If I could go back...

If you had to pick an age to be forever, what age would you pick and why? 

When I first saw that question over at Mama's Losin' It for the workshop this week, no particular age that I've passed thus far immediately came to mind.  So I thought about it a little.  Then I thought about it a little more and here's what I think...


I will turn 41 years old in two weeks and I can honestly say that I would not go back to any age.  Not for anything. Sure my metabolism is a little slower than it used to be, I've acquired a few fine lines on my forehead that I'm not exactly fond of and let's not even get into the parts that never really were quite the same after pregnancy or the fact that the skin on my neck is beginning to lose its firmness just a tad and that no matter how many chair dips, push ups and tricep kickbacks I do, my upper arms just will not cooperate as willingly as they once did. 


But not only do I understand the person I am now more than I ever have, I just plain like her more.  I don't want to go back but I wouldn't mind stopping the aging process where it is right now.  At least for a little while. There's a line in Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood by one of the Ya-Yas (Caro, maybe?) that I just love. She is looking through an old photo album, sees one of herself in a swimsuit and says something like, Oh what I'd give to have known then what I know now, but with those legs!  I think we all have a photo or two like that.  


So while I don't want to go back to stay, I suppose it would be okay (you know, hypothetically) to go back to certain ages and give my old self some unsolicited advice and words of wisdom...


To my 6 year old self (1977):  Lighten up, kid.  Things really aren't bad enough for you to be scowling and looking like somebody just licked all the red off your candy at your very own birthday party complete with balloons, presents galore, and a sheet cake with happy clowns and candles while wearing a kick ass pink jumper, pigtails and white patent leather party shoes. I know you don't like being the center of attention.  That will never change.  But you are beautiful and you are capable of so much more than you know. And all these people are here for you because they love you. Cheer up, sweet girl!  You've got a lot to smile about.   


To my 15 year old self (1986): I know you are struggling with your self-image right now and cannot imagine for one second how you are ever going to survive that move to North Carolina this summer but trust me, you will do far more than survive. You will thrive.  I know that seems impossible to believe right now but I assure you it's true.    You have no reason at all to be insecure.  Remember this though, a smile can go a very long way.  Just a simple smile.  Oh, and prepare to say your goodbyes to that training bra soon and very soon. Good things come to those who wait, girlfriend!  


To my 21 year old self (1992):  This is the one you've been waiting for.  You're legal now.  I know you don't have any big plans to celebrate today though, what with it being Easter Sunday and all.  Tough break.  But don't worry. You've got plenty of time to make up for it. I could sit here and give you some old lady lecture but I know you'd just roll your eyes, shrug me off and do what you're going to do anyway.  That is one hard head you've got on your shoulders underneath all that hair there, girl.  So I'll just say this: Do NOT drink that tequila straight and chase it with that bottle of lemon juice this summer.  Please, listen to me on this one.  You WILL regret it the next morning.


To my 28 year old self (1999):  I know you feel like a big, fat, ugly, waddling bowling ball right about now and don't understand why you can't stop consuming ten pounds of Japanese hibachi chicken with shrimp sauce every week but you will drop this weight before that baby's 3 months old. I promise. And motherhood?  Well, it's gonna look good on you.  


To my 33 year old self (2004): I wish I could fast forward you through this storm you're being forced to weather right now but I can't and even if I could, I suppose it would be the wrong thing to do because you are going to come out on the other side of this grief storm a far stronger and better person than you have ever in your wildest dreams imagined yourself becoming. Keep your chin up and be gentle with yourself because some of the best days of your life? Are just up ahead in the distance.


And then I'd hop back in my 1985 DeLorean time machine and head on back to the future, to the now, to the right where I belong...   

The years teach much which the days never knew.  ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

My Sincerest Thanks and Apologies

Dear Bathroom Scales,
As painful as it was to reacquaint myself with you this morning, thank you for that reality check.  You have never been one to sugar coat things and sometimes your tactlessness is intimidating. I am admitting right here and now that I often go out of my way to avoid you but it was really never you.  It was me all along. You have done absolutely nothing wrong and did not deserve to be buried in clothes and shoved underneath my dresser like that.  
I am truly sorry for the disrespectful way in which I've treated you for the past few months and I promise that from here on out, I will give you the attention you truly deserve each and every morning. You have my word.  I needed you more than I led on.  


Sincerely,
THE WOMAN WHO CURSED YOU UNDESERVEDLY




Dear Dryer,
I owe you an apology and you have the bathroom scales to thank for pointing this out to me.  Your reputation has been redeemed and we all are now fully aware that you were never really to blame for my tight pants.  I know I kept saying it was you, that you were getting too hot and shrinking them because there was just no other explanation for it.  


Please forgive me.  I take you for granted so often and forget to thank you for all the hard work you do for me each week and the fact that you save me money on my power bill since you are a high efficiency appliance and all.  Not to mention beautiful, what with your shiny candy apple red paint job. Thank you so much for all that you are and all that you do and please accept this heartfelt apology.


Respectfully,
THE WOMAN WHO USED YOU AS HER SCAPEGOAT




Dear Wardrobe,
Where do I even begin?  I have thrown you, called you names and cursed you with words that would make a sailor blush, stomped on you, kicked you and just flat out treated you like old rags and pieces of trash. I am ashamed and humbled after my date with the bathroom scales this morning who wasted no time at all in showing me the light and pointing out the error of my wicked ways.  


