Tag Archives: birthdays

Good Lordy…

Ah, I remember it like it were yesterday.

The lady who lived across the street and a few houses down was turning 40. FORTY! I thought, how is she not dead? She was turning 40, and her husband got up early and erected a big old sign in the front lawn.

“Good Lordy, Whats-her-name is 40!”

(I can’t remember what her first name was, I am certain he used it though, and did not call her Whats-her-name.)

I heard my Mom and the biddies some of the other upstanding adult women from the neighborhood gossiping engaging in intelligent conversation based only on facts and not conjecture about the big four-oh for Whats-her-name, and it appeared that her gift back to him for his surprise was a nice packet of divorce papers.

Forty-year-olds, I thought, are weird.

Huh.

I really wondered if I would not handle 40 well. Would I curl up in the corner denying the age process? Would I do something stupid to prove I’m still young (I mean, I am — go ask a group of Baby Boomers if they think 40 is old) like jump out of a high place with only a hand-sewn piece of rayon to keep me from splattering to earth? Would I storm into Forever 21 demanding service?

As it turns out, though, I’m not even a little bit annoyed. I’m so unbothered to be 40, the only thing bothering me is why I’m not more bothered. I think, maybe, it’s helpful to be the youngest of five. When everyone goes through it first, including one of them hitting the big FIVE-oh before you even get to FOUR-oh…

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…well, then maybe you just aren’t as annoyed or scared or desperate to divorce your husband at 40 like old Mrs. Whats-her-name was.

I did wake up with a sore hip.

But rather than LAMENT the passing of time, I decided to take a look back at the last decade. Did I spend my time wisely in my 30’s? Was I properly mature and responsible while still being fun and full of awesome (I think we all know it’s a resounding YES to the awesome part, but that’s just a given). Did I properly leave my 30’s as a graduated member of the Generation X Dirty-30 Club, as well as an honored and respectable alumna of Volvo-Driving Soccer Mom University (those might actually be the same thing).

In pictures, I think, it looks like I had a good time.

Let’s take a look!

Age 30 ~ I couldn't find any digital photos, so at a minimum, I really AM showing my age. Here I am with a sweet two year old Hank.

Age 30 ~ I couldn’t find any digital photos, so at a minimum, I really AM showing my age. Here I am with a sweet two-year-old Hank.

Age 31 ~ Fulfilled Mom and Dad's dream by finding some fool to marry me and take me and my kid off their hands. They actually would have preferred if I left Hank behind, but as it turns out, he was Jim's dowry.

Age 31 ~ Fulfilled Mom and Dad’s dream by finding some fool to marry me and take me and my kid off their hands. They actually would have preferred if I left Hank behind, but as it turns out, he was Jim’s dowry.

Age 32 ~ I spent most of this year with a baby either in my uterus or attached to a bosom or hip. How cute is George? And how enormous are my jugs?

Age 32 ~ I spent most of this year with a baby either in my uterus or attached to a bosom or hip.

How cute is George?

How cute is George?

And how enormous are my jugs?

And how enormous are my jugs?

Age 33 ~ I looked sexy in yellow.

Age 33 ~ I looked sexy in yellow.

And I inappropriately sat on Jesus' lap.

And I inappropriately sat on Jesus’ lap.

Age 34 ~ I continued the family tradition of getting your father drunk.

Age 34 ~ I continued the family tradition of getting your father drunk, and looking uncomfortable at the fair, and making sure to suck in when you stand next to a pregnant woman for a photo so you look extra skinny!!.

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Age 35 ~ 8th Grade reunion? Yes please! It's weird that I'm the only one in the photo holding a beer, right?

Age 35 ~ 8th Grade reunion? Yes please! It’s weird that I’m the only one in the photo proudly holding my beer, right?

And of course, we took this sweet shot with Brendan. Big dumb loveable jerk.

And of course, we took this sweet shot with Brendan. Big dumb loveable jerk.

Age 36 ~ Kayla and I got dressed all sassy and took photos and went out boozing. It was just like the decade before, only we came home at a reasonable hour because it's only wise to get a good night's sleep.

