Ode to 44

Today, I turn 44.

Holy buckets or bananas or bazolies or shit...

I'm not sure how to frame this birthday, except to say that all of the things are happening at once, and I'm a crazy ass bag of emotions.

Yesterday, we celebrated our youngest daughter's First Holy Communion--Claire represents the last First Communion for our family.  It was such a sacred, beautiful experience.

In two weeks, our oldest graduates from nine years of school at Saint Margaret Mary's, and celebrates his Confirmation.  And then heads off to DC, sleep away summer camps, detasseling corn, mowing lawns, and high school.  Again, I don't have words.

Meanwhile, our middle one finishes 6th grade in three weeks, is also off to sleep away summer camp, designs her own clothes and has decided that friends, books, and ballet are where it's at.

People told me this would happen--you know that they'd grow up and forge their own paths--but I thought it was so far down the pike that even conceiving of it seemed silly.  Now, I tend to cry at the drop of a hat wondering where the time's gone...and why it's not possible for us to go to the pool, eat a million popsicles, read stories, and play board games.  I seem to vaguely remember the sleepless nights, constant diaper changes, inability to go anywhere without taking half your house, and the incessant, "Mooooommmm." 

When I'm being honest with myself, I recognize that at the age of 44, my children don't need me to mother in the same ways I've grown accustomed to.  They need me in different ways.  Mostly to carpool.  Sometimes, when I'm lucky (especially with my teenager), to listen.  Other times to help study.  But largely, they have their own friends, pass times, desires, and seem to be really good with where they're at. As such, I know that I need to find me differently.

My deepest desire as I embark upon this squarely middle-aged age is to dive unabashedly into all of the parts of me that I've chosen to back-burner while mothering young children.

Last summer, I formally started a private conflict resolution practice--mediating, facilitating, training, and teaching.  It was a big step...but it was just a step.  I'm ready for more...and really, to go all-in.  I'm yearning to see who I would be if ran toward the song in my heart and away from the fear in my head.

Likewise, in the past six months, I've come to know of three extraordinary people in their 40's who died unexpectedly.  They were healthy people with families and reasons to be here.  Like a punch to the gut, they serve as a profound reminder that tomorrow is guaranteed to no one, and today needs to be lived--not in the way others think best, but attuned to the cry of my own heart.

And to that end, 44 feels exciting.  For the first time, in a long time, I feel space.  Room to breathe.  Opportunities to grow.  Time to be on my yoga mat, and with my running shoes.  Earned knowing that my children are (for the most part) okay, and it's okay to leave them alone, so that I can be nurtured and intentionally attended to.

As I look forward, I'm praying for another 44 years, but if I only get this day, or next year, I say thank you for the gift of rediscovering me--all of me--the woman who loves to write, read, curse, listen to podcasts, mediate conflict, instruct college students, carpool to school, read the New York Times, drink vats of coffee, buy buckets of tulips at Trader Joe's, laugh with my husband, squeeze my children, and give thanks for the infinite chances to construct this one precious life given to me.

Here's to 44...emotions and all.