I carefully selected each one of you because I loved the feel and look of your style, color and fabric.  You made me feel beautiful, sexy, special and well...you made me feel like me.  You are in my closet or my drawers because you truly got me.  You understood me. And you, my dear sweet loves, have not changed one bit, have done nothing but remain the same faithful and true pieces of clothing that you were the very day I first cast eyes upon you.  


I am sorry, truly and deeply, from the bottom of my heart.  


Forgive me? Please? 


Still Loving You,   
THE WOMAN WHO WRONGED YOU AND PROMISES TO MAKE IT UP TO YOU SOON




Dear Simple Carbs,
Whew!  You sure know how to show a girl a good time, don't you?  We've always had a love/hate relationship, you and me.  Well, at least since I was fifteen and got my woman body, complete with bubbles and curves.  And even then I could still hang with you pretty often without half as many regrets and repercussions. 


But let's face it, I'm no spring chicken anymore.  I'm going to be forty one in a couple of weeks and we have just got to stop meeting like this.  It's not good for my health, sanity, mind or waistline.  You know it, I know it and the bathroom scales sure as heck know it.  


Look, I'm not saying this is goodbye.  We all know better than that.  I'd go out of my mind and hurt somebody if I couldn't have you in my life at all.  This is just me telling you that we've got to cut back on our time together. Moderation is key and I've got to stop letting you convince me otherwise.  


You will always have a place in my life but we have got to go back to meeting less again.  It's the only way.  And please don't try to seduce me again because it's not going to work this time.  I'm back in tight with the bathroom scales and you know you can't compete with that.  Once my mind is made up, it's a done deal.  


Regretfully,
THE WOMAN WHO WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU A LITTLE TOO MUCH

Have cleats, will travel.

It was a baseball kind of weekend around here.  In fact, pretty much all we did was watch boys play baseball. And drive back and forth to games.  Devin's travel ball team played in their very first tournament Saturday and Sunday which was also our very first experience with travel ball.  


Y'all.  These people are serious about their baseball.  I'm talking dead serious.  I knew we were in trouble Saturday morning as we watched the other coach warm up his players, shouting orders and pumping them up as if they were about to march into battle and fight for their very lives and most importantly, their very right to play baseball.  


The second game didn't go a whole lot better and I felt somewhat bad about having to cut out before it was over in order to hightail it back home for Dracen's practice at three. Devin came rolling in with Popaw before the practice was over, got out of the truck and plopped down on the ground beside me, looking whooped and shell shocked and complaining that his arm was hurt.  


Then he came home and injured his foot by trying to take out his frustrations on a wasp with his tennis racket after Charlie whooped him in a game of tennis.  It was not his day, bless his heart, which is why I suspect the foot "injury" hurt so much.  He went to bed Saturday night hopping on it and saying he was pretty sure it was broken.  I was pretty sure it was not.


Turns out I was right, as I so often am about these sort of things, because when I answered the phone Sunday morning to Popaw asking me how his arm was and told him (with Devin standing there in front of me) that I thought the arm was going to be fine but that he was still hopping around on a hurt foot, he immediately said he thought he would be fine once he had a cleat on it.  And that was the end of that.  Amazing what those cleats can do.  


When we pulled up at the ball field I realized real quick that I messed up by not bringing myself a sweater or jacket because although it was supposed to get up into the upper 70s again later, it was darn right chilly yet in a short sleeved t-shirt.  I thought maybe some coffee would help warm me up so Charlie headed up to the concession stands and barely made it back alive, almost getting taken out by a stray baseball, as he tried to inch his way very carefully back to our chairs without spilling every last drop of the two hot coffees.  


The lady beside me saw me holding the cup away from me since it was dripping with coffee and quickly gave me a napkin before Charlie had time to dig anything out of his backpack and said, "You don't want that coffee all over those white pants!"  No, no I most certainly do not. Thank you so much for noticing.


I got the cup all cleaned up and began sipping as fast as I could in an effort to warm my blood a little but I was still shivering so Charlie dug out his rain poncho to see if that would help and as I attempted to get up out of my chair to wrap it around me, the carefully placed coffee sloshed out of the drink holder, into the chair and all over the side of my right butt cheek.  The right butt cheek that was wearing the white capri pants.


I jumped up and began assessing the damage by looking over and down my right shoulder as Charlie fished out a blue bandanna for me to wipe up the excess.  I began to frantically blot and wipe the area and as I did so the nice lady that had given me the napkin said, "Aww, you did it anyway!"  Yes, yes I sure did. Because I'm all suave like that. Thank you so much for noticing.     


I sat my tail back down in Charlie's dry chair because he's a gentleman and a scholar and quickly offered it over to me. And I knew at that point that there was nothing more I could do for myself than to just suck it up and own that light brown stain on the side of my right arse cheek for the entire rest of the day.  


Hold my head up and own it like I just don't care.


So that's what I did. 


As for our boys?


Well, the shell shock from Saturday apparently wore off since they came back from the dead, got serious about their baseball and finished the day off with a big win.  


And miraculously enough, we never heard another peep out of the hurt arm or the broken foot.