|Me and my mom, who was an amazing help. |
We don't look anything alike.
So I’ve crossed over into cougar territory, at least according to my husband who is all of 6 months younger than I am. This, apparently, makes me a cougar and entitled to all the rights that come with such a title.
For example, I can say “Meow! Mauw!”
I can throw myself parties where, in the end, almost everyone there is younger than me. I can make a batch of Sangria with gin, and then another, and another, and finally another, then drink a little too much of said Sangria, but enjoy myself nonetheless.
I can laugh and wear a pretty dress. I can hold everyone up from eating at my party because I’m trying to put a baby, who hadn’t napped all day, down for a super-late nap. I can forget to make lemonade, but remember the best lemon cupcakes ever, and proceed to eat at least 3 of them over the course of the night.
I can make fun of myself repeatedly.
I can thank mine and my husband’s parents for watching the kids overnight so I could drink too much Sangria.
I can wake up the morning after itching all over from the repeated attack of mosquitoes, but have no memory of the bites.
|Just because it's funny.|
I can watch my son run wild with no shoes and no shirt, but see him thrilled with the party and the people and the extra kids around. I can think about how excited he’ll be when it’s time for his 3-year-old birthday party next Saturday.
I can be surprised and delighted at the friends who showed up who I didn’t think would make it. I can be a little sad about the friends who couldn’t come.
I can walk into the house after the kids have gone, still feeling like I need to be quiet so I don’t wake them up, even though they are miles away.
I can eat too much pasta salad, too much barbecue, too much everything, but still have room for the chocolate peanut butter bars that a friend brought.
I can tease my husband, who gives as good, if not more, than he gets. I can rely on him to keep things lively and interesting.
I can watch the guests of the party leave one by one, until it’s just a few close ones left sitting within a circle of citronella candles, cracking each other up.
I can forget to take pictures all night, except for right at the end, and only really horrible ones, most of which probably won't be seen. (Does anybody have any pictures I could steal?)
|I ended the night looking a bit different than |
I started. And I didn't finish that beer because it didn't
mix too well with the Sangria.
I can say goodnight to the last guest who leaves, and welcome a couple inside to stay the night.
I can go to sleep at 2, but wake up at 7:30 anyway. I can lay in bed for hours trying to go back to sleep, though finally forcing my husband to wake up at 10:45 and make me breakfast since it was my actual birthday.
I can drink too much coffee and feel the need for a nap all day, but still be amazed at where my life is.
I can be so sincerely and incredibly grateful for the family and friends and support that I have in my life.
I can wonder what the next 30 years will bring.
I can want to gobble my children up on a daily basis because they’re just so delicious and silly and wonderful.
I can truly enjoy my cougar status, but, as I told my husband, only if it comes with men who are younger than he is.
I can kind of wish Chris hadn’t taught Sebastian to say that we lived on Cougar Mountain.
I can thank you for reading, laughing, and enjoying the silly words I put on the page, and hope you come back for more.
And now, I can go clean my house while the kids are napping, because even cougars have to keep a clean den. (Do cougars live in dens? Mountains? Bogs? Probably not bogs, right?)