miriam beth

just kidding. now it is my birthday afternoon and i am writing this to you from my dining room table, in my $8 target t-shirt and my favorite black sweatpants (they are long and joggers and the cuff is thick and stays on the bottom of my foot when i pull them on and for some reason, when my heel is covered, i feel cozy). nathan is beside me, working on his homework, which is to say, he is making lots of noises with his mouth and asking me lots of questions and forgetting about his work.

in my 39th year i used a stanley cup almost obsessively to carry around my water. it is 40oz and it has a handle and it topples over easily, spilling everything. "so," ryan says, giving my stanley a small amount of side eye, "are you so much more hydrated now?" 

"yes." i declare defensively, my arm curled around my stanley, pressing it to my chest. most likely I am holding several books and my keys and my wallet and my phone will slip from this pile and fall to the floor and there will be a moment where we all hold our breath as I bend to pick up the phone and flip it over and--- it's fine. "it's fine!" i say, cheerfully, holding up the phone for ryan to see. ryan visibly exhales, gives me a look, and asks me why i am holding so many things. 

the answer? i don't know. what would the solution be? a giant bag? a wagon? less things? is that even an option?

in my 39th year i took microbiology. it almost killed me. i took the TEAS to get into nursing school. it almost killed me. i applied to nursing school and didn't get in, which almost killed me. i took a number of other classes that were child's play in comparison to microbiology, which changed me forever, but in a way that rather resembles trauma. ava turned 16. she drove me around. we nearly crashed into other careless drivers, who are idiots in the sense that they do not realize that i am no longer wrapping my baby in a thousand layers of backward-facing carseat with styrofoam and plastic and a little sunshade, but allowing her to sit directly in the driver's seat where she adjusts the mirrors directly to her liking and then checks over her shoulder before backing out of my driveway. THIS IS MADNESS. NO CHILD SHOULD BE DRIVING. WE SHOULD SWADDLE THEM FOREVER. 

seth went to his first dance. he danced by jumping up and down in a group of other youths who were also jumping up and down because this is mostly what dancing is: jumping up and down. Kate joined an orchestra. she plays the violin day and night and then again in orchestra and then some more in ensemble and then again in her lesson. AND SHE LOVES IT. 

i, as a 38-year-old, went to New York. I had never been. we got up early in the morning and we fly with our masks on and then we got off a plane and landed in a CITY. New York makes you feel like you have never been in a city before because as far as New York is concerned, it is THE city. i was entirely lost. my dad knew exactly what to do. he walked with long, confident strides and i ran behind him to catch up. i should share some photos. New York reminded me that I love art and travel and cities and my family, just in case i had forgotten. 

Sarah dances and does impossible backbends and cartwheels everywhere--even in really small spaces. she has a precious face and a beautiful tan and blonde hair and eyes that sparkle and she dances everywhere we go. if you are not careful you will get kicked in the mouth by a dancing Sarah as she whizzes past you on her way to create something, wrapped up in her imagination, barely registering that her foot and your mouth have very nearly collided. 

my hives have taken over. for years now they have lingered just below the surface, causing me mild discomfort, but enough is enough. now they are fighting for real space, now they are taking what they feel is rightfully theirs, now there is a turf war and my skin is losing. they are present every morning: bold, fat, red, angry, sizzling. sometimes my eyes is swollen. sometimes my lip. sometimes i accidentally scratch one and the relief that lights up my brain makes stopping seem almost impossible. they burn, they burn, they burn. i am agitated and distracted and sometimes, tired and just plain worn out. I need naps and am slow and easily stumped. i have tried no gluten, no dairy, no eggs, no tomatoes, no cabbage, no chicken, beef, or turkey, or almonds, or peanuts. i have said, "to hell with this!" and indulged, i have squeezed blood out of my fingertip for a tests, I tried acupuncture...to be honest I am still trying acupuncture. my goal is to figure something out and be hive free by the time I turn 40. 

39, i declare, is my year of radical self care. not the type of self care that justifies a manicure, but the type of self care that requires self discipline and maybe having to go back to the doctor's office before the year is over...this kind of self care is the kind of self care i'm not very good at. 

ryan works from home. we bought a sofa together. it took an innumerable amount of hours to finally buy a sofa. inflation made sofas hard to find. one store told us, "don't look at those sofas over there, they are backordered 24-36 months." sofa shopping was so fun. it doesn't make sense, but it was. until the very end when i think out of desperation we would have bought anything resembling a sofa even if it was just a hollywood prop made of cake. sometimes i study on the couch and Ryan takes a break. he walks over and folds his arms on the back of the sofa and we chat. it is the best thing in the world to see your spouse during the day, instead of only in a rush in the very early morning and then when you are very exhausted at the end of the day.

i read 'grapes of wrath' by John Steinbeck in my 39th year. i also read 'the lincoln highway' by amor towles (favorite author),  'the shadowland' by elizabeth kostova, 'pride and prejudice' by jane austen, 'a new constellation' by ashley mae hoilland, 'anthem' by noah hawly (never read anything like it) and inhaled anything and everything by anne lament and brene brown. it was a good year for reading. 

nathan started kindergarten. he is five and he is in kindergarten and i am in a new phase where my most of my children's worlds are outside of the world I create for them. do i love this? um, certain parts I do. does this feel like the end to a universe? yes, it does. I am thrilled to see my children be independent creatures who live their own lives and make their own ways and I am missing those days where we made our own fun and gathered with friends and went to the zoo or the beach or the park and I always had snacks and diapers and wipes and water bottles. "do you have...?" people would ask and then I would whip it out and hand it over. I was prepared. my bag was enormous. we had time. we were together. 

gone is my giant bag, overflowing with things we might need. and here to stay is all the things i hold everyday, 39 years in the making: apprehension, optimism, faith, contentment, a little bit of fear, a little bit of heartbreak, and so much hope. 

now it just before bed. this has taken all day to write. so many little things to interrupt the day. a full day, a full life, surrounded by people to love and people who love me. i am beyond blessed.

happy birthday, self.