A friend of mine turned 41 last month, and she mentioned that she wanted her 30s back. I found her comment intriguing because at the ripe old age of 42, I (usually) don’t feel that way at all.
Sure, I wouldn’t mind my 30-something metabolism and lack of age spots, but what I recall of my 30s is that they were some of the most stressful years of my life. You couldn’t pay me enough to repeat them.
As I pondered my friend’s statement, though, I remembered how I felt turning 41. It kind of sucked ...
If you want to feel delightfully young and horrifically ancient at
the same time, go out on a Saturday night with your former roommate and your
husbands in the town you where you went to college.
This is the lesson I learned recently while sipping a sugary Long
Island iced tea the size of a Big Gulp (only $4!). This disgusting concoction seemed
like a great idea after four glasses of wine and a comment from the bartender that
I was old enough to be his mother.
OK, so that’s an exaggeration. What actually happened is I told the ...
This morning as I lay on the living floor doing extremely uncomfortable physical therapy exercises for my neck, an unexpected thought popped into my head: I am so grateful I’m not angry all the time any more.
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving so feelings of gratitude shouldn’t be surprising, but I wasn’t quite sure where this one came from. Yet, it is truly what I am most thankful for this year.
When I returned to work full time last February, my biggest fear was turning back into “scary mommy.” I had spent the previous two years trying to figure ...
When my alarm started singing at 5:30 this
morning, I quickly hit snooze and snuggled under the covers to lament about how
Monday is the worst day to have a birthday.
Calling in sick on your birthday is highly
suspicious, so I pulled my groggy butt out of bed and attempted to prepare
myself for the first day of what will be an exhausting week.
In recent years I’ve started this weird habit on
my birthday of asking myself, “If I died today, would I be happy?” It sounds
morbid, but it helps keep me honest.
It happens every September. That
moment when I notice how the sky has taken on a brilliant blue hue that happens
only in fall. The angle of the sun hits in a way that makes everything glow.
The air takes on a crispness even when the temps are high.
It’s at that moment each year when
my heart sings, full of joy I can hardly contain. Maybe it’s because I was born
in October, but fall has always been my favorite season. The world seems at its
When I entered my 40s two years
ago, I ...