Another Year

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Another trip around the sun and I can’t help but wish that I was more self-actualized than I am, but maybe that’s one of the gifts that come with age.

My birthday wish for myself this year is to try, just try, to be more present. . . in the moment.

I already see my time with the boys slipping by faster than I ever thought possible back when I was sitting up all hours of the night praying for the crying to stop.

In the August edition of Real Simple editor Kristin van Ogtrop admitted to having this passage from the novel Water For Elephants by Sara Gruen pinned above her desk.  I just may have to do the same.

Those were the salad days, the halcyon years!  The sleepless nights, the wailing babies; the days the interior of the house looked like it had been hit by a hurricane; the times I had five kids, a chimpanzee, and a wife in bed with a fever.  Even when the fourth glass of milk got spilled in a single night, or the shrill screeching threatened to split my skull, or when I was bailing some son or other . . .from a minor predicament at the police station, they were the good years, grand years.

But it all zipped by.  One minute Marlena and I were in it up to our eyeballs, and the next thing we knew the kids were borrowing the car and fleeing the coop for college.  And now, here I am.  In my nineties and alone.

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