Yesterday I turned 52 glorious years old. October 24.
I am half a century plus two. That's five decades plus two. And I'm proud of it.
My mother-in-law always said that age doesn't matter. Perhaps to some it doesn't. It does to me. I had my childhood years, teens (oh dear God thank-you for letting me survive), my twenties (marriage, children, houses, pets, jobs), thirties (children in their teens, oh dear!), my forties (teens in college and out), and now my fifties (empty nest-most of the time, and being a gramma). I'm clapping for myself! You may join if you like.
As I've rolled into my fifties, I am more sure of myself, don't care a lot about...a lot of things, am more patient, if a bit sarcastic, I love more, look for the little things in life that please me: diet coke from the fountain, laughing kids, the color of fall leaves, cotton undies (just sayin'), garden raised tomatoes, my husband's hand in mine--wait, he hates to hold hands, but when he does I appreciate it, slippers, text messages from my kids, the sound of my pond, and I could go on and on...the fact is, I love what's happening in my life (except for my thighs). My family is fabulous, the dogs are good, my husband loves me, and everyday that God lets me wake up I am grateful.
Call me blessed. I do. Happy Birthday Kelly!