Okay, so I'm a week late. So sue me.
On this rather landmark occasion, I figured I'd take some time to reflect. I did not feel this need at 30; in fact, 30 passed with very little fanfare. Thirty-five is something different. It's not that I'm freaked out about being 35. But it's a little weird - I've officially moved into a new age demographic. I can no longer check the "18-34" box on surveys. Now it's the 35-50 box. I'm not longer the target market (officially at least) for cars such as the Ford Focus or sub-compacts. Now I'm the target market for Volvo (although I'd much prefer the upcoming Chevrolet Camaro, but I digress).
It's kind of a weird feeling.
So where am I in life? Well, professionally I'm in a pretty good place. I just celebrated 10 years with a good company. I make a decent buck (more than my parents ever made), work with people I like and respect, and who (I believe) like and respect me. I enjoy my job, despite the occasional stress caused by idiocy. I'm where I thought I ought to be in my mid-30s, so "check" on the whole "professional satisfaction" line.
On the family side, I must admit I pretty much have stereotypical "American life." Husband, two kids, house in the 'burbs, two cars, a dog. Even had a minivan until last spring. My husband still finds me attractive. My kinds are smart, kind, relatively well behaved, and much cuter than they have a right to be considering the gene pool. Check on family.
Health-wise, aside from the MS, I'm in pretty good shape. My blood pressure is good, weight is good. Because of my mother I've started yearly mammograms, but as expected the baseline showed nothing. Rarely is there anything wrong beyond standard germs brought home by children in school and daycare. Check on health
Spiritually, I'm comfortable. I've moved beyond the funk of 2007 to an acceptance and relative peace. I don't rail against God and the universe, but I don't expect everything either. Check on spirituality.
So every thing's idyllic and there are no problems, right? Well...
The Hubby still finds me attractive, which is a good thing - up to a point. Guys, I have to ask - what is it with you a sex?!? Never mind, don't answer. But I would have thought that at age 44 we could get beyond adolescence. Let me give you a tip, gentlemen: Women do not find constant groping attractive or desirable. My butt and boobs were not put there to be squeeze, rubbed, ground up against, fondled, or whatever ever five minutes. The Hubby will actually say, "I don't think I've groped you today." Oh yeah, that's so romantic! I also do not find the oogling as I get changed or out of the shower attractive. In fact, I find it disconcerting and a little degrading - like I'm a real-live Playboy pinup (with smaller boobs). Whatever happened to a simple hug or kiss? Not that I don't get them, but even those turn into a bad B-movie (or C-movie) grope-fest, complete with tongue. Eww.
Of course, I'm now absolutely convince that The Hubby is going through a mid-life crisis. First, there is sex. If he doesn't get some every couple of days, he becomes petulant and crabby - just like a child. Last Sunday, I got blasted for my "constant negative attitude" and how it "ruins everything." All because I threw a ruined piece of French toast in the garbage, grumbled about how making French toast is messy (um, it is), got slightly irritated when The Girl then complained about the quality of the French toast I had just served, signed when she then fed the dog off her plate, and then said, "Well, here take my plate - I don't think I'm going to have time to eat anyway" - which was true because it was now 9:10 and we had to leave for church in slightly more than an hour, and I still hadn't showered. He blew a gasket. "God, you're always so negative!" This only a week after he had told me what a good mood I'd been in for the last couple months.
Oddly enough, the minute he got some action (not because I wanted it, mind, but because I was sick of his thinly disguised "You're not taking care of me" attitude), he was all rainbows and sunshine again. My negativity? Hardly. Of course, most of our sex these days is obligatory, not enjoyable. It's like a timer - if more than 2 days go by without a roll in the hay, he gets petulant - and petulant is the best word for it. I find living with a petulant 44-year old to be tiresome, so I give in. Sex is just another weekly chore (or daily chore) for me to check off. Oh, and on the same day that I got told how selfish and negative I was, I finished the laundry and ironed shirts, I emptied and re-loaded the dishwasher, I made dinner, I made the kids' lunches, and I ran the vacuum. He sat and read the freaking paper. Nice.
Then there's the car. Last spring the minivan died. Since we had wound up swapping cars a couple years ago, he got to pick out the new one. Instead of the relatively fuel efficient Civic, Malibu, or Dodge Caliber we discussed, he chose a Dodge Magnum. It's a station wagon - a muscular looking one (my mother's Caprice Classic it ain't) - but a wagon. It gets maybe 26 mpg highway; about 23 mpg average per tank, and costs $60/week to fill. At least the Hemi version wasn't available. It's Inferno Red. That in and of itself is not problematic; since I've known him he's always had white or silver cars, and a bit of color is always nice. But the latest thing he wants?
Racing stripes.
I'll give you a minute.
Yes folks, you read it right - racing stripes. For an hour earlier this week, I was treated to a barrage of questions about racing strips. Thick or thin? Body panel stripe or no? White, black or silver? Solid or broken?
Here's an answer - I don't fucking care.
Guys, sorry - I don't get racing stripes. I mean, on the right car they look cool I suppose, but it's not my thing. Neither are flames.
How much is this going to cost? No idea. Will it exceed our $100 limit? Probably. Will we wind up getting them? Of course - because the alternative is a cranky spouse. Oy vey.
Me, I just want some peace. Some time where I'm not being groped like a high school student in the backseat of a car. I weekend free from toting kids to soccer, or running to the Boy Scout store, or trying to keep a 6-year old boy quiet in church by myself. A week where I don't have to run home, run to soccer, run to dance, grab McDonald's, make sure the homework is done, make school lunches, and I collapse into bed feeling like I never stopped moving - and then have to satisfy a grown man who really ought to be able to cope without a night of nookie. I don't need this every week. But one would really be nice.
In the great grand scheme of things, this is small potatoes. Overall, life at 35 is pretty good and I'm pretty happy. But oh, the things that just make me want to run off to the Bahamas - alone.
Gotta run now. Because I need underwear for the Boy, laces for the soccer shoes, and tile for the kitchen. Target and Lowe's await.
