Recently I've had people ask me, "Why aren't you blogging as often?"
The easy answer would be the busyness of life that everyone can relate to. And that would be partly true. But a slightly more accurate answer would be that this year I've been smacked in the forehead with a phase of life...or should I say, multiple...
In January, my best friends talked me into joining Pinterest. Not fully comprehending how it worked, I 'Liked' and 'Repinned' every single pin they sent me, regardless of how f-bomb-dropping-inappropriate, without realizing that anyone and everyone could see it. I set a record for most followers lost within the first 3 days of joining and realized that I'm in that embarrassing phase of life where I say, 'Those young whippersnappers and their fandangled technology" as I unknowingly drag a string of toilet paper from the back of my stretchy pants.
In February, I took my daughter Aubrey shopping for her wedding dress. That night, my best friend Lissa came over and we squeezed ourselves into our old wedding dresses and then the 3 of us ate pizza while everyone made fun of the super-cool-puffy-sleeves on my 21 year old dress. It occurred to me then that I'm suddenly in that inevitable phase of life where half of my children are grown adults moving on to start families of their own...and my totally awesome wedding dress resembles something out of the wardrobe closet on the set of Falcon Crest.
In the wee hours of March 1st, Caymen brought me a baby doll as Zac and Barbara watched from the couch. I took the doll into my hands, noticed the pregnancy test attached to the front and realized I'm going to be a Grandma. Ron saw the test and whipped his head around to me with an accusatory look mixed with sheer panic before I put his mind at ease with, "Dude. That's not our stick."
We're just in that confusing phase of life where we could either have a baby, or a grand baby.
Twelve hours later, Ron and I were checking into a hotel for a quick getaway carrying only toothbrushes and multiple packs of Oreos because we're in that selfish phase of life where a getaway sometimes means we just don't want to share our snacks with the kids.
At dinner that night, Ron ordered a beer and I ordered a margarita. The waitress asked me for my id. I thanked her for the flattering formality, explained that I didn't bring my purse, and then told her please and thank you hold the salt on my rim as I handed her the menu. And then she refused me my drink. Torn between hugging her and strangling her, I began rambling about Oreos and pregnancy tests before she eventually agreed to let me prove my age by showing her my date of birth on my Facebook page. Five minutes later, she returned without my drink and said, "You're not an undercover cop, are you?" No, you see, I'm just in that all-too-temporary-phase of life where I'm either a 42 year old grandma or an underage drinker trying to pull a fast one on a Red Lobster waitress.
The following week, I was sitting in a tiny 1st grade chair across a tiny table from Caymen's teacher as she said she'd like to ask me a personal question. (Oh gosh.) She went on to say that Caymen arrived at school and announced to the class that she had very important news about her family, (Oh...no...worst...nightmare...ever) and then excitedly proclaimed, "MY MOTHER-IN-LAW IS PREGNANT!!!" Holy crap, I'm in that humiliating phase of life where my 6-year old's teacher has to ask me who exactly is pregnant at home.
Three weeks ago, I was sitting at the bar at an adult version of Chuckie Cheese reading a library book while the kids played arcade games for Aubrey's birthday, because as it turns out, I've entered an intolerant phase of life where I don't function well with noise...or people.
One week later, Caymen was sobbing as we were leaving for her 7th birthday party at the bowling alley and Ron yelled, "STOP CRYING ON YOUR BIRTHDAY!!!!" followed by Kearstin quoting Clark Griswold, "We're the hap hap happiest family this side of the nuthouse." I think we've entered into that unstable phase of life where we should probably reconsider public parties.
Last week we went shopping for supplies for my new home office. (aka; Zac's old bedroom.) I found a beautiful wall hanging, but the back was badly damaged. I sent Ron to ask if they'd knock the price down to $5. He returned and said, "The lowest they'll go is $10 or they're throwing it away." WTH? As we returned to the front counter, I asked him how he played it. "Good Cop" he said. So I put on my Bad Cop face as we approached the manager, but before I could say a word, Good Cop blurted out, "I'm sorry about this." So I simply handed her the wall hanging and said, "I guess you can go ahead and pitch this." Clearly we're in that PDA (public-displays-of-anger) phase of life where we're not above fighting in the Big Lots parking lot.
Two hours later, I was waiting at the front doors of the gym when Ron exited the locker room and extended his hand. "Here, I found this in the sleeve of my shirt" and he handed me my black satin thong as the front desk worker's jaw dropped.
Hey. We're in a phase of life. We're not dead.