Age 36 ~ Kayla and I got dressed all sassy and took photos and went out boozing. It was just like the decade before, only we came home at a reasonable hour because it’s only wise to get a good night’s sleep.

Age 37 ~ The ladies of the Chick Shack visit the big cracked bell. Like you don't want to party with us. After George graduated I made him get a job, then I relived my younger days by driving to Kansas City on a whim for a ball game with Kayla. Where we again got a decent night's sleep so we would be refreshed for driving home the next day...

Age 37 ~ The ladies of the Chick Shack visit the big cracked bell. Like you don’t want to party with us. After George graduated I made him get a job, then I relived my younger days by driving to Kansas City on a whim for a ball game with Kayla. Where we again got a decent night’s sleep so we would be refreshed for driving home the next day…

marney37a marney37b

Age 38 ~ If there is one year where pictures show my endless battle with my weight, it's age 38. First I ran and drank.

Age 38 ~ If there is one year where pictures show my endless battle with my weight, it’s age 38. First I ran and drank.

Then I took more photos with this fatty.

Then I took more photos with this fatty.

Then we ruled the field at unafflilliated minor league ball park.

Then we ruled the field at unaffiliated minor league ball park.

And I mud raced! (this left quite an ass bruise)

And I mud raced!
(this left quite an ass bruise)

And I turned into the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, but at least I finally got to see Ireland!

And I turned into the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, but at least I finally got to see Ireland!

Age 39 ~ Determined to get my body back in a shape other than round. First I ran another 13.1 miles without even being chased.

Age 39 ~ Determined to get my body back in a shape other than round. First I ran another 13.1 miles without even being chased.

The I held hands with the KGB.

Then I held hands with the KGB.

Models became my besties for a brief moment in time.

Models became my besties for a brief moment in time.

I died.

I died.

I conquered!

I conquered!

So as you can see, I think I took advantage of all the things there are for a woman in her 30’s to take advantage of. I reproduced. I suckered a man into marriage fell in love. I got fat. I got less fat. I went places. I met new people. I exercised. I saw historical artifacts! I made Kayla take photos with me TWICE while pregnant so I looked skinny. I had just a few drinks.

And I managed this:

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Granted, this might be more meaningful at 46 or 51, but I was excited, yo. Because Fatty Marney didn’t fit in that a year ago.

So how did 40 start?

Eating breakfast take-out while checking out my new John Denver Greatest Hits album while wearing my Mrs. Kenny readers.

Eating breakfast take-out while checking out my new John Denver Greatest Hits album while wearing my Mrs. Kenny readers.

How. Hot. Am. I?

Looking forward to the next 40! Who wants to party with me?

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UB40, Jimmy, UB40

That’s right. He be 40.

Y’all, I am married to an OLD MAN!

You know how every once in a while, you start a story with “20 years ago…” Well, when Jim does that,  HE’S TALKING ABOUT HIS 20’s!!!!!!!!!!!

ahhh

I couldn’t come up with any new or crafty 40-year-old sayings.

Over the hill? Lame.

Good Lordy, Jim’s 40? That just reminds me of the couple down the street growing up, and he put a giant sign reading that in the yard, expecting to surprise her with the best birthday ever, and she handed him divorce papers. No.

Life begins at 40? Okay, thanks for spitting on our past time together, sorry it wasn’t really “living.”

The 40-Year-Old Virgin? Dude. No. We have kids. Don’t mean to spoil the illusion, but we totally have done it.

See what I mean?

Now, y’all know I have been known, once or twice, to poke a little fun at the man. The reason I do it is because he is a good sport. He poses for pictures knowing I am going to share them here or with SOme other online location. He does it, because he’s awesome.

