Introduction

I guess I haven't properly introduced myself, although it probably doesn't matter because I doubt anyone is actually reading this! I'm a 40-year-old mother of three. My husband and I have three daughters, ages 9, 7, and 3. We adopted our youngest daughter, "Sergeant" in China in October of 2006. I mention the fact that our youngest is adopted only because I will probably post about it from time to time. I'll call our oldest daughter "Sunny" and our middle daughter "Smartie." I want to maintain their privacy, and despite the fact that all three are blindingly gorgeous, I'm not sure if I'll post any pictures. We live in a very small town in a very rural area. I work part-time as a school psychologist and am happily (most of the time) married. I love to read blogs (mostly by other moms) and found myself lying in bed at night composing blog posts in my head. Finding time to transfer them from my head to an actual blog has been difficult.

All by myself

I haven't used the bathroom alone for nearly nine years. Okay, so that's a bit of an exaggeration, but privacy on the potty has been a rare treat and one that must be negotiated with the four other members of my household (five, if you count the cat, who is not above indignantly rattling the door and slithering his furry paws through the small crack beneath said door). Our older daughters are nearly 9 and 7 years old, so one might think their desire to spend time with me while I "do my business" would have passed. But this morning, after informing Smartie that I would be in the bathroom for a few minutes and that she would just have to survive the trauma of my momentary absence, I noticed a small toy being pushed underneath the door as she sat right outside, waiting for me. My first reaction was a quick flash of anger - but it quickly dissipated and was replaced by gratitude that she still wants me - that I am still (sometimes) the center of her world. Our oldest daughter, Sunny, will be nine in a few months...nine...that's halfway to 18...halfway to grown up and movin' out. I'm already wondering just what I will do with myself when my children are grown and gone. And our youngest is not yet three (!) The transition to motherhood is a difficult one, but we, or at least, I, begin to define ourselves in terms of our motherhood. So who do we become when our children are grown and no longer defining the structure of our days. Maybe I am having a mid-life crisis...

On Turning 40

I turned 40 a week ago...still sounds weird when I say it out loud. It's a complete cliche, I know, but I don't feel 40. And I think people are being genuine when they say I don't look 40. But, I am 40. I'm a 40-year-old mother of three (kinda) little kids. My middle daughter, whom I'll call Smartie, has made sure that I don't forget how very, very elderly I am indeed becoming. At my 40th birthday party - an all-out bash with a caterer and a band (just kidding...it was a family dinner at my parent's house), my girls and their cousin put on M.iley C.yrus and danced in the basement to M.iley's version of "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun." While I think M.iley is adorable (and her dad is hot), any child of the 80's knows that M.iley's version is pretty sucky compared to Cyndi Lauper's. So...I'm explaining to my kids how M.iley is not the first to record this particular song. At first they do not believe me, but a quick download from I.Tu.nes convinced them. So...I'm rockin' out to Cyndi, and Smartie innocently asks me if this song, "is the one from the olden days!" So, there ya go - 1984: the new definition of the olden days. Then, a few days later Smartie and I are talking about beauty and I was explaining the expression that "beauty is in the eye of the beholder." I explained how people can, and often do, become more beautiful (or uglier, if warranted) the more you get to know them. She asked how I knew that and I said that I've been alive for 40 years and it's just one of the things I've noticed. She looked at me, and asked, very seriously, "How many years do you have left?" A pretty big question for a six-year-old, even if she is soon to be seven. And it brings of the topic for a more serious post on another day.