I Might Be a Grown Up

Today, I turn 52.  This is crazy for a million reasons, but especially because it means I am clearly a grown up.

I do not feel like a grown up.

Over the years, I’ve realized that no one really ever feels like a grown up.  Clearly I must be: I’ve raised a child, I have a full time job that quite likely is a career, I have a home that I care for and utility bills that I regularly pay.  I cut the grass and do other grown-up things.

All the evidence is in:  I am a grown up.

A grown up who loves being JT’s mama and T’s partner; whose days are made better by flowers, good books, mason jars, and twinkling lights; who likes to cook and feed the people she loves; who pours over garden and book catalogs and daydreams about both.  And let’s not even mention the time I spend planning out front porch decorations for each month.  I like to laugh and play card games.  I love coloring books and the occasional cat video.  I like a fresh pedicure and a soft blanket; candlelight and sunrises.  My list of joys great and small could go on and on. I realize what a blessing this is.

But mostly I am filled with enormous gratitude for the people I love and who see fit to love me back, warts and all.  Time is flying by at a speed I never could have imagined when I was 10 or 20.  I am grateful for all of it and so very glad of this life I love.

That’s happy!