to look at a birthday in my future and not grimace.
Times they are a changin. Not so long ago I studied for exams and paid sorority dues. Not so long after I got married. I was the mom of 1. But now I have a 6 year old who plays soccer and goes to boyscouts, a daughter who takes dance lessons, and my babies are officially toddlers now and we've stopped breastfeeding. (For you nonbreastfeeders, that means my breasts have now returned to prepubescent size, and it kinda sucks.) I will do a lot less swaddling in my life now, and a lot more chauffeuring. Life flies. I bet 40 will come for me faster than 30, and Luke will be driving himself around.
I have a slightly older sister and a slightly older cousin who will always make my birthday seem not so bad. Maybe it'll be like the Three Billy Goats Gruff for us. I will be the last goat, pass over last, I will have to butt the ugly, warty, hairy 30 year-old troll off the bridge, but once I cross I will find all my other goat friends already enjoying the good life of green fields and dandelions. Maybe! But I already have issues with this allegory because in it, no matter where we find ourselves, we're getting older, fatter, and we're still goats.