Forty

My husband and I have an unfinished basement. We never plan on finishing our basement because we both recognize that basements are holding grounds for memories and rarely-needed high-chairs for babies who visit us and, well, unnecessary stuff.

We moved into this house 7 years ago. Last month I think we finally unpacked the last boxes. We formed a huge purge circle in the basement. A "purge circle" is like a crop circle in that it involves methodically crunching down material. Like cardboard boxes. Old artwork. Business cards. That sort of thing. We had three piles: Sell (Craigslist), Give (Goodwill) and Trash Without Any Remorse. We went bonkers on that basement. We were ruthless.

The next week we came home with a trunk full of memories because Dan's parents are moving from their home of 30 plus years. Naturally the stuff went in our newly purged basement. Nature abhors a vacuum.

When the children go to school, the house will creak less because I will probably attack their closets and remove the following:
Annoying toys
Broken toys
Maybe all their toys
Scraps of paper which they swear are important
Balls of lint which they might swear are important
Anything which smells funny, looks funny or acts funny in a way which does NOT make me laugh

And here's the kicker: They won't even notice.

Nope. For all these years I have allowed them to keep their rooms how they want and now I am going in with HAZMAT suits, a Dyson vacuum and grenades filled with–I don't know–Lysol or something.

They won't notice. But I will.

I'm not sure what is up with this recent rash of purging in my house. It's just so freeing. And most of my Mom friends who have elementary aged children are doing it, too. I see the wide eyes they give me as they describe the things they have found in their house, unawares.

Purging house isn't enough for me.
I'm purging my mind, too. Getting rid of ways of thinking which I have outgrown.

I'm starting to outgrow complaining... I want redemptive endings to stories. I want people to end their sad stories with "And THAT'S when I started to learn (contentment) or (how much my children love me) or (how to fish)." Add some faith and hope between the lines.

Perhaps it's un-feeling of me, but I'm bewildered when people complain that no one is friendly or that people don't invite them to parties. I just want to say, "Have you tried smiling and introducing yourself?" Or..."Have you heard of evite.com? Host your own party, sister! Don't look at their calendars. Just do it." If you're new to a company or school or crowd, don't WAIT for people to introduce themselves. You have a hand. Extend it. Say hello. Shake hands. Fist bump. Whatever. Heaven help me if my children don't learn this life lesson: If you want to have friends, you must be friendly.

In a fair week I  am turning forty. I'm not sure if culture told me to start pumping extra estrogen or if my body did it on its own, but I am becoming bolder and learning to say "yes" by saying "no."

I'm saying "yes" to books and I'm saying "no" to constant negativity.
I'm saying "yes" to true friendships and I'm saying "no" to people-pleasing.
Yes to truth. No to sensationalism.

Thumbs up on:
creativity, baking, gardening, laughing with children, everyday wine, calling friends on the phone, investing in your home team, taking walks, making friends with people even if they're super rich (you read that correctly), praying for justice, crying when life hurts, seeking redemption every instant of every day and always having art supplies on hand.

Thumbs down to:
not trying again, making life complicated, being fancy on the outside and hollow on the inside, dry cake, refusing to communicate, Facebook-only friends, bad theology and stinky refrigerators.

I told my mother about some of these changes in me and she asked, knowing the answer already, "How old will you be turning this year?" And I answered, "Forty." "That's when it happens," she said, "That's when you start standing up for yourself and speaking your mind. That's when you feel more comfortable saying 'no.'"

Sweet mercy.

Here's my hope: That when the sweet surges of estrogen wash over me, I will be transformed gently, like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon, stretching its wings, drying out, shaking off the old, limiting ways of thinking and rising with new colors, new vision and maybe some super cute Merrell sneakers. The only thing constant is change.