Turning 35

If I am honest, I have always loved my birthday. Since I was a kid, when October rolls around, I begin to get a bit giddy. I love the fall in the first place, the cool days, the changing leaves, the sweatshirt and jeans weather and the anticipation of the holiday season right around the bend. Then, you add "birthday season" on top of that...and I am eager with anticipation. Admittedly, growing up, my birthday was always something of a minor holiday in my family. My younger brother and I had the awe inspiring timing of managing to be born on the same day, three years apart. Technically, I actually chose the day, and he just decided to copy me 3 years later. So, since the day of my third birthday, our shared day has always been double the parties, double the cake, and double the excitement.

So, even as an adult, I find that sense of excitement begins to well up within me at this time of year; a love of the fall, a certain giddiness about the season. At this point, as we are fully into November, my birthday has long come and gone; a fun day, actually a fun weekend/week, full of friends and family and nice surprises. I felt loved and cherished, cared for and honored. My giddiness encouraged and my anticipation justified. Besides welcomed phone calls and thoughtful gifts from family/friends, and a sneaky surprise celebration from my book club, LT took me out to breakfast (The Original Pancake House...serious yumminess) as well as set up an evening out with some dear friends. We had a wonderful dinner out and attended a play, Much Ado About Nothing, at the theater complex in downtown Denver. It was wonderful! Along the way, we learned NOT to be late to the theater. If you are late, they make you sit in the special "late person" section watching the play on a only slightly adequate video feed, until they can seat your party, by order of lateness, in the easiest to access seats. (Note to self: In another three years, when we go see a production again, do NOT be late.) Even with the "late penalty"(which truly only added adventure to the evening), we had a sweet time. It is amazing how having three small children makes the quiet evening out, with other adult friends, a true novelty to be enjoyed.

All this is to say, I find myself feeling a bit reflective. Turning 35 feels like a bit of a marker, a birthday with a bit more of a "bump" to it. Not a big bump, just a small moment to go "Hmmm", but somehow still a moment with a little more weight to it than some of the other years I have recently come through. Maybe it is because so many of the "warnings" you hear about with preventative medicine and giving birth and "increased risk" seem to start with the "for 35 and older" label. It feels like this subtle transition from "young adult" to "adult". Basically, I can no longer deny that I am a grown up. I am realizing that in my head, I no longer think of myself as a child play acting like I am an adult, who just happens to have adult responsibilities, but I am beginning to actually think of myself as an adult with adult responsibilities. Funny, that after 15 years or more of officially being an adult, I am actually beginning to feel like one. Not that this mental shift has just somehow just mysteriously happened on my 35th birthday, but it is the result of in a quiet shift in season. Strange. Slightly silly, but true none-the-less.

I will leave you with this birthday picture of me and the kids. Sugar, in this picture, felt that she needed to assert her independence be sitting a couple feet away while eating her baggie of Life cereal. A moment in time commentary on the changing whims of her toddler personality.

A Day in the Life of a Soccer Mom

I'm a soccer mom.

It's true.

I accept it.

I suspect for some, this would be a hard truth to embrace. For me, it is simply part of who I am. I have a child who plays soccer. Eventually, I will probably have more than one child playing soccer. I live in the suburbs. I'm a moderate politically. Soccer mom. I don't drive a minivan, but I do drive a slightly overlarge SUV. I have three kids. I like Starbucks (actually it borders on obsession) and any restaurant with a drive-through. Most importantly, I spend a good chunk of my time driving to soccer, e-mailing about soccer, bringing snacks to soccer, and hanging out at the not-far-off-from-mass-chaos games of six year olds.

Please understand, I actually LIKE soccer. I played in high-school, so I feel it is not some fluke or whim of societal pressure that brings me to the point of encouraging my children to play soccer. Somehow, in my inner self, my actually playing soccer when I was younger justifies my children playing as not just jumping on some suburban bandwagon. Perhaps I am simply deceiving myself. I like to think not.

In all seriousness, soccer is a great sport. Lots of running, lots of exercise, lots of team...stuff. Slugger is actually very enthusiastic in his participation. It fits in with his love of all sports worldview. At the moment, he actually prefers to call soccer, "football", like the rest of the non-U.S. world. Although very culturally aware of him, this tends to create frequent confusion for his soccer mommy . When he asks questions like, "When is the football game?", or "What was the score of the football game?"...my answers tend to be along the lines of ..."The Broncos are on tonight.", or "Huh?".

So, for at least one more Saturday this fall, my life will involve cleats, shin-guards, and kid's snack foods. We will pack up the three kiddos, the captain's chairs, the "Go Navy" water bottle, and head out for our weekend ritual. We will grab a Starbucks, set up our "station" on the sidelines of a slightly makeshift field and enjoy the sun and the community of other parents and families committed to spending their Saturdays cheering on a mob of "Under 7" boys. We will watch as they learn in yet another venue of their lives how to work hard, keep going when tired, not cry when you don't get your way, and not to rub it in when others aren't having as good a game as you. Life skills us adults do well to remember. Meanwhile, I am learning not to yell louder than the coach (it is a little confusing for the kids), to keep an eye on my almost-2-year-old so she doesn't take off with anyone's keys or water bottles, and to juggle actually watching the game with gabbing with the other parents.

So, for at least this short section of my life...I am a soccer mom.

I accept it.

I embrace it.

I love it.