Forty

Well, this is it.

I guess.

I'm forty. 40.

Barbie Mom.

Turns out, not a big deal. Just a number. I am not, in fact, over any hill.

I'm a bicentennial baby. Born in Spokane. Not a big illustrious start.

I imagine that my birth was a bit of a shit show... Starting with just the car ride. Two hours from our house to the hospital. Our house on the Snake River, in the middle of an alfalfa farm. JPC Farms. The trip on gravel roads to the highway. My dad rushing; I'd like to hope.

My mom wasn't actually in labor that day. But, it was so far back home, they induced her. And, out I came. A big ol' Taurus of a baby. A girl. The third. Boy, girl, girl.

Third kids are different. Especially when born after all the characters are collected. My parents weren't trying to have a boy or a girl. Not trying "one more time" for a particular sex. They already had them. Blonde, blue eyed ones.

Why add to the collection?

Well, I'm not sure. But, at the same time I'm thankful that they did.

Ken Doll Dad.

Or else, I'd be someone else. And, not nearly as adorable. My parents literally looked like Barbie and Ken. I'm adorable but yet somehow the least attractive. That's how attractive my family is. I'm the ugly one.

Over the years, I've done some living. Honestly, probably saw more by age twelve than most people see their whole lives. Barbie Mom and Ken Doll Dad divorced, the moves, the crazy, the lessons learned. The never agains.

Barbie + Ken > Skipper

But, here I am. On the other side of all of that. With a family of my own. I'm married with children. I'm not in jail. I haven't even been arrested. Which, is shocking to a lot of people.

Some of it, in addition to my family, is due to my friends. My pals. My people. My appreciation grows as I try to hurdle through the challenges of being a grown up. Especially in years like this when there is much joy mixed with much sadness.

Friends who have been there to mend the heart that was broken, encourage me to take on something new, like tap dancing on Friday nights or sweet potatoes. Friends to cheer me on, sit with me for inking, make me laugh until I cry, finish my sentences - and make those sentences funnier - teach me how to install a car seat. And, most importantly, make sure I wake up in the right place.

I'm so fortunate. So lucky. So everything.

In good news, I plan on living another 100 years. So, plan on attending more parties. Because, we're friends. We're pals.

We're in this show together until the end.

And, so, here's my birthday candle wish. I'm going to tell - I don't think that will affect the outcome - I wish for you to all have what I have. Laughing, silliness, friends and love. Because, I have a feeling that this next 100 years is going to go by really, really fast.

Frank!

I bought Frank for 1.97 at the Walmart in Moscow, ID in 1994.

I wouldn't say the years have been kind. When my mom is in town, she trims him and tries to make him look a little better. Better is relative. 

Frank has grown substantially in 20 years from the little sprig he started. I think I've gotten my two bucks worth.

When our first house was for sale, Frank had to go into 'foster care' and live with friends as he could have been a distraction to buyers.

Seriously.

The amazing house could have been brought down from the ugly Walmart plant from 1994.

Now, house sold, Frank lives happily on a table in the master bed room. He likes the windows. He's gotten bigger and somehow less attractive. If that is possible.

When I painted the table he sits on, the husband said, "You know, the table is a little too nice now for Frank. I think you should move him."

"Um, I've had Frank longer than I've had you. Why should Frank leave?"

He gave me a look. But, honestly I get it so often I don't even really notice anymore.

But, he does sort of have a point. Frank has seen better days and maybe the master bed room isn't the place for him now. But, it's Frank. I'm sort of attached.

I've been working on the third floor of the house, mostly guest space. Here's the thing, there is a perfect place for Frank. On the third floor. In the perfect light. Displayed 'just so'.

But, in true 'me' style, I don't want the husband thinking this is because of him. I am moving Frank upstairs. Me. Because that place is perfect for him. NOT because HE wanted Frank out of the bedroom. Just because I wanted a perfectly styled third floor landing.

So, I moved Frank. I am now sleeping without Frank. For the first time in years.

We've come a long way, Frank and I.

From that crappy dorm room in The Tower to our own grown up mortgage.

I can't wait to see where we go next.

Frank. On display.