Thirty-seven. Yep. That’s really pushing forty. I mean, there’s no nice way to say it. I like to think that I don’t LOOK like I’m pushing forty, although I’m sure many days I look every bit my age and then some, as I shlep around my kitchen in pajama pants and Crocs. I’ve pretty much made it a point to never leave my house without fixing my hair and putting on a LITTLE makeup, though, so hopefully the fact that I don’t look like a total wreck is helping me win that battle against looking like an old frumpy housewife.

Last weekend, I went to a party at a friend’s house, and I chatted with a cute, young-ish guy for quite a long time. Eventually, the conversation turned to birthdays, and we discovered that three of us in the room had birthdays coming up in the next week, myself included. I mentioned that I was turning 37, and the guy I was talking to turned to me and said, “Wow – good for YOU!” ::insert sad trumpet sound:: He went on to say, “I would have guessed you were maybe thirty – NEVER thirty-SEVEN!” I told this story to my husband and he laughed and called me a cougar.

My sister and I were talking about our ages, and we seem to be on the same page about one thing for sure: neither of us feel like we’ve got decades of experience under our belts. She said she feels like she’s been screwing around, not paying attention, and she’s missed out on everything – like she looked in the mirror one day and saw wrinkles and gray hair, and she’s thinking, “How long was I asleep?”

In some ways, I can relate. I mentioned to her that I can’t even remember most of my 20s, when I was married to my first husband. The memories I have revolve around my daughter – I can remember exactly how she looked, what she was wearing, the TV shows she watched, and the friends she had when I was 25. But I really can’t recall how I looked at 25. Was my hair long? Short? Did I have a job? Who did I hang out with then? I have very little recollection of it. One thing I’m certain of: I probably was wearing overall shorts.

My twenties were such a dark time for me personally, mentally, psychologically. I was in a bad relationship and battling major inner demons – I guess I’ve blocked out a lot of it, at least selectively. It’s easy enough for me to conjure up a memory of painting an elaborate mural on my daughter’s bedroom wall, but I can’t see MYSELF in that mental picture. I’m sure that’s the reason I don’t feel my age – how can I be thirty-seven? I should be turning THIRTY right about now! I’m sure I skipped a few years in there somewhere.

I’m so incredibly thankful that I’m PRESENT in my life now. I feel so fortunate and blessed to be among wonderful people – I have the best friends, the best sister, and I’m married to such a good guy. Furthermore, I’m very thankful that I’ve gotten to a point (to an AGE, I guess!) where I can recognize that my first husband was actually a pretty decent guy, even if we were bad for each other at that stage in our lives. I think thirty-seven is going to be good for me. Maybe even look good ON me!

Yeah, I haven’t been posting much here lately. If you know me, you know that when things are rough, that’s when I withdraw from writing and try to focus on actual life. I wish I didn’t do that, though. I have such wonderful, insightful, supportive friends out there, and you always have great advice for me. And even when you don’t, you still remind me that life goes on and this too shall pass. I need to work on that, I guess. But here I am.

Things with the girlchild have been ROUGH lately, to put it mildly. She went through the heartache of a one-day breakup with the boyfriend she insisted to me was just a platonic friend. They’re back together now; whew! (Did you detect my subtle sarcasm, there?) During that one day, though, she really lost it at school – ditched a bunch of her classes, cried all day, and did some things that caused the school to believe she was a suicide risk. A couple of days later, you’d never realize any of that had occurred. She was…fine? One week after that, she got in trouble at school again, for KISSING said boy in the commons. This earned her several days of detention. And one week after that, she made a last second decision on the way INTO detention to SKIP detention with a friend of hers. This little act of insubordination earned her a SUSPENSION. Yes. My little girl, who until recently had NEVER been in trouble, and who had never even been in detention in her life, is now that girl. The one who causes teachers and security guards to raise an eyebrow and scowl.

And weirdly, these things have all happened on Thursdays. TODAY is Thursday, and I’m just keeping my fingers crossed and praying that we’ll get through the day without any phone calls from the dean. What does my child have against Thursdays?

It hasn’t ALL been rough, though. I’m beginning to feel as if we’re turning a corner. We’ve started seeing a new therapist who seems pretty proactive when it comes to finding the root of all these problems. We’re exploring the idea that there might be more going on here than textbook adolescent angst and depression. I’m trying to keep a journal of day-to-day events and the moods that go along with them, so we can try to see if a pattern emerges. And even in the midst of all this school-related drama and punishment, my daughter seems happier to me than she has been for awhile.

I’m really encouraged by the phone call I got from her school counselor this morning. They’ve decided to pull her out of a couple of prep classes where she’s really struggling, and put her in the standard classes. With this schedule change, she’s going to have an open period which they’ve decided to fill by making her an aide to kids with special needs. I think this is going to be fabulous for everyone concerned. For as much trouble as my daughter gives us, she is AMAZING when it comes to interacting with special needs kids. She is super patient, gentle, and compassionate with our son – something you don’t often see with 14-year-old girls – and the special needs kids at her school gravitate toward her naturally as well. They seem to seek her out, like they instinctively know that she’ll treat them with kindness. I have the most darling picture of her dancing with a boy with Down syndrome at the winter dance – both of them have huge smiles! I think this could really spark something inside my child, which would please me SO MUCH. I would love to see her realize some need to make a difference in the world, and find something to hold herself accountable to.

So that’s where we are at the moment.

