My Mom Divorced my Father on my 50th birthday…Or something like that

I’ve been writing all year about turning the big 5-0 and it’s finally here.

I’m sort of in shape (from all that walk-jogging), I’ve taken a few risks by changing jobs and trying to write a novel, and I’m still blogging (although a little less these days).

I figured today would be anticlimactic since my husband invited a few friends to dinner to celebrate last night. But noooooo-

First, I woke up to a Happy Birthday email from my favorite Mexican restaurant. We go there every Friday night so getting birthday greetings from Alejandro, Jorge, and Sal was like getting one from a family member.

Then my husband shared a bit of shocking news. I hadn’t even had a cup of coffee yet.

Him: “What’s up with your mom?”

Me: “What are you talking about?” Really thinking, “why didn’t you say ‘happy birthday?’ Alejandro and his friends already have.”

Him: “She texted me. It says, “No, no, no! I can’t take this anymore!’”

Me: “Oh my gosh! She’s divorced my father on my 50^th birthday!”

Him: “But, why did she text me?”

Me: “It’s my 50^th birthday! Hello?”

Me: “Wait, what time did she text you?”

He looked at his phone. “10:36 last night.”

Me: “Hmmm….Downton Abbey.”

I had warned her that things were too cheery last week. I told her to prepare herself. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all those years of watching All My Children, it’s that when something seems too happy to be true, it usually isn’t. Or something like that.

So, I called her. She’s not divorcing my father. She meant to text me, not my husband. It was Downton Abbey and she’s refusing to tell me what happened. (I missed the show and will watch it right before Season 4 starts.)

So, crisis averted. I’m having birthday cake for breakfast.  And all is right with the world.

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What I Learned While Walk-Jogging

On my last birthday, I had a thought—When I turn 50, I’m gonna really get in shape.

Then it occurred to me that it was perhaps a better idea to start now and by the time I turned 50, I would already be in good shape.

I hated to act on any new idea unless I’d slept on it first.  Then, if I woke up and it was still lodged in my frontal lobe, I’d do it.

Unfortunately, it was.

I had been in pretty good condition but after a job change two years ago, I’d become rather sedentary.

My efforts to get a walk station installed at work had been unsuccessful, so about six months ago I decided it was time to start walk-jogging again. (Definition: walk-jogging  – a combination of walking really fast and intermittently breaking into a full jog.)

I walk-jog about the same time every other day at the local park and I’ve noticed a few characters in the walking/jogging/running crowd who show up about the same time as I do.

Angst Girl – Angst Girl is about 17-years-old and  1/3 my size, but you can hear her coming from behind you as she pounds on the asphalt. I want to say, “Hey, take it easy. You’re scaring the squirrels.” But I don’t. She holds her arms perpendicular to the ground, bent at the elbows. The look on her face says, I hate this.

Bad Manners Man – Bad Manners Man is somewhere between 30-35.  He has bright orange running shoes that probably glow in the dark.  Heaven help you if you should meet him on a turn. He hugs the inside lane like nobody’s business.  I was slightly ahead of him once and he almost knocked me over. I wanted to yell, “Hey share the road. Old ladies are everywhere.” But I didn’t.

Poodle Man  – Poodle Man walks willy nilly, criss-crossing the path as his tiny white poodle walks him. I almost tripped over the stretched leash once. I wanted to yell, “Hey, get a real dog.” But I didn’t.

Shuffling Senior Man – Shuffling Senior Man is at least 80 and he shuffles on the balls of his feet.  When he passes, he has the sweetest grin on his face. It’s like he’s saying, “Hey look at how fast I’m going.” And as I pass him I want to say, “Look at you!” But I don’t.

Cross Country Team – Sometimes I’m there at the same time as the local high school’s Cross County Team. The boys and girls run in separate groups.  I try to always run in the opposite direction as them so I don’t show them up. 🙂

When the boys come my way, one of them always shouts, “Hey scoot over and give the lady some room.” Proving the next generation of boys will be alright.  And when the girls go by, they always wave. I think they want to say, “Hey look at you!” I’m glad they don’t.

I’ve learned a few things while walk-jogging. Sometimes I get an idea for a story or blog post, or I work through a problem I’m having, or I realize that stretching is a really good idea, or I simply enjoy the trail and nature around me and think how blessed I am.

And sometimes I learn some really valuable lessons like this one.

Always be in front of the horses. IN FRONT.

Anywho, I’m glad I’ll face 2013 in semi –shape.

Happy New Year!

Fifty Shades of Beige and Why 50 is the New 30

This post has nothing to to do with Fifty Shades of Grey. My page views have been down lately and I wanted to see if this would stir some interest.

But it does have to do with turning fifty. Not me of course. I’d like to discuss other people who have recently turned fifty.

Take my husband, for example, who just turned the golden age. Luckily on his birthday he didn’t have an enormous amount of ear hair that needed clipping… (Actually, at forty he got that under control.)

…Or a sudden desire to wear black socks with sandals… (although it does seem to be a new fad at the middle school. See my son below.)

But he does ask our kids to read the small print on just about everything to him and he says he’ll pay them 50 cents a toe to clip his toenails. (Bad hip prevents him from that chore.)

But other than that, 50 was just like the 49 years and 364th day of his life. We’ll see what it does to me. I’ll find out sooner than later.

I thought I was only 48 until I bought my sister a Happy 50th Birthday card. My daughter asked, “Didn’t we celebrate her 50th birthday last year?”

“Crap! that means I’m 49 this year!” I said.

“I thought you said 50 was the new 30,” she reminded me.

“That’s right! Fifty is the new 30, only better!”

Looking fit is no longer a necessity.  If I were to lose too much weight what would I do with all those shorts and pants with stretched-out elastic?I couldn’t possibly keep them up.

And when I forget things I no longer blame my ADHD (which no one was buying anyway – it’s way over used), but instead I blame my early onset Alzheimer’s.

And when my middle schooler does something stupid I can say, “Hey, I’m the kid’s grandma. Take it up with his mother.”

Yeah, I’m gonna be just fine. And…

it beats the alternative. 🙂