You say it’s your birthday

I think I am having somewhat of a midlife crisis. Don’t panic. I have not purchased a Corvette or gold chain. I guess I just thought that, by now, I would know what I want to be when I grow up. (Obviously, I’m not going to be one of the Fly Girls after all.) There are 38 candles on my cake today and I am still searching for my passion. I started this blog not only as a way to vent, but because I like to write. I walked away from the news business after a decade because I couldn’t write about death and destruction anymore. I don’t regret my decision to quit and stay home with my children. If I were at work today I wouldn’t have witnessed by daughter breaking every etiquette rule in the book.

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I turned my back for a moment and she dove face first into her soup. “Look, I’m a dog,” she said. Stay classy honey.

I may bitch and moan, but I cherish every moment with my children. I know that tomorrow isn’t promised. Am I starting to sound like an office desk calendar? I am just searching for what will make me happy when they grow up and abandon me for some whore. Um, I mean, wife. Maybe someone will stumble upon this website and pay me to write. I am guessing it won’t be the person who sent the email with no greeting or signature that read, “unsubscribe”. It turns out not everyone gets my sense of humor. (I don’t know what the hell is wrong with them either.) I know one thing for sure, I am blessed. I have an amazing family and friends. Most of the time, my children think I am the shit. Plus, I live in a day and age where a simple injection can make you look something other than 38. I am exactly where I should be on my birthday… stuck inside my daughter’s toy house. At my age it’s a lot easier getting in than getting out.

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