Last night I watched the Academy Awards and
wondered what happened to my 40s. In my 20s and 30s, Oscar night was a big
event in my life. I knew all the movies, all the actors, all the back stories
you could only read in People magazine. Now I stare at a list of films I've never heard of and wonder
where I’ve been. Birdman? I thought he was the overly tattooed white guy who
used to play basketball for the Denver Nuggets. And the last thing I remember
Michael Keaton in was Batman.
A decade ago, I still managed to keep up with movies. I'd pick them out at my corner Blockbuster store, and then squeeze them in after the kids had gone to bed or in the middle of the night when I was feeding the babies. Still, I had high hopes that some day I
would actually go to the movies again. My husband and I would put a Totino’s
pizza in the oven, give the kids a few instructions, and walk out the door all
by ourselves. And yet here I am in my 40s, with children who require no
babysitter, and less time than I’ve ever had in my life. Why did no one tell me
about this phenomenon?
Why didn’t someone tell me that once my kids were old
enough to leave alone, I wouldn’t really be so interested in leaving them anymore?
That they’d become some of my very favorite people to hang out with, and that
being at their every basketball game or concert or speech tournament would
become our idea of a date night. Because even if they’re losing their eighth
straight game in a row, I’d so much rather be there than sitting in a movie theater.
We have friends who are taking their kids on their 20th
anniversary trips, because by the time they hit their 25th, their
kids will be gone. When you’re celebrating your 10th anniversary by
wiping noses and bottoms, this sounds crazy. But ten years later, when you’re
thinking SAT tests and college majors, it makes a lot of sense.
If I’m going to watch a movie today, it’s going to be
with my kids. I’ll be wearing pajama bottoms and watching something with no nudity or profanity that received a positive review on Plugged In. I may be folding a load of laundry while I watch, and there's a good chance I'll start dozing off before it's over, no matter how good it is. I'm a stereotype. I’m as uncool as I can be. I’m showing my age. (I even cancelled my People magazine
subscription because I no longer cared about the 17-year-old “stars” they kept
telling me about.) I rarely go out, and I’m in bed by 9:30. My life is all filled up with kids and kid stuff, and I couldn’t be happier.
