Here is a known fact about me. I tell everyone that I am 32 years old. I have been telling people that since, well, since I was 32 years old.
Obviously my husband knows this is not true. The Boy knows this is not true. The Short Chic has not yet figured it out but she is highly suspicious and will probably figure it out next month when I turn 32 again.
Here is another fact but this one you probably don't know. My being "32" makes my Momma mad. Not like mad like I am mad about chocolate. Like crazy ridiculous mad. I do not know why. But over the years I have found that she will take whatever step she can whenever she can to make sure to tell everyone that I am really not 32 years old.
So, let me be straight, I know I do not look like I am 32. I do not think I look as old as I am but I seriously doubt that I am fooling anyone when I say I am 32. So, why claim to be 32?
Thirty-two was when so many things in my life came together. My dad died when I was twenty-nine, I got a divorce when I was thirty, and from twenty-nine to thirty-one I worked in a job where I was very unhappy.For three years and some change, I was not in a good space. I was not the person I wanted to be. I was sad. I was hurt. I was even angry. Thirty-two is when I let all of that go and reclaimed me.
I don't think it is so crazy to honor and celebrate that.
But then I think, do I even need a reason to be age 32? I am not the first or only person who has hovered at an age. So, then why does my Momma find it so offensive?
She thinks I am lying when I say it. Is it a lie? By definition of saying something that is not true is a lie then yes, I am lying. But let's be clear we all tell lies. Some of them we over look. Some of them are culturally perpetuated.
For the record, I never tell my medical providers that I am 32 years old. I do however, need a moment to do the math because my age no longer defines me. My abilities and my accomplishments define me.
Obviously my husband knows this is not true. The Boy knows this is not true. The Short Chic has not yet figured it out but she is highly suspicious and will probably figure it out next month when I turn 32 again.
Here is another fact but this one you probably don't know. My being "32" makes my Momma mad. Not like mad like I am mad about chocolate. Like crazy ridiculous mad. I do not know why. But over the years I have found that she will take whatever step she can whenever she can to make sure to tell everyone that I am really not 32 years old.
So, let me be straight, I know I do not look like I am 32. I do not think I look as old as I am but I seriously doubt that I am fooling anyone when I say I am 32. So, why claim to be 32?
Thirty-two was when so many things in my life came together. My dad died when I was twenty-nine, I got a divorce when I was thirty, and from twenty-nine to thirty-one I worked in a job where I was very unhappy.For three years and some change, I was not in a good space. I was not the person I wanted to be. I was sad. I was hurt. I was even angry. Thirty-two is when I let all of that go and reclaimed me.
I don't think it is so crazy to honor and celebrate that.
But then I think, do I even need a reason to be age 32? I am not the first or only person who has hovered at an age. So, then why does my Momma find it so offensive?
She thinks I am lying when I say it. Is it a lie? By definition of saying something that is not true is a lie then yes, I am lying. But let's be clear we all tell lies. Some of them we over look. Some of them are culturally perpetuated.
- My daughter has now lost three teeth. Each one she expects and has received a gift from the tooth fairy.
- How many people my Momma's age actually believed the stork brought them into this world?
- When I was little I was told I could not drink coffee because it would stunt my growth.
- How many little boys are told if they play with their penis it will fall off?
- Every year we celebrate two religious holiday's that are seeping in non-truths. Do I need to point out the Easter Bunny or even Jolly Saint Nick?
- My wonderful elementary teachers spent weeks teaching me the meric system because our country was going to start using it. Guess what, the only time I use it is when I consider running a 5K.
- Was anyone else told that if you read in poor light or stood too close to the TV that you would hurt your eyes? No one said anything about the genetics involved in determining my poor eye sight.
- Popping my knuckles would give me arthritis.
- How about that annoying toy someone gave your child. Did it really break or did you just remove the batteries to save your sanity?
I read an article that says parents will tell their children some 3000 "white lies" during childhood. Three Thousand. Clearly, I am not the only person telling a non-truth. Maybe that is why the definition of "white lie" was made. My age is a small or unimportant detail to my children. How I care for them; guide them, inspire them, and provide for them should be the most important details. Not how old I am.
For the record, I never tell my medical providers that I am 32 years old. I do however, need a moment to do the math because my age no longer defines me. My abilities and my accomplishments define me.
And shouldn't those accomplishments be what makes a parent happy? So, yes, I am going to keep telling people that I am 32 years old. Maybe one day I will celebrate my twentieth anniversary of my 32nd birthday. Maybe? But not any time soon!
What about you? Do you have an age you're are hovering at?
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