Another mid-life crisis antidote is to do crazy things with you kids, like scream in wild excitement at Six Flags, Great Adventure Safari.
Look an ostrich!
Holy moley its so close!!
Uh excuse me, this car is being leased! (Whoops that's a middle-aged thought).
The adults in our house are having a midlife crisis; at least, I think that’s what’s happening. I’m sure there’s a slew of handbooks on amazon on how to deal with it, but I don’t have one handy. David might disagree it’s happening to him, but he can write about that on his blog, pragamaticyankee.com. Here’s why I think its happening to me:
I am reading the obituaries.
I realized that I will probably be buried in a cemetery here in Montclair.
Last week when I heard about the anniversary of the lunar landing, an event that always tell me how old I am because I was born in October 1969, I realized that the radio was telling me that I am 40.
I feel a tremendous empathy towards my father and as he turns 80 this September. He seems to be giving into the old man pose more than usual, and if he’s going to stop enjoying the present I want him to be comforted by his past, and I’m worried that he’s not—and maybe that’s a family trait and that I won’t be either.
For his 75th, we made him a video using all the photos of his life and I’ll never forget how wistful he looked, like he was watching someone else’s life and he was still waiting for something more to happen, something to tell him that he had done it, whatever it was. Now five years later I don’t know if he has found it and I don’t want to give him another video that will sum up his life for him. At this point, summing up his life would feel like a eulogy.
All the things I wanted in my 30s I have: the kids, the house, the career… and now rather than just keep on keeping on I have no idea what to do with myself. I find myself thinking of cute baby names (I know again) or I slow down to look at houses that are for sale in town. Houses we have no business considering buying. But I know why I’m doing this, because having kids and buying a house were dreams I held onto so much during the past decade they became my mental loops. They were all I thought about when I thought about what was next. I probably gave the best hours of my thirties to trulia.com. And I don’t have to do that anymore. The other day the boys and I went to Great Adventure and they both went into their own bathroom stall and peed without any assistance from me.
I was in the bathroom in the Tibetan section of Six Flags, but realizing they could manage on their own, made me feel like the geography of my whole life had changed and I didn’t know where I was. It wasn’t scary, just unknown.
I know how I’m not facing 40: I’m not having an affair. We’re not buying a Mini Cooper. I’m not getting Restalyne.
Last night, I asked David if he thought we’d ever really have another baby—the biggest distraction from 40 I could give myself. And we both decided that because we want to pay for the boys college and because we don’t really want to have to buy a new house or a new car and we want to sleep through the night sometime this year that we probably should not have that third baby. We’ve covered this ground before, but now we really know.
I went to bed feeling a little restless and I dreamt that my ob/gyn Dr. Kaplan came to my house and a gave me manuscript that he thought was beautiful that he wanted me to read. Lying in bed this morning I realized that in my dream Dr Kaplan was making a special delivery, only this time he wasn’t delivering a baby, he was delivering me a book.
Tonight I was at my friend Kara’s house and I saw this list on her fridge.
At first I thought it was stuff she wasn’t supposed to eat until I read dishwasher detergent. But it’s a list of stuff she does not need to buy. Her husband told me that they actually have enough detergent to last them for 365 washes. This is what basements are for and it’s a uniquely suburban problem that got me thinking about what I don’t need to buy for a long time.
No Applesauce
No Canelli Beans
No Black beans
No Gingerale
No Goldfish
It also got me thinking about other stuff I have enough of and don’t need to buy ever again.
No reusable tote bags
No Ikea throws
No baskets
No gift ribbon
No platters
No cloth napkins
No cute fancy paper napkins
No punch bowls
No highballs
No things with bird motifs (ok well it depends on how cute it is)
No duvets
No running shoes (thanks SELF magazine fitness closet!)
No kid’s spring jackets
No Star Wars figurines
No Army Men
No plastic animals, sea life, pirates or anything sold in a tube with the little plastic earth on top unless it’s the only thing that will get my kid out of a museum gift shop for under $7.95
No Play-doh
No corporate mugs (technically these are not bought but they keep multiplying in my cabinets and they mess with my mug and teacup symmetry)
This also got me thinking about things I can’t have enough of:
Sea salt anything: from chocolate almonds to pita chips
Sparkling trim on dresses and sweaters
Gorgeous statement necklaces (oddly, when you have one and you make a statement you want to keep collecting more to make more statements without being redundant)
cozy socks
underpants that know how to stay where they belong
Bras that make me look like I lost ten pounds just by lifting my boobs up to wear they used to be
Indian cotton nightgowns
Books the kids love to read over and over that aren’t based on a cartoon characters
Moleskine notebooks
Cute beach coverups (see previous post)
I bought a bikini today. It’s been over ten years since I bought a one and I was embarrassed by my ambition, until I tried it on for a friend and she told me it looked good and made me promise that I’d actually wear it. I have been working out and it’s starting to make a difference. David tells me I have Michelle Obama arms, but I also have her butt so there’s work to do, that’s why I also splurged and bought the matching cover up dress.
Still I was proud of my dip into the world of two pieces and I was wearing it around the house just to get comfortable. While modeling it for my family I was struck by two things: Bikinis are so breezy! They make my body temperature drop by at least 20 degrees. No wonder they are so popular! And my belly is too white. Clearly it’s the youngest skin I’ve got because it’s always been covered up. If I could magically graft my belly skin to my face I’d look about 19 years old.
But my body confidence too a sharp turn when I was sitting at the kitchen table. Conrad came up behind me and started to rub my hips and then he said in his playful and teasing voice, “Ohhh mommy you are so fat.”
Before I could even choke on the cheese and crackers I was eating (I know perfect timing right), David tried to cut him off with, “Conrad watch what you say.”
He got confused and then said in a well-meaning matter-of-fact tone, “I mean you feel like jelly.”
My face must have told him he was on thin ice because he tried to dig himself out of it by saying, “I mean your chubby.”
I’d had enough and told him it was time to get in the tub. A few minutes later my mother called. I didn’t mention the Conrad exchange, but I did tell her that I had bought a bikini.
She said, “If you lived in Europe it would be perfectly normal. They have a lot of body confidence there.”
Thank God I splurged on the matching cover up dress.
My new bikini, but not my new body.
I got to roadtest the new Reebok EasyTone sneakers for More.com that are supposed to tone your butt like MBT’s without making you look like you’re wearing orthopedic shoes. Read all about it here.
Reason #754 why I really love my babysitter. Because she scoffed at the idea of spending $13 to get Dashiell a Godzilla manicure. Instead, Jessica took that fresh twenty-something DIY approach and grabbed her own alternative-meets-spicy collection of nail polish and painted his fingers herself. How can I not adore her for being a proactive goth?
This morning Dashiell asked if he could get his nails painted black, green, blue, and yellow so that he could look like Godzilla. I texted Jess, my babysitter, and told her there’s $20 on the kitchen counter for her to take him to a salon or go to CVS and pick out a few colors on his own and she can paint them for him. I must admit, I’m jealous.
Today when I told Jess she could go home while she and Con were playing Lego he said, “Oh no but she’s so much better than you.”
She blushed and I tried to laugh it off. At everything I wondered? Is he already choosing a younger, prettier, more patient girl over me?
And then I looked down and I realized he was talking about Lego. She had built this. He’s right. She is better than me, hands down.
