On Turning 40 And The Magical Powers Of A Mustache

I turn 40 in two weeks. I TURN. The way that milk sours, meat goes bad, and voluptuous crosses over to chubbyville. I’d say ‘insert whining here’ but I think you can tell from my opening that I’m already whining.

I’m also wearing comfortable cotton pajamas with a drawstring waist. It’s only a short distance until this outfit TURNS into a full-on muumuu.

Me, trying to get it on with Kealoha.


I don’t know why I’m mourning my youth so much…except maybe that now that I’m almost-forty I’m saying things things like “mourning my youth”. I also started a new diet, or ‘shift in eating habits’ where you replace the bottom rung of the food pyramid with fruits and vegetables instead of grains. It’s called the Eat to Live diet, but I think it should be called the Poop to Live diet.

40, high fiber diet and stretchy pants. Bring on the pole dancing, fellas! Mama wants to work it!!!



I’d actually start crying right now if it all weren’t a little bit funny.

It is a little bit funny because, to be honest, I acted almost-forty when I was twenty and thirty. I’ve been almost-forty ever since I was sixteen and a college guy asked if he could shake my hand and I said very primly “I’m not that kind of girl!”

What I need to do is shift my thinking. Like, I can be the hot-young-forty-year old mom in comparison to the moms who had kids late and are now in their fifties. I can watch reruns of Madmen to see how to rock a muumuu. I can make crab rangoons, narrate an audiobook about vampires and/or spiritual awakening, while taking care of my kids, hubby, and working on writing the next book.

And really, all this angst comes down to the same thing: I’m in between projects and I need some place to put my energy. Some place other than a mirror and a bottle of merlot.

As soon as I get out of these stretchy pajamas, I’ll start working on that.


Side note

While sitting here whining , my 8-year-old son just came in here wearing a mustache and gave me a kiss. He said that there’s nothing that a good mustache can’t fix. I find that wildly entertaining and deeply disconcerting at the same time.

And he’s right. I feel much better.