Don’t blink, they said.

My son is 15 now.  While we did a small our-family-only lunch (at Gary Chu’s, where my son ate an entire appetizer of pork belly all by himself) and some shopping for video games, we are saving the party for next month, when things slow down a bit.

I had a phone call with my parents the afternoon of my son’s birthday, and we reminisced about the day he was born. The details were a bit fuzzy – were my parents at our house?  Did we drive my oldest to their house?  What was happening?

Here’s what happened: I was overdue. My mom came over to watch my oldest while my husband and I went to have a no-stress test, and when I got to the hospital, they announced that I wasn’t leaving, because surely I’d go into labor and have the baby in a car or something because I was so ready to deliver. I opted for an epidural at that point, and never had a painful contraction with my son, although he was born with a rash from long exposure to the epidural drugs. He came out screeching like a cheetah at 10 minutes to midnight, and when we called my mom and dad from the delivery room, they were shocked by his loud screams.

We were shocked too, but really it was no surprise when he later won a screaming contest at the Sonoma County Fair.

Anyway, the day he was born, my dad had planted some blooming shrubs outside their house, and every year on his birthday, we talked about how “his” bushes were getting bigger, and so was he. There was a whiff of melancholy in our conversation this year – my parents have moved from that house, and there have been many other changes as well. Good changes and difficult transitions for every single member of the family.

I’ve been married for 17 years now, too. The night of our anniversary, we lay propped up on our pillows in bed, trying to do the math to figure out how long we’ve been married, and I’m in hysterics that it took a good three or four minutes for us to land on 17 years.  It seems somehow shorter than that.

Next week, I’ll be 43. That seems pretty old, doesn’t it? I don’t care, mind you. I’m pretty stoked to be in my 40s. I’ve certainly been feeling my age recently, with weird aches and pains and stress bubbling up, but I’m determined to tackle all that head on over the next months. I’m tired of feeling older than my 43 years, and I plan on an extended, vigorous retirement, so I guess there’s no time like the present to get myself in shape for all that Senior Living I plan on doing.


Back to School 2015

It’s a pretty good indicator of how my week is going that my youngest started her first day of 7th grade yesterday, and we were shopping for a backpack the night before at 8pm.  It’s also pretty telling that I started to write this blog post about how all three of my kids were off at school, and I forgot that only two had already left with my husband, and I still had to drive the youngest to her school, a fact that she reminded me of as I sat marveling at my solitude.

Here they are: my oldest is a junior, my son is a sophomore and my youngest is now in 7th grade.


Because I’m apparently senile, I’ve spent the last 15 minutes making Siri set all kinds of reminders and alarms for drop offs so I don’t forget one of them somewhere.