Kate has a post up today about 32 being the new old, and I was reading it on my iPad (which is f*cking awesome, by the way) and thinking "Yes! Yes! Yeeeeeesssssss!" Because oh shit do I feel old today, on this day, my 32nd birthday.
In honor of being so old, here are some Hisptamatic bath pics that look like the old ass pictures of me in the tub at my parents house taken with an old ass camera that wasn't even cool at the time. Just a camera. But now? Old is cool. But only in a trendy, ironic way. Shit.
I made Ben take me out for coffee when I got to campus this morning (what do I get to do on my birthday? Go to meetings. And more meetings. And MORE meetings. Also, prep my damn summer class already, jeez.), and walking back to my office, I looked up at the balcony of the Starbucks I used to study at with my grad school friends, and I felt old on so many levels. I felt old being here on this campus 7 years after entering grad school, while all my friends have moved away (old in a townie sort of way). I felt old for being nostalgic about a freaking coffee shop because that is such an old person thing to be nostalgic about-- not a bar or a club or something. A coffee shop. So I was old even in this glorious past I am recalling for myself. Shit, man. That's old. And then I felt old because I was drinking decaf (because if I have a drop of caf past 10 am, I'll never get to sleep) and looking at the balcony and the people on it while thinking, "it is too cold to sit up there without a sweater on a day like today."
A day like today.
One of the excellent things about being so old is all this wisdom I have accumulated (wink wink). Lately, I have been mindful of the mundane beauty of my everyday. Being woken up by Harry's creepy stare (seriously, he stands at the side of my bed, right about level with my face, boring into me with his eyes until I jerk awake from the force of the creepy stare. Then he greets me with the words, "I need to pee mama. I need your help."), crammed in bed with both kids and Ben before the sun comes up, holding one of Jack's icy foot blocks in the palm of my hand under the covers. Listening to Harry and Jack fight over what show to watch during breakfast, making them both bagels every morning and knowing that they will only eat a bagel once every 3 or 4 days but demand them on their plates everyday-- like a bagel lovey, brushing my teeth with the bathroom door closed and the exhaust fan on to mask the sound of the water because if Jack knows I am anywhere near a toothbrush, he is all over it, rummaging through the drawer for his and demanding, "Me," and my oral hygiene takes back seat. Talking to Harry about his vivid dreams and every.single.thing he sees out his window on his way to school, watching him hesitate for just a second at the door of his classroom before carefully washing his hands, shyly telling his teachers good morning, and then running full-steam toward the rug in the back of the room to dump out a basket of Plan Toy people. Picking Harry up at school, spying on him on the playground, almost falling down from the weight of his springing hug. Carrying jack even though he can walk and loudly kissing his cheeks until he squirms to be put down, hefting him over my shoulder after lunch as he drapes himself over me and blows Harry a kiss and tells him "bye bye" as we climb the steps for nap. Holding towel-wrapped Jack in my lap after bath while Ben snuggles a wet Harry, drying their hair by rubbing it with their towels until it sticks up on their heads and they laugh and point at each other. Watching Jack check himself out in the mirror after I put his pajamas on-- he even turns and checks out his butt. Pulling up Harry's rainbows. Collapsing on the couch with Ben and our DVR, a plate of cheese, pretzels, and wine between us. Sneaking into the kids' room on my own way to bed and taking pictures of the strange sleeping situations they've entered into in the time between their orderly tuck-in and my unannounced visit. Slipping into sleep grateful that my day will dawn with Harry's creepy stare and end with me staring at my sleeping babies, a little more wrinkled and better for the wear.