10,20,30,40...

Yesterday I turned 40. I am as old as my mother was when she gave birth to me. When I was 10, I bore that fact like a badge on behalf of my mother. I was really proud of her… having a baby at THAT age. It’s a wonder she didn’t disown me.

My teenagers gave me a little grief yesterday – but only a little. I don’t think they really think of me as old. Even if they did, I am happy to be where I am. I’ve challenged, fought and relented to the understanding that you don’t have to have it all figured out and that the best times are often the simplest times.

Like last night. The boys came to me with their gift; the gift of themselves. They had planned a whole night around things I like – a movie, candy, popcorn - and they would be a part of it all. Even if it was a chick flick! (A term I would have never let them get away with when I was 20 – and a term they, as they are approaching 20, graciously spared me from last night.)

It would take the entire lifetime that I have lived to reach the age my mother is now. That’s a lot of time. Even so, what’s left isn’t what matters. There was a 30 year old girl I once knew who wrote a song about what is really significant and important. Today. Nothing is worth more than it! So happy day to you – however many years you are.

(Photo is of my mother in January of 1967, two months before I was born.)