On Turning 35

RJ's aunt gave him five dollars to go garage sale-ing this weekend. He was pretty proud. Friday night, he sobbed at bedtime. "Cats?" I asked. "You want your cats?" "No!" he wailed, "I want my cash to sleep with it!" Important stuff when you're four. So, he slept with it under his pillow (and spent it on Hot Wheels the next day.). But, he didn't spend it before he asked about the man pictured on the front. I told him, "He was the president. He was a good man." RJ responded, "Mom, someday, I gonna be president." He paused. "But, I gonna live with you."

I always knew I'd make it to the White House.

I turned 35 last week. I guess that means I can be president. I know being 35 means I can stay up as late as I want, and I can go see rated R movies too.  I had an awesome birthday. There were donuts and cake and my favorite burger from Flat Tire. (Being 35 also means that suddenly the dryer has started shrinking my shorts, particularly after donuts, cake, and my favorite burger. Darn dryer.).

I used to believe I could be president. Now I'm not so sure. Because if I were president, who would fold the first man's shorts or feed the first babies their supper? And if I were president, who would tuck the blankets under RJ's feet every night? And how would I do all of those video conferences with GiGi still nursing?

I'm starting to believe that maybe being president isn't the job for me. I'm still not comfortable at my job, but it's fitting better these days. I'm juggling foreclosures and exhibit lists, and sometimes I even find time for lunch with my ladies. I know there has been a big online discussion about women wanting to "have it all." Some commentators want the professional world to adjust and make it easier for women to have it all. Others want women to choose: family or career. The most well reasoned discussions I've seen have focused on the idea that we can't have it all--at once.

RJ's gymnastics cheer last year ended, "It's our time to shine!"  This isn't my time to bill 2000 hours a year. It's not my time take a case to jury trial. It's very obviously not my time to become a law partner--though this particular truth has been hard to swallow this year.

It is my time to have donuts and cake and burgers. It's my time to celebrate my family. It's my time to shine!

And so, I celebrated. I celebrated little things that make me smile:

RJ wanted me to have this Barbie fishing stick. His words, not mine. 

And we celebrated my 35th by fishing in our backyard. There is no pond, but we have our imaginations. I imagined we caught 100 fish--and someone else took them off the hook every time.

Later, we celebrated my 35th with my folks. It was Poppy's birthday too, after all. RJ celebrated as a four year old boy should--by dancing in the Oklahoma summer version of rain, the sprinkler!

And, we fished. (No hook. No bait. Loads of fun.).

He's figuring it out.

And he's figuring out that fishing is kind of yucky. 

Actually, it's a lot of yucky. 

But he loved every minute. 

By the end of the day, he had casting down. 

And GiGi, well, GiGi is GiGi. She celebrates being her. 

And someday, she'll be 35 too. I hope she can be president. 

And that I can live with her and do her laundry while she tucks her babies in bed.