Actually, it’s 12:35, so I suppose I’m turning 41 today. When on earth did that happen? How did that happen? How am I still carrying around these extra 60 pounds?

How am I still not the Magical Whimsical Grown Up I always thought I’d be by this age?

Today I lost my phone in a C&A in the La Canada mall in Marbella. I had it literally one moment, and somehow it just disappeared. A few weeks ago I lost my car keys in an IKEA, which is an extremely inconvenient place to lose car keys when you don’t have a spare hidden under the car in a little magnet box.

I may be getting early onset dementia, or it could be that I’m a sleep deprived mother of an energetic 3 year old who carries way too much shit in her bag because it’s some kind of security blanket thing that dates back 35 years to when nobody would sit with her at the lunch table and she had to look super preoccupied in order to comfort herself that it was really okay. Me, not my daughter, that is.

I’m not sure what the hell is going on with this Being a Flustered Grownup Who Can’t Evan Seem to Shower Everyday, but I’m reclaiming my time. This is my time, dammit, and I’m not going to let another year slip by without doing something about this shit.

This year is the year I will declutter, I will grasp motherhood and quit beating myself up for screen time. I will cook actual food, I will have bonding time with my child (in lieu of screen time sometimes). I will meditate sometimes, and not stress when I don’t. And I will fit into a size 14, which I haven’t managed to do in 20 years.

Welcome to 41.

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