This was a weird day. My husband pulled a muscle in his back moving some boxes a couple of days ago and it really seized up on him at work yesterday. He came home a bit early last night in a lot of pain, and spent most of the evening lying on the floor. I hoped he’d be feeling better this morning, but he wasn’t – I woke up to him calling in to work. I’ve never seen him so uncomfortable, so I insisted he go to the doctor. What is it with men and the doctor, anyway? He hates going to the doc! He actually tried to convince me today that he was FINE, as long as he was lying on the floor and not sitting, standing, or walking. Dork.

So anyway, I drove him to the doctor this afternoon, which was weird in itself. I never drive us ANYWHERE – I can’t even remember the last time my husband was in the passenger seat of my vehicle while sober. He moaned and groaned every time I hit a bump or took a corner too quickly, and by the time we got to the clinic, I had a case of the giggles. Bad, unsympathetic wife. And after we got out of the car, we realized that he needed to lean on me in order to walk – which just made the situation seem that much sillier to me. My linebacker-esque husband mashing me into the parking lot by my shoulder was just cracking me up! And once inside, we found that it was easier for him to walk if he just followed me, and put his hands on both my shoulders. So, we walked through the clinic with him hunched over, halfway bent over, and pushing me along by the shoulders. I felt like we were in a horse costume!

And then my husband’s very Asian doctor was cracking me up with his demonstration of how muscles seize up and contract when you injure them – he sort of acted it out like a skit, complete with crazy facial expressions. By the time we finished up with the doctor, the clinic finally found a wheelchair for my husband that would fit him, and I pushed him to the pharmacy. I stepped out of line for a moment to snap a picture of him looking extra pitiful, and the woman standing in line in front of us glared at both of us. I laughed.

Once we left the clinic, prescriptions in hand, we decided we were both starving. The muscle relaxers were kicking in, and my hubby was actually feeling a lot better, so we didn’t have to do our horse imitation anymore. We hit a nearby Mexican restaurant and had an absolutely delightful dinner together, and talked and laughed all through dinner and all the way back home. My husband actually got a little mushy, thanking me for taking care of him all day, and telling me how happy he was that he married me. Awww! I sure wasn’t thinking we’d have a date night when I saw him laid out on the floor this morning!

I’ve figured out how to eliminate all drama from the internet in a few easy steps.

Please don’t assume something is about you. Chances are, it’s not. I know it’s hard for all of us to hear, but the world really isn’t revolving around each of us. Few people have specific targets in mind as we go through life. Sometimes a post is just a post. MOST of the time, I’d wager. So before you think to yourself, “Well, what did she mean by that?” or “Is that supposed to be about me?” Just…stop. Step away from the internet, go for a walk in the sunshine, eat some noodles.

If it’s really under your skin, and you just cannot move forward in life without finding out the intent of whatever’s bugging you, here’s what you need to do. CALL THAT PERSON ON THE PHONE. Have an actual conversation, comprised of spoken words. Perhaps you don’t have that person’s phone number. I understand. Here’s what to do in that case. Find their email address, and send them an email that says, “Hey! I need to talk to you about something. Can you give me a call at ____ ? Thanks!” (Insert your phone number there.)

Here is what NOT to do. Do NOT post a vague comment or tweet, laced with hostility. Do NOT confront them publicly, on their Facebook wall, on Twitter, or in their blog comments. Do NOT write a passive aggressive note to them. (You could end up here!) It doesn’t matter how much you pepper your post with uppercase letters, winking smilies, and lols – people will misinterpret your tone and interpret what you’re saying in a completely different way than you mean. Pick up the goddamn phone and have a conversation like an adult. Think to yourself, “How would I have handled this problem if we lived in the year 1989?” Here’s how: you’d pick up the phone and call them up. You’d bitch about it to your husband, not to the entire world wide web. You’d have done all of this while wearing Shine Free purple mascara and 5″ high bangs, plastered into place with Bold Hold hairspray. But that’s what you would have done.

If everyone would just follow this philosophy – first, don’t assume it’s about you – and second, don’t try to get to the bottom of things through your keyboard – SO MUCH DRAMA could be averted. We could change the world, people.

No, not really – but I’m starting to feel like I should!

Here’s my Vent Of The Day. Oldest child didn’t get up on time. The excuse is always the same, “I set my alarm, but for some reason, it didn’t go off!” I sympathize with her, for real. I have no idea why they make high school start at the crack of dawn. Elementary-aged kids have such an easier time getting up when it’s still dark – they should have elementary school start early and high school start later. But they don’t. Anyway. She didn’t get up on time. So instead of rushing around and heading out the door and hightailing it to school, she got dressed and then sat on the couch and pouted.

Um, yeah. I don’t understand this problem solving approach, either. Eventually, I realized she was sitting on the couch and asked her what was up. She didn’t have an answer for me as to why she hadn’t left yet, beyond, “I don’t know!” She somehow had herself convinced that if I didn’t call the school and excuse her immediately, that they wouldn’t even allow her into the classroom. Like they would just shut the door in her face. Like they would prefer that she miss an ENTIRE 99-minute class, rather than just miss the first 25 minutes.

This required my husband actually driving her to school and walking her into the front office, where we could get some clarification on the tardy policy. He called me up on his way to work and said, “GUESS WHAT, babe. You won’t believe this. But they’ll actually LET HER INTO CLASS even if she’s late.” I know! I was stunned, too. (Not really.)

Tomorrow begins finals, at 7 in the morning. Tonight, I’m putting about three more alarm clocks in her room!