197 Days to Go

I hope I did the math right...I'm pretty sure in 197 days I will turn 40. My birthday is May 12 if someone else wants to double check my math.

For some reason, turning 40 seems monumental to me. I don't think of it as a negative experience. Just one that needs to be marked in some way other than my previous 39 birthdays.

My first thought was to do something wild. One last "kid" thing. I talked to Jim about getting my eyebrow pierced. This is something I have wanted to do since the early 90s. But a pierced eyebrow doesn't seem to mesh with my sedate suburban--and now mini van mom--persona. And it freaks Jim out.

I was tempted to do it anyway and see if he even noticed. I decided not to because I imagine it hurts a bit.

I have no desire to pierce any other body part. I already have a tattoo.

I'm not going to date a rock star. Ricky Martin or Jon Bon Jovi don't spend a lot of time at the Clauss Recreation Center, which is where I seem to spend a major part of my time with the boys.

I'm not going to date a movie star. I rarely--if ever--see George Clooney or Keanu Reeves at Michael's or Joann Fabrics. They don't go to the local yarn shops. They are never at quilt meetings or knitting guild meetings.

I've never seen Susan Sarandon at Waterbury Elementary School, so I'm not going to be friends with a cool movie star mom. She hasn't been at any party-planning meetings nor have I seen her dropping off any kids.

Stephanie Plum is a fictional character created by Janet Evanovich. So I'm not going to get to hang out with a funny bounty hunter and her wacky family and friends. I'm not going to witness yet another fiery end to one of Stephanie's cars.

I'm not going to back pack across Europe. Or move to Cozumel and teach scuba diving to tourists. I'm not going to be a female Transporter--I know I could keep up. Forget the Audi...try it in a Dodge Caravan. I'd like to see some creative driving and maneuvering with a van-load of snarling kids and dogs.

No, my life isn't ending. I know that. But I am realistically saying goodbye to girlhood dreams. Van Halen isn't going to play at my sixteenth birthday party where my new cherry red Camaro will be delivered. Mel Gibson won't be wisking me away on my twenty-first birthday to some exotic locale.

So it's all up to me...and I will find something huge...HUGE!!