Someone shared this picture with me today and it brought me to tears. It is of a father and son at the first space shuttle launch and, again, at the last one.

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Photo courtesy of Chris Bray

It reminded me so much of these.

This is my husband at Cedar Point Amusement Park, circa 1975. Please excuse the watermarks. This is what happens to your pictures when you’re old.

This is my daughter at Cedar Point in 2003.

And, this is my son on the very same ride in 2007.

I got so choked up looking at the picture of that man and his father; I think because his dad looks so young and spry in the first photo and in the second one, all signs of youth have been covered by gray hair and softened skin. It feels, to me, that 30 years goes by in a fleeting moment.

Already, my daughter looks nothing like that little girl in the red rocket. My son looks exactly the same, but dudes, the kid doesn’t grow.

I’m sure that someday I will look back on his photo and think how quickly he changed from that little boy into a man, the way that I look at my daughter and barely recognize her here. Last night we were talking about how, in six years, she’ll be 18. EIGHTEEN. And, six years goes by like that. *snap*

I hope that someday my kids recreate a picture of their childhood with their own children and that they cherish the shared memories. And, I hope that I’m around 30 years from now to see that they do. Gray hair, soft skin and all.

But, more than anything, I really hope that Cedar Point gets some new rides.

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I really wasn’t all that thrilled about turning 40 yesterday. I blame my lack of enthusiasm on my compression stockings. There is something about tight hose with a reinforced heel that makes you feel like you have one foot in the grave.

But, as it turned out, I had a pretty fabulous day.

There was the sun on my face, softball and baseball games, icy cold drinks made with blueberry vodka, lots of laughs and immense generosity of good friends who offered their home for a get-together.

There were more good friends who brought me food, flowers, gifts and their incredible company and a birthday card from my 12 year old that said, “Thank you for all you have given me. I’m really lucky to have you as my mom. P.S. Count your blessings, not your candles.”

I love that kid.

Hands down, though, my favorite thing was the cake my husband had made for me. This is my reaction when I saw it.

Which, ironically, is the same face that was looking back at me.

Of course, those good friends I was talking about took the liberty of sticking a toothpick in my teeth and though you can’t see it, someone added a green sprinkle that made it look like I had a booger.

The kids had fun eating my eyeballs and nostrils and my son even offered to put his own booger on the cake. He has a heart of gold, that one.

All I know is that I had as close to a perfect day that a girl can have. It fed my soul in every way and if it’s indicative of what to expect in my 40’s, then bring them on.

Reinforced heels and all.

If you want a chance to have the best day ever, don’t forget to enter to win a $100 gift card to Dick’s Sporting goods courtesy of BlogHer and Gatorade Moms!  Click here for details!

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Back in January I bought a couple of Groupons. One for 18 weeks of boot camp (did I tell you that I’ve GAINED two pounds?) and one for sclerotherapy.

What’s that fellas and kids under 35? You don’t know what sclerotherapy is? Well, it’s when a doctor injects a solution into your blood vessels to eliminate spider veins.

Yes, that’s right. I bought a Groupon for cosmetic surgery and I’m telling you about it on my blog. Who loves self-deprecation? *Stands up* *Waves hand*

But, people, this is ME we’re talking about. I can’t just go in and use my Groupon for vein surgery without getting a pre-operative ultrasound that shows I have honest-to-goodness venous insufficiency. That’s a fancy way of saying my blood pumps the wrong way.

Left untreated, the burning pain I feel in my legs (that I always assumed was nerve pain) would get worse and I would likely end up with some bulging, varicose veins…which would really kind of put a damper on swim suit season.

So before I can have the sclerotherapy, I have to get vein ablations in both legs. Today I go in for my left leg and next week, my right.

Clearly, you can see the good in this situation right? No? Well, let me tell you!

I am preemptively striking against bulging veins (good), the pain and burning in my legs will improve (good), then I can have sclerotherapy to get rid of the spider veins I’ve had since high school (good) and I’m pretty sure they’re going to give me Morphine (better).

The downside? A week of wearing a thigh-high compression stocking in 90 degree heat.

So, while I’m lying in front of a fan and sleeping off some medicine you should head over to my post about Gatorade Moms where BlogHer is giving one of my readers a $100.00 gift card to Dick’s Sporting Goods!

If you win, could you pick me up some cute compression capris?

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Fifteen years ago, I had a mid-life crisis at the ripe old age of 24.  I had just got engaged and I had a great job, and dudes, I drove a Ford Taurus.  Things should have been rosy.

The crisis came just two weeks after my engagement when I turned 25.  I hated turning 25.  Something about turning a quarter of a century made me feel as if I couldn’t act like a kid anymore.

But you know what?  I found that wasn’t the case at all.  I still ride roller coasters, I am trying to get my co-workers to join me in the creation of a skipping club and yesterday I wore my hair in pigtails.  Okay, it was just because my daughter said I was too old to wear pigtails and I live to embarrass her…but, still, I totally wore them.

If I had known then what I know now I would have embraced 25.  Shoot, I would have made out with 25.  And, like a friend of mine always says, had I known what would happen to my body I would have walked around in a bikini everywhere I went.

Next week I turn 40 and I’ve been feeling another mid-life crisis coming on.  Only this is a real mid-life crisis, because now I’m actually mid-life.  That’s mid-life, if I’m lucky. This crisis isn’t about whether I can act like a kid, but about the fact that 15 years ago I was turning 25 and that 15 years from now I will be turning 55.  FIFTY-FIVE.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.  You know…if YOU are 55.

I really shouldn’t mind because my life is in a great place right now.  Three days before my 40th birthday, I start working full-time at a job I love.  Some people can’t say that their entire lives and I’m only halfway through mine.  Remember, that’s if I’m lucky.

My health is good.  If you don’t count insomnia and 40 extra pounds.  Really.  Don’t count it.

I have a great family, live in a good neighborhood, have two sweet dogs, have fantastic friends and am part of amazing communities at the kids’ school and our church.  I am blessed.

But turning 40 really stinks and I’m going to whine about it until I’m blue in the face.

Because, clearly, age and maturity are two very different things.

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