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Happy Birthday To Me?

So, last weekend I turned forty-six.

Forty-fucking-six years old. (At forty-six I’m surprised I can even remember my age.)

Honestly, last year after I turned forty-five everything went to shit. My eyes went blind, my bladder started leaking when I laughed, and my skin dried up like the Sahara Desert. For real! I couldn’t find a cream thick enough to replenish the loss of fluids. In fact, I have older friends that have warned me that in the next few years my skin on my face isn’t the only thing that starts losing moisture! I’ve heard after 50 our vaginas begin to go all dry like the Tatooine in a Star Wars movie.

Forty-six is no better than forty-five.

My skin is still dry (even if my vag is still getting wet), I’m wearing contacts along with my glasses…plus, I am losing my mind. Wow.

Happy Birthday to Me?

So, in the Birthday spirit I’ve decided to make a list of all the important things I learned this past year:

No apologies necessary.

Ahhh. Guess what happened this year? (Wait for it…ok!) I stopped apologizing for shit I didn’t do. I stopped saying, ”I’m sorry” when I clearly did nothing wrong. And I stopped feeling guilty for stuff that I had zero control over in the first place. I am not sorry — thank you for understanding.

Amazing how that changes people’s perspective, huh? Try it! Next time you’re late instead of saying.”So sorry I’m late.” Try this, ”Thank you so much for waiting for me.” It changes your mindset altogether. Oh, and one more thing: I will never apologize for who I am, what I say, or what I am doing with my life again. Never. Ever. Again.

I LIKE my boys.

Ok, this seems dumb. But this year, I realized that I not only do I love my boys, but I like them, too. I like hanging out with them and listening to them talk. I like what they have to say and what they stand for. I like who they have become as people. I like their voices and laughs, their attitudes and compassion for others. I like being around them and I realized I’m going to miss them when they go to college in three years. I have raised men that I actually like. And I am pretty sure they like me back. (Fingers crossed.)

Trendy is “out.”

Time to grow up and lose the spandex, Hurvitz. I am no longer allowed to shop at the BP section at Nordstrom. Time to move on up to where I belong in the “big girl” department with the classy shit made for women who aren’t trying to be who they are not. (Dammit.) I just love wearing the latest trends and having Jonah’s friends ask me, “Where did you get your jeans?” or “Miss Jen, are those the new Golden Goose?” Ummm, yes, bitches!

And I got them with the big PINK sparkly star to match the cover of my book, duh! (Duh. I am such a loser.) And my boys want to die when their friends tell them I’m the “coolest Mom, ever.” Sorry, boys. (Sorry, not sorry.)

Not your Cup of Tea?

So, I’m not your type? You don’t like my blog or book? You find my podcast “over the top” or too “in your face”? Guess what? I didn’t ask you. I don’t want your opinion. Like Brene Brown says, “If you aren’t in the arena also getting your ass kicked, I’m not interested in your feedback.” (Damn, I love her. Brene just says it all so much better!)

I am not here to please everyone. I don’t care if you like my hair or shoes. And I surely don’t care if you like my Career du Jour. But I do care if you are kind and if you treat me with respect. I care if you give me props for hustling hard each day to teach my boys that quitting is never an option. You may