Forty Five

When you ask Piper how old I am, her little lispy voice sounds like she's saying "forty free." God bless me, I try to correct her. In fact, no person has ever been more motivated in speech correction than I, each and every time she says her mommy is "forty free."

In a few short weeks, I'll be turning "forty four," which, God willing, will lead to "forty five." And "Forty Five" seems like the age by which I really need to have gotten my life together. I do not mind aging, or even being the oldest person in the room (which is happening more and more as Erik advances, if I'm being honest). I'm not sure how to act my age.

I still feel like I'm in my early-twenties, with maybe just a lot of life under my belt. I'm pretty sure I still dress like a college student. And I feel like our house still looks like a mish-mash of shit that we cobbled together from our parents basements when we moved out.

I was telling someone recently, that when I look back on "senior spouses" at unit events from my time as a baby Captain's wife, they all looked so beautiful and accessorized and clean. I do not feel like any of these things. I feel like a hot, frazzled, scraggly mess most of the time. I know that part of the difference is they didn't have very young kids at home, but I'm not sure how long I can ride that wave. I really don't want to be the conductor of the Hot Mess Express anymore.


Last week, I had my friend down the street give my hair a desperately needed trim; it's short enough to hold curl and look more put together again. I really feel like some highlights might be in order too. But alas, ain't nobody got time for that. Curls instead of a mom bun will work for now.

This week, I'm on a mission to revamp my closet. I've spent a little money on some new spring pieces and I'm going to do a really brutal purge of what I have left in my closet from my last one before they come. I'm done with "more is better." I've been working on that for years, but not in respect to my closet.

Then I think we're gong to move on to more intentional decor of the house. I'm tired of my eyes falling on things I don't "love."

When we first moved here I went through and "Kon Mari'd" our possessions (we lost 1,000 square feet moving into this house from our last, so something had to give) but the cheap skate in me didn't replace the things we "need" with things I love - and I can feel a difference. I'm not keeping things because they "work" anymore. And I'm going to apply this to my closet as well.

So here we go. My last few weeks as a "forty free" year old are going to be filled with organization and reflection on what truly brings me delight as I prepare for 34.

It will be a good year.