Distressed Aging Among Wood and Women

Shall I be like everybody else and say that I can't believe Christmas is almost here? Yes! I think I shall!


I can't believe Christmas is almost here. Also? I can't believe my birthday is almost here. I will be 45 on Tuesday. I am not entirely happy about it. The turning 45 part. I'm not aging well, as of late. Because as of late, I have been aging. As of earlier? I was doing pretty well in that regard. People were like, "You're 40? Seriously? You look like you're 30!!" I guess I kind of thought that would continue. But now, people say, "You're almost 45? Happy Birthday!" I wait. Nothing else comes. They seem to be done.



I can no longer count the wrinkles or gray hair. They are now officially countless. Should I just let my hair go gray? It is an idea I am toying with. I doubt seriously I'll ever do it, though.


I have friends of all ages. I don't tend to think too much about it. But occasionally I'll be talking to someone, maybe someone I've just met, and I've noticed that I automatically assume the person I'm talking to is older than me if they are anywhere near my age. Why do I do that? I'll be talking to someone I think of as "an older woman" and then be stunned to discover she is a year or two younger than me. This happened fairly recently as I was waiting on one of my kids to finish with a lesson. First of all - the woman had at least one grandchild she was proudly talking about. So my mind went, "a grandma" and put her in the grandma category - a category of which I am still light years away from because there is no way in hell my kid is ever going out with Levi Johnston.


**OK - time out for a little OT. Can't help myself. Yes - any girl can get pregnant. Yes - lovely, nice, respectable girls do get pregnant. Lovely, nice, and respectable girls do have, and act on, perfectly normal biological urges with nice, respectable boys and it makes them all very human and nothing more. And I am not criticizing Bristol Palin - who quite honestly, seems like a lovely kid and I mean that. But where was her mama when the young and naive and hormone-ridden Bristol walked through the door with.....LEVI JOHNSTON? What about this kid made Sarah say, "What a nice young man!" ?? I'm not saying I could ever control who my kid climbs out a window to see.....but Levi was considered a fine "date" for Bristol. He was welcomed into their home. If I had shown up with Levi at my house at that age? My mama would have had that kid pegged in 2.5 seconds or less and he'd have been out the door. I know this because I tried with a couple of versions of Levi, one of whom went to jail later, and my mom said, "Who the hell didn't see that one coming?" Because my mama was a smart cat. And I am a smart cat. And if my daughters were to ever show up here with Levi Johnston - he would get the old Texas boot - believe me. And if the worst happened - and they crawled out their windows anyway - and a baby resulted - we would not be pushing the marriage deal even if I was up for VP (which would be highly unlikely but you never know because DUH Sarah Palin was up and I am more qualified!!!) with LEVI JOHNSTON. If anyone needed any evidence that Palin was lacking in judgement - HELLO - there is Levi Johnston, father of her grandchild, showing his stellar fathering skills by posing naked with a hockey stick!! She thought, at one time, that he would be a fine son-in-law?


Now, where was I? Oh yes. The old lady I was talking to who turned out to be younger than me. She had what I consider to be an older woman's haircut. She had on what I consider to be an older woman's pair of walking shoes. There was a Christmas tree on her sweatshirt. And she was a perfectly lovely woman. I mean that. I enjoyed talking to her. Of the two of us - there is, I'm certain, way more wrong with me. But obviously, she crossed a line, at some point, that I have not. She grew up. What causes this growing up and when am I going to do it? When am I going to wake up with a Christmas tree on my sweatshirt yelling at my kids to "turn down that noise you call music!" When is my ringtone going to change to something other than the Red Hot Chili Peppers Hump de Bump? When am I going to be offended by words like hump? When am I going to stop thinking my 15-year-old son is hilarious and tell him to get serious about something....anything? When am I going to turn clueless as to what my kids are up to? When am I going to stop contemplating my next tattoo? When am I going to become financially responsible, carry a handbag, and wear some effing sensible shoes? When am I going to stop saying "effing"? I honestly don't know. But I don't think it is going to happen next Tuesday. I'll let you know.


I have already received my birthday present. Do you remember when I posted awhile back about how much I hated my floor? The vinyl floor that has been in this house since my husband was in jr. high? Well - my husband read the post and was concerned about this misery over the floor. And he was surprised. I find his surprise surprising because I have only been beating my breasts, gnashing my teeth, and ripping my hair out over this floor for the past 13 years (since we moved in). He hadn't noticed, apparently.


Anyway.....right before Thanksgiving he and the kids started ripping up the floor. He knew there was wood underneath. He didn't think we'd want to keep the wood uncovered permanently, "It isn't very pretty," he said. "Just some nasty old pine, I think." But....WE LOVE IT! The kitchen came first and it is some yellow pine. To say it looks rustic is an understatement. And of course, it is all nailed down and there are nail holes and nails and scuff marks, etc. But it looks good, I think. I mean, this is a farmhouse, right?







When we got to the dining room we were surprised to find red oak. Even better! Jeff's brother said the red oak was in the house that was here before this one - the house his parents lived in and then tore down, later. And the rest is "scrap lumber". Some is black and is from a house that burned down. Some had been painted blue and a little bit of the blue remains. It all looks very distressed which is good because it is old and all and it seems fitting that for my 45th birthday, I should receive something old and distressed, much like myself.

*Let's play I Spy. Who can spy my glasses? A teapot? A straw hat? A yellow fluorescent lantern? Jasper's feet? A red plaid shirt? The nasty old vinyl floor that still leads down the hallway to the kids' rooms?

See where the wood changes between the kitchen and the dining room where the red oak begins?







I am so dang happy about this I can't even express it. Our previous floor was *the* floor used in movies when they wanted to designate a setting as a "70's scene". Seriously. We've seen it in several movies, including Apollo 13. While there are a few things I fondly remember from the 70's....gold/yellow/orange vinyl flooring is not among them. Good riddance, ugly effing floor.



OK - we've got to go hang our Christmas lights. Jeff is sick with a cold. I'm trying not to be mad about it. I think he's good for climbing up the ladder. We'll certainly find out.


The lights are strictly for us, you know? I mean, we're on a ranch. There aren't many drive-bys. And we keep it simple. But oh how I LOVE driving up our long dirt lane to see our house sitting bright in a dark pasture! However would Santa find us, otherwise?


I'm signing off as an Ungracefully Distressed and Aging Yet O-So-Jolly Sardine Mama!