Don't take life too serious.

The Nostalgic Skin I’m In.

I realize my journey to “find myself” at 30-something is ripe ammo for a fabulous 40+ to roll her eyes and ask, “What the hell does she know?” I know this because now, when I am faced with a twentysomething, childless opinion, I’m usually discrediting most of it in my older and wiser, beautiful brain.

Vintage? I still wear mine to bed.
Vintage? Really? I still wear mine to bed.

It’s a strange point in life. “My” music is sometimes referred to as classics now by someone that may have never even bought a cd. A Gun’s N Roses t-shirt is considered vintage. My favorite childhood shows are in syndication on Nick at Night and Snoop Dogg is probably drinking more Metamucil than gin and juice these days.

I suppose I am a grown up because I am perfectly capable of driving while holding a mug full of hot coffee.

I now have a hidden box full of incriminating pictures from my teens and 20’s.  Just saying that I dropped film off somewhere definitely dates me.

I’m just grateful our crazy antics were captured on glossy paper and not online. No employer (or my kids) can pull up a face book video of me grinding on my girlfriends, throwing back shot number five and finishing it off with a Molly Shannon “Super Star” pose. I do have that picture but no, you will never see it.

I see high school kids now and they look like such babies. How can they possibly be drinking, experimenting with drugs and having sex!!!…Even though I definitely was at that age.

I realize that sleeping in is a double edge sword because the longer I lie, the more I ache when I get up.


I partied like it was 1999, when it was 1999.

There are now little people at our poker games. We have to whisper when we cuss and dole out snacks and parental disciplinary in between hands.

WTF is twerking? We called that droppin’ it like it’s hot, and actually looked hot doing it.

I have age spots on my forehead and my husband found a gray hair the day I decided to stay home with the kids. He sure thought that was funny.

Killing two 90’s birds with one stone.

I turn the radio off when I get in the car alone, instead of on these days. I just want to inhale the silence. Either that or I blare Eminem or some old school, raunchy music so I can get my white-girl rap on and shake my lady humps.

This past summer I was swinging with my daughter on her swing set and she told me to “Jump out Momma!” I laughed and told her, she was crazy, I may hurt myself. At what point do we see soaring out of a high-flying swing as a sure-fire way in to paying a high medical deductible, and not the greatest feeling in the world?

It’s become impossible to buy jeans. I can no longer pull off low riders but I’ll die before I am seen in Mom jeans holding up my belly button.

I searched the top music hits because I was looking for some new music and didn’t recognize probably 80% of the “artists”.  So, I just threw a 90’s mix station on to Pandora and found forgotten joy in Champagne SuperNova.

The now 20+ year old teenage mutant ninja turtles and cabbage patch kid dolls are striking a nostalgic nerve with me and my fellow parenting cohorts.  Although, as I walk down the toy aisle, I’m thinking, “When the hell did Barbie go Goth?” and “Why does a pack of garbage pail kids cards cost $4.99 now?”

It’s just all very strange to me.  I’m at a point where I’m starting to carve out a perspective; a life that reflects who I am at my core and the good parts of being alive and a part of this culture for the last 32 years.  At the same time, I’m responsible for mothering two beautifully un-jaded, little souls which in turn, is teaching me how little I actually know about life.

My threshold for dealing with others unwarranted crap has gone way down, and my ability to do whatever I want, despite what others may think, has gone way up.

Saying I am 30-somthing years old doesn’t feel weird. I don’t roll my eyes as if to imply being in my 30’s is a painful place to be.  It’s actually quite the opposite for me. I’m finally at a point where I live without as much angst.

My days are challenging at this point, both in raising my kids and raising myself. It’s exhilarating.

I have so much to look forward to at this point. However, I’ve lived long enough to have something important to say, and am finally at a point where I’m not afraid to say it.

The future feels mysterious and lovely. My past is finally feeling distant and less controlling. Time feels fleeting but appreciated. Life is mundane and simple, but moments feel grand.

My skin is thicker, my brain more powerful and my heart…my heart is vulnerably open. 30 (something) years in the making, and still a lot of work to do. But I’ve come to a place where I can appreciate who I am, where I come from and where I’m going.

This nostalgic skin I’m in…I wear it with pride. It’s me.

Unapologetically me.