The Final Countdown
One month from today.
Only one month from today.
And I will be
30.
THIRTY.
Treinta.
Dreissig.
Older than any of my Barbies ever were, in their little pink apartments with color-coordinating dog and pony.
Sigh.
Ok, I can hear several of you out there rolling your eyes.
Even though eye rolling hopefully doesn't actually make any noise. But you know what I mean.
Yes, I am younger than several of you. Most of you. Ok, probably ALL of you.
Wait. Now that I realize that, nevermind. I'm a baby! A mere sprig of a girl!
......
But still. 30. Wow.
I feel like I should have Grown-Up Responsibilities. And somehow those Responsibilities shouldn't involve (1) buying tater tots on a weekly basis, seeing as I have no children, (2) mourning my loss of cable because I do not have the Cartoon Network, and (3) sticking out my tongue when walking by the kitchen sink full of dishes, because I do NOT feel like washing them right now.
This is serious. I still have a pink fuzzy PowerPuff Girls seat cover in my car. And a Hello Kitty pillow.
Granted, the traditional Responsibilities proffered by American culture really aren't my cuppa tea either. This moment of clarity provided by the EXTREMELY pregnant girl that was getting out of her station wagon outside of my office today at lunch. wow. She was REALLY pregnant. And young. And looked miserable. Not to say I don't want to ever have kids. I'm just sometimes really appreciative of the way my life has gone, as opposed to so many girls that graduated high school at the same time I did. Those girls who get excited by the prospect of going to Tennessee for vacation (it's 20 minutes from my hometown, y'all), those who started helping to overpopulate the earth by age 20. What a difference in our lives. In our choices.
And then somehow, 30 seems very young. I don't want to grow up. Not like that. I don't want to ever be one of those Grown-Ups who takes herself too seriously to laugh at fart jokes. My nieces (via Rachel!) sent me a card one time that sums it up nicely I think. It said basically that they love aunts because aunts will get right in the floor to play with them.
Trying to be a serious Grown-Up is what teenagers do. And gods forbid any of us EVER want to be a teenager again! Although I was so thin back then. But the drama. Oh help.
Ramble ramble ramble.
Can you tell I haven't eaten today? Enough blathering. Time to go home and watch some Simpsons. :)
Only one month from today.
And I will be
30.
THIRTY.
Treinta.
Dreissig.
Older than any of my Barbies ever were, in their little pink apartments with color-coordinating dog and pony.
Sigh.
Ok, I can hear several of you out there rolling your eyes.
Even though eye rolling hopefully doesn't actually make any noise. But you know what I mean.
Yes, I am younger than several of you. Most of you. Ok, probably ALL of you.
Wait. Now that I realize that, nevermind. I'm a baby! A mere sprig of a girl!
......
But still. 30. Wow.
I feel like I should have Grown-Up Responsibilities. And somehow those Responsibilities shouldn't involve (1) buying tater tots on a weekly basis, seeing as I have no children, (2) mourning my loss of cable because I do not have the Cartoon Network, and (3) sticking out my tongue when walking by the kitchen sink full of dishes, because I do NOT feel like washing them right now.
This is serious. I still have a pink fuzzy PowerPuff Girls seat cover in my car. And a Hello Kitty pillow.
Granted, the traditional Responsibilities proffered by American culture really aren't my cuppa tea either. This moment of clarity provided by the EXTREMELY pregnant girl that was getting out of her station wagon outside of my office today at lunch. wow. She was REALLY pregnant. And young. And looked miserable. Not to say I don't want to ever have kids. I'm just sometimes really appreciative of the way my life has gone, as opposed to so many girls that graduated high school at the same time I did. Those girls who get excited by the prospect of going to Tennessee for vacation (it's 20 minutes from my hometown, y'all), those who started helping to overpopulate the earth by age 20. What a difference in our lives. In our choices.
And then somehow, 30 seems very young. I don't want to grow up. Not like that. I don't want to ever be one of those Grown-Ups who takes herself too seriously to laugh at fart jokes. My nieces (via Rachel!) sent me a card one time that sums it up nicely I think. It said basically that they love aunts because aunts will get right in the floor to play with them.
Trying to be a serious Grown-Up is what teenagers do. And gods forbid any of us EVER want to be a teenager again! Although I was so thin back then. But the drama. Oh help.
Ramble ramble ramble.
Can you tell I haven't eaten today? Enough blathering. Time to go home and watch some Simpsons. :)
posted by Kelli | 5:00 PM
3 Comments:
Grab the Ben Gay and the Geritol!
You've accomplished lots in your (almost) thirty years on this earth precisely because of the choices you've made. Instead of marrying what's-his-breath right out of high school and popping out young 'uns, you've completed two advanced degrees; lived in two gorgeous cities and a few not-so-gorgeous ones, been to Europe how many times?; learned Spanish, Russian, German and a smattering of French (oh and Latin, right?); mastered sewing, knitting, crocheting, cooking, baking, and who knows what else; played aggressive team sports, snowboarded (with mixed success), and learned to kayak; become uber-aunt to two little girls who worship you; found Mr. Right; figured out how to FLY and how to fly; shall I go on? Now you're standing in the starting gate for another thrilling phase in your life. No telling what you'll do next! How thrilling!
You know, I celebrated my 30th by taking a truly spectacular tumble off my bicycle. Then I had to laugh because I couldn't figure out whether I should take that as a sign not to jump off sidewalks because I am THIRTY now or maybe I should ride my bike MORE. I decided, finally, on the latter. Once the bruises fade.
If forty in the "new tewnty" then I AM a teenager again. I think I'll enjoy it this time around.
I should proof read. Oops.
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