Dirty 30...Five.

Tomorrow is my birthday.  Tomorrow lands me smack dab in the middle of my 30's.  I will be 35.  There are no "almosts" or "just a hare past".  It's the creamy center of a decade with no room for ambiguity.  Edwards says that the only reason that number has any social significance is because we have 10 fingers and 10 toes.  While this may be true, it doesn't change the fact that I've held very definite ideas of what 35 looks and feels like.  


I think there's a sort of denial that happens around the age of 18.  Sure, your responsibilities increase and your landscape may change dramatically but I think there's a self protective mental shift that happens where we unconsciously decide that we aren't REALLY going to get any older.  We will explain away wrinkles and aches with poor life choices but certainly not because of age.  


And then....  there comes a point where we accept that yes, this is actually happening.  


I thought 35 would look like...  being a mom and probably driving a mini-van or possibly a less safe but more stylish SUV.  I would be "done" with growth and know exactly where I'm headed in life.  I would be responsible with a capital R.  I would watch television appropriate for my age like NCIS or gardening shows.  Better yet, I would read grown-up books with a little light that clips onto the cover.  My kitchen would smell of delicious baked goods made for kiddo fundraisers, complete with perfect icing flowers.  There would be minimal swearing because my vocabulary doesn't require it.  


And the reality?  I have two husbands, two cats, 3 step-animals, and I bake for burners who want bacon in everything.  I still watch The Real World and Teen Mom.  There are days when I still want my mommy.  The thought of actually being the soccer mom in charge of small people who need stuff makes me want to give an Oxycontin addiction a try (you know, just to see).  I have a decent vocabulary but have yet to find a word that adequately replaces the sentiment of "fuck."  I am still learning things about myself and even sometimes feel like the new girl showing up for the first day of work for a job that hasn't been explained yet.  I look at my closet and think "More sparkly!".  I have a job that I love very much, allows me to set my own hours, gives me control over who I work with, and affords me plenty of free time to do other things (which doesn't feel very grown up at all).  


And so here I sit, one day away from mid-decade and think...  Really?  Wandering into my mid-30's feels like a tour of Willy Wonka's house....  so many strange, wonderful, and horrifying things.  


"Candy doesn't have to have a point.  That's why it's candy."