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.

Well, you know what they say about a picture being worth a thousand words. I could probably just post the picture and leave it at that. But no, that just won’t do – not for long-winded ME!

My oldest child is driving me to drink. And I’m seriously on the fence, teetering between “she’s a teenager; she’s supposed to be apathetic, dishonest, overly dramatic, and hate school” and “how in the hell will she ever function in society OMG she’s going to be living here when she’s 30 years old and end up working at Del Taco.”

It’s a tough road we’re on right now. Without overstepping the boundaries of privacy too much, I’ll simply state that she’s been struggling with some depression. I recognize it. I understand it. Hell, I LIVE it. I know exactly what it’s like. And I’ve told her that. The thing is, you can’t rely on the excuse of depression as a free pass for getting out of everything you don’t want to do. Like, homework. I know she doesn’t care about school, and I get that. School is a big fat drag when you’re fourteen. And how often do you really use algebra once you’re out of school? I fully recognize that she is only there for the social aspect. But I just can’t make her GET IT that she still has to DO THE WORK. It’s that whole fake-it-till-you-make-it thing. You might not care about it, but you still have to DO it. Even if you struggle with depression, you still have to fulfill certain responsibilities. That’s life, y’know?

Ugh. It’s nice that I have my husband to talk me down from the ledge. He’s already raised two teenagers, and he’s sooooo easygoing about all of this. I know that there are plenty of folks out there who didn’t give a shit about high school, and they aren’t homeless or anything like that as adults. But still, it’s so completely frustrating when I can’t find ANY passion in my child whatsoever. She’s looking forward to seeing her friends at lunch tomorrow, and she’s happy to know that she’s not going to die in the near future. And that’s IT. There is nothing else that she cares about. Nothing. It just feels beyond the normal teenage bullshit to me. And like I said, I’m wavering. Part of me is scared to death for my child, and worried about her future and completely stressed about her mental wellbeing. The other part of me is like, “Eh.” Almost everyone I know with a kid in high school is telling me a similar tale. Her issues are just not that unique, really.

I’m praying hard that she straightens out and realizes that life is awesome and that there is true joy to be found in it. I know being a teenager sucks. I remember. I’m banking on the notion that by the time my other four kids are teens and putting me through hell, my oldest will be well-adjusted and content with her life, so she can help knock some sense into her siblings. I think that’s my only hope. And maybe in years to come, I’ll mellow out a bit, too.

Today marks a year that we’ve lived in our “new” house. I’ve decided that I should officially stop calling it our new house, hence the quotation marks. I’m fighting an awful cold, as are a couple of my children, and we spent much of today on the sofa. As I flipped through the channels, I kept thinking back to a year ago, and contrasting what a different day today was than last December 27th! Four huge truckloads of stuff, and the last one wasn’t unloaded until nearly midnight. The kids were on Christmas break, and the weeks that followed were downright chaotic. It’s hard having bored kids underfoot while trying to unpack. It was nice to look around my cozy house today – even littered with new toys from Christmas, it’s a much different scene than it was a year ago.

Two thousand and nine was a tough year in a lot of ways. It was such a year of change for our family, with the new house and new schools. Even when change is for the better, it’s so difficult to go through it. And unfortunately for myself, I spent much of the year feeling like I wasn’t changing for the better. So many times, I felt like I couldn’t find my way. I wanted our house to instantly feel like home to me, to feel like the sanctuary our old home was, and to feel uniquely ours, the way our old home did. Of course, that can’t happen immediately – it takes time to make something your own. It takes time for people to get to know you. It takes time for children to stop being “the new kids” at school. And it takes a hell of a lot of time to go through a house and put your own special touch in every room.

I should point out that I am not an organized person by nature. (My husband is, thank God, or our lives would be falling down around us.) Between my messy tendencies and my unfortunate propensity for feeling guilty about my many flaws, I dealt with a massive amount of anxiety this past year. It’s only been in recent weeks that I’ve started recognizing the role depression has played in my inability to get shit done. Last year, right around this time, I stopped taking the antidepressant I’d been taking for years. I was going through a period of health concerns and serious headaches, and I was trying to pinpoint exactly what was causing my headaches. I decided to wean myself off the antidepressants to see if my headaches went away. They did! And I seemed to be doing okay, so I never refilled my prescription after our move.

I’m realizing now that I made such a dumb decision in doing that. For me, depression manifests itself not in sadness, but in anxiety and in feelings of being so overwhelmed that I can’t figure out how to tackle a situation. And I don’t really understand why it’s so hard to take my own advice – I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve told girlfriends of mine not to be afraid or ashamed to take antidepressants, because depression doesn’t just go away on its own. When it comes to my own health or my own psyche, it’s like I’m a total dumbass, though.

That’s one thing I intend to do differently in 2010. I work so hard to take care of my family, but think nothing of putting myself last – like I just don’t have it in me to think about my own needs. I heard someone recently compare it to putting on your own oxygen mask on an airplane before helping someone else. How can I really be supermom if I super-suck at taking care of myself? I started taking my meds again a few weeks ago, and already I’m feeling better. Now if I could just shake this stupid cold!