Let’s take a look:

Young awesome Jim

Young awesome Jim

I love 'Merica Jim

I love ‘Merica Jim

Fashion forward Jim

Fashion forward Jim

Fatherly, teach the boys how to use this iPhone so they stop bothering us with all their talking Jim

Fatherly, teach the boys how to use this iPhone so they stop bothering us with all their talking Jim

Athletic Jim

Athletic Jim

Musical Jim

Musical Jim

I believe I can fly Jim

I believe I can fly Jim

Pink eye Jim

Pink eye Jim

White Sox fan Jim

White Sox fan Jim

Dark Side Jim

Dark Side Jim

Susie Homemaker Jim

Susie Homemaker Jim

Check out my hose Jim

Check out my hose Jim

Blackhawks win the Cup Jim (and Lucky Banana)

Blackhawks win the Cup Jim (and Lucky Banana)

40 year old Jim

40-year-old Jim

See? What’s not to love, yo?

But in the interest of embarrassing my husband further, can I just say, I’m the luckiest damn girl alive.

This man. This man who puts up with my endless arguing. This man who has never once even considered using the word “stepson.” This man who works his ass off to give us what we need. This man who spoils us because he likes to. This man who puts others first. This man who tells me he loves me every day.

This man chose me.

To quote Jimmy, “Suck it, Bitches.”

He’s 40. He’s pretty awesome. And he’s mine.

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Happy Birthday, Pookie Bear. Here’s to 40 more, and then some!

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The shocker

If there’s one thing no one likes, it’s the shocker.

Let me pause a moment while all you 12-year-old boys out there laugh your asses off.

*waiting… waiting… waiting…*

Are you done?

Okay then.

No one likes the shocker, and I mean the one that shows up right about this time of year, when all you do it stand up, throw off your snuggie, and decide to touch something metal. It feels kinda like this:

sparks

Only more painful.

The January joysuck of static electricity.

I swear to all the gods in the heavens I actually almost shorted out the television set. I thought Jim might murder me in my sleep.

But you know what’s even MORE shocking about this January? More shocking than the visible spark that lit up my son’s face as I tried to give him a kiss (and subsequently made him cry and not talk to me for the rest of the day)? It is that at this exact moment, 40 years ago, I was alive. I was here. I EXISTED. Sweet mother of pearl.

I’m not 40 yet. But on January 4 — the best day ever — I celebrated birthday number 39. And as my sister likes to point out, your birthday does not mark that you’ve reached that year, it marks how many years you have completed. Which means I am now in my 40th year.

How did we celebrate number 39? With self portraits on my smartphone:

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Then were did what all old people do. We went to the Olive Garden.

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When you’re here, you’re family, yo.

I didn’t want to waste the whole freezing cold day of celebratory happiness doing nothing, so I cleaned out a few file drawers, where I was also reminded of my age.

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I found the Fisher Price camera my mother gave me. This baby takes 110 film, a flip flash, and according to my mother, it floats.

Then I found this gem:

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Why no, that is NOT how you spell my name. But my mother found this novelty item at the moccasin shop in Wisconsin Dells in roughly 1981, and man was she excited to find something with my name on it, spelled correctly or not. Apparently she didn’t realize when you name your kid Marney that pre-printed merchandise with her name already on it would be hard to come by. So she was super psyched about this treasure, and I’m not lying, I was too. Both in 1981 AND when I found it again. I shook it and realized there was money in it. My excitement was slightly lessened when I opened the coin pocket and let that 32 cents pour into the palm of my hand, only to find that every last coin was stamped 1998 or later. Not sure who was using my Wisconsin Dells Marnie wallet, but you’re busted, and your cold hard cash is mine.

This isn’t the only excitement of January 2013. Hockey started again, so we celebrated like every normal suburban family, with a trip to Buffalo Wild Wings where Mom and Dad could watch the game while the kids destroyed their brains with Cut The Rope.

SAMSUNG

Parenting is so hard.

And of course, January was when I made my trip back to the main land, after our fun-filled trip to Ireland. Can you believe my family took me there for my birthday? Well, you shouldn’t, because they didn’t. We took the parents instead, to mark the fact that not only have they been married 40 years, they’ve been married 10 years on TOP of that.

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ireland2

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See how much fun we had? You know what else I learned in January? How to make photo collages on the internets.

The best gifts ever? The ones I brought back.

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Little white boys are super cheap in Ireland.

Happy January everyone! Try to stay away from the shocker.

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See you in September…

If you blinked you missed it. It’s already a day until October! Holy crap!

