For the last 15 years very few people have known exactly how old I am. Oh, I know what you’re thinking; you think I’m one of those vain women who quit counting their birthdays at 29 or 35 or whatever age makes them feel like they’re still young, hip and happening. Well, not exactly. I am not young, I am not hip and the last thing I am is happening. I am fully aware that I am a somewhat cute, somewhat intelligent, extremely awkward middle-aged woman. Frankly, I tell everyone that asks my age that I am between 3 and 5 years older than I actually am. Why, pray tell, would I do such a thing? Because I may look like doggie dung for my actual age but I look darn good for what I’m telling you I am.
For some reason, though, this year has been a very special year. Every year around my birthday I tend to take stock of my life. I weigh where I am compared to where I was hoping to be at this point in life. If I fall short, I make a plan to rectify the situation before the next annual review comes up. This year, my life stacked up better than I could ever have imagined. I have three amazing, wonderful children who are all grown up, out of college, two of which will be married this year to significant others I happen to like very much. I have an accounting practice that I have been nurturing for over 20 years that is stable, thriving and very rewarding. After 24 years of renovations, my 1847 antebellum house is finally almost completely finished. In the fall, Pam and I will be launching the second book in our series about raising our children. Who would have ever thought I would be an author of one book, let alone two. I have conquered my back issues and I am back to bowling full time, carrying my highest average ever. But most of all, I have David. David is not just my husband; he is my best friend, my soul mate and my most trusted advisor.
So for this year only, I have decided to actually tell everyone how old actually I am. On May 17th, I will be in Peru with my wonderful husband of 28 years celebrating my 50th birthday!