I once had a blog called “The Pulled Together Mom: the household antics of a sometimes, but not always pulled- together mom.”
Some of you may be familiar with it. It was cute. My kids were little. I struggled with and wrote about elementary school parties, making mommy friends and how to fold fitted sheets. You know, the major things in life. I made people laugh, pissed off some trolls, and finally hung up the towel when I needed to actually make money at what I was doing.
But now, I am in a whole new phase of life. It’s a phase I have been known to refer to as ‘forty-don’t-give-a-fuck.’ My kids aren’t little anymore. I don’t go into school to help the teacher cut out shapes for the bulletin board. I don’t host birthday parties that cost an arm and a leg and include fifty goodie bags of crap. I don’t sew halloween costumes (who am I kidding, I never did anyway), and I don’t have to pretend that Santa is real. Nope. My kids are entering teenage-hood, and guess what? The shit is getting real. And I mean, I-don’t- know-how-the-F-to-deal-with-this-shit-but-I-better-figure-it-out-real-soon, real.
I grapple with my kids’ use of electronics and social media, bullying, teenage friendships, first boyfriends, curfews, sex education or the lack thereof (God help me). I work daily on keeping my marriage interesting, happy and somewhat stable. I drink too much wine, squirrel away money for botox, don’t get to see my friends near enough and shop online for crap I don’t need until the wee hours of the morning. I am no longer young, cool or pretty, and I’m barely even skinny.
But I am smart, because I’m forty (something). I’m smart enough to know that leggings aren’t pants, that a little lipstick goes a long way, that Pinterest is fun to look at but a bunch of bullshit, that breast cancer is real, that in the very near future I will lose my parents, that life is incredibly short and fragile.
This is the part of life that wears you out and makes you old. But it is also a time of exuberant freedom; I’ve got some financial stability and independent children who don’t need babysitters, pack their own lunches, and are capable of doing chores–right. And one of the most freeing parts of being this old, is that I don’t care what my social status is; I don’t need a boatload of friends, I just need good ones that don’t judge and always have wine.
Life is hard at middle age, but it’s also amazing. And it’s worth writing about. This is my new blog. I hope I make you laugh, think, feel comfortable and laugh some more.
Because this, my friends, is life after forty.