I’ve mentioned before my true and utter love of any and all things summer, and how fall might as well be renamed “crush” for the way that it depresses my spirits and horrifies me worse than the time I walked into my parent’s bedroom at an inopportune time. I  hate cold weather. I hate it. With a passion. My friends on the face page who live in Florida and Texas are all like “OH MY GOD Y’ALL IT IS SO HOT” and I would like to punch them in the groins.

I’ve made several attempts to savor what it left of the warm weather, but I cannot help the fact that the stars are clearly facing the wrong direction and I can envision the snow piled up all over the sidewalks. I HATE WINTER.

But I have made the best of September I think. It started like this:

That is me in the grey shirt in the center there. What am I doing you ask? Well, I am completing a half-marathon, that is what I am doing! Yes, I started September by running 13.1 miles. ON PURPOSE.

I’ll have you know that this run (well, trot) was not just about proving to myself that I could do it. I decided to make this run after Brendan killed himself, kind of as a tribute to him, but also to really challenge myself and try and see what I could make my body do. And it does not do it fast, but my body sure can push itself. I’d like to think it was a nice tribute to Brendan, even though I was all alone. Although I suppose if there is a heaven, and he was up there watching me do that, he probably thought, “what the hell are you doing?” No one was even chasing me.

But the running bug may be spreading:

If we don’t watch ourselves, we’ll stop being fatties any day now!

Starting off the month with a 13 mile jaunt makes the start of fall just a little better. Here are some of the things I have learned throughout the month:

  • Back to school rocks. I have not worked my way up to walking around the house naked yet, but I do bask in the quiet.
  • School band sounds super exciting. Until you realize the instrument your kid wants is $900. He better be gifted.
  • If you let your friends know that you are fashion stupid, they will turn into Cher and Dion from Clueless and you get to be Brittany Murphy (the alive version of her) and try on gobs of clothes. And even if you don’t totally love that, playing dress up is always fun.
  • When in doubt on your husband’s birthday, a t-shirt featuring Darth Vader on a motorcycle is a sure bet as a present.
  • High school football is fun, even if you feel a little like a creeper at the game since you have no high school aged children.
  • College football is better, because you can daydream about what those boys are capable of doing without truly be a creeper, as they are of age.
  • Fall smells pretty.

Now let’s get on with October. I’ve got another 10-mile run coming up, and have to build up my snow shoveling muscles. Summer will be back before we know it!

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August 17…

No one becomes a grandfather, without first being a little boy.

Then and now…

Happy Birthday to my Daddy!

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It’s mother’s day

Today is May 10.

Many moons ago, on May 10, it was a Sunday, and that day was Mother’s Day. Also on that day, my mother entered the world, kicking, screaming, naked, and mad as hell. Just like every Saturday night since she was 20.

Today is my Mom’s birthday.

I have often complained about my birthday in relationship to Christmas. It’s too close, no one wants to hang out, no one wants to buy you a present, they JUST. GOT. DONE. with all their holiday spending. Bah. But it really did not dawn on me until today that my Mom’s birthday is exactly the same. When she was a kid, if her birthday fell on that Sunday, that must have been sucko. And once she became a mother —  which was entirely too young for today’s standards and I’m not being judgy but seriously maybe my Pops could have been brought up on charges — her birthday was a birthday/mother’s day combo no matter WHEN it fell. One gift and done. It’s for mother’s day – AND – your birthday. Enjoy your maccaroni fish picture frame!

How rude was THAT?

Well, here are some truths about my mother:

  • She calls me ‘Baby Girl.’ Now granted, I pretty much picked out this nickname myself. But she and my Pops picked up on it. Because I am. Their baby girl, I mean. I walk into a room, and I hear, “Oh, Baby Girl is here!” And you know what? That’s kind of awesome.
  • I adore my Mom. She is a pain in the ass of epic proportions. I mean, where else could I have possibly gotten it from? But I adore her honesty. She does not know how to sugar coat what she is telling you. And sometimes you need that shit.
  • My Mom is the most generous person you will ever meet in your life. She will strip herself naked for you if that is what you need. She will be the unlikely voice of reason when you least expect it. She really *does* have eyes in the back of her head, and she SEES stuff, even when she keeps it to herself.  There is no age where I stop craving her approval. There is no time when I am too grown up to need her. There is no place in life where she is too busy for me, even when I have been too busy for her for weeks on end. She will never not want to see me, or my boys. She will never be empty-handed even if we ask her to be. She will never let you pick up the check. She will never have nothing to offer. This is who my Mom is. Generosity in its purest form.
  • I do not tell my mother nearly enough how very much I adore her, how generous I think she is, or how loved she is by her children and grandchildren. I let the gifts get wrapped into a single birthday/Mother’s Day gift, which hardly seems like it is ever enough.

I know several people who have lost their Moms, most of them way too early. And I know I take mine for granted. But I really do know how lucky I am to have Patty Carey as my mother. Because my Mom is a beautiful lady. And I’m not just saying that because I look like her.

Happy Birthday Mom!!

Love, Your Baby Girl

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Keeping it classy

Ahhhhh, another year older, another year wiser. Maybe. Or maybe not so much?

January 4 this week marked my annual trek into the abyss of senility, as I exited year 37 and kicked into year 38. And you want to know what  really learned over this past year? I learned that I am not as awesome in everyone else’s eyes as I am in my own.

I know, right? Says who?

I’ll tell you who says: Facebook.

Facebook has this bizarre ability to trick you into believing several non-sensical truths, for example:

  • I have hundreds of friends.
  • My ex-boyfriends are TOTALLY interested in my life.
  • I was the most popular gal in the class of 1992.
  • Roughly 99 percent of people don’t believe in causes (hence they refuse to cut and paste said cause into their status line but come on, buck the trend! Cut! Paste!)
  • I must like what everyone else has to say, even if the things they say are negative (I hate the rain! *like*).
  • People want to see pictures of my children (they must, why else would so many keeping “liking” them).
  • I am totally having an argument with a real live human being.
  • That person totally cares about me.

Those last two — man, that’ll get you.

I recently had a Facebook “argument” with someone I do not know. I say “argument” because I do not know this person and therefore was not really arguing with her. I do not know who she is, where she lives, what she is like… NOTHING. Just that we crossed paths on the face page. Via mutual friends we had clearly “crossed paths” before, but honestly, I had never noticed her before.

Long story short — I said something she didn’t like, and she responded, “Keeping it classy per usual.”

Dudes, I was HORRIFIED.

Who is this woman? How dare she!!! What exactly does that mean PER USUAL? Why don’t you just say it to my face? I mean, never mind that I wouldn’t know you from Adam if you were in front of my face. The NERVE!!!!!!!

Then the following things happened on my birthday:

1 – My nine year old son walked into my bedroom at 11 a.m. and said, “Happy Birthday, you want a beer?”

2 – I went to the mall without a bra.

3 – I bought what I would deem as “nice clothing” as Sears.

4 – I received this card from my husband:

(the inside reads, “Wish you a hap-PEE birthday!”)

5 – And finally, we went to a fancy dinner. At the Texas Roadhouse. Where I sat in a saddle on top of a sawhorse while the waitresses yelled “yeeeeeeee-ha!!!!”

That’s not the important part of the story. The important part is, Jim inexplicably told the waitress that I did NOT want my birthday recognized. Which, as he knows, is just plain stupid. I’m a little upset I didn’t get MORE attention on my birthday.

So I pointed my finger directly in his face and said “you better fix this” with a tone that said “you’ll never feel the touch of a woman ever again for the rest of your miserable life if you don’t get those poor minimum-wage paid teenagers to bring their skinny asses back here right this instant and wish me the loudest happy birthday ever.”

Jimmy complied:

Could I *BE* having a better time?

But seriously, look at the woman behind me. How horrified is she? There is NOTHING about this that she finds amusing. Even. A. Little.

So I’m starting to think Facebook girl had a point.

Because look at me, belly roll out, hair swaying, ridiculous smile on my face, oblivious to the death stare coming from behind.

Keeping it classy. Per usual.

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