50

This is my mom’s birthday. She’s turning 50. My dad and I have been planning a big party for a few weeks now. Her sisters and a couple cousins are coming with their kids. A few family friends are coming, and her mom and my dad’s mom as well as Dad’s sister and her daughter are also coming.

We rented a super nice hall and got an epic cake and my dad made a slide show with pictures of Mom and him and some of my brother and me. We’re going to have a “roast,” but since my mom doesn’t take abuse well we’re going to have to say nice things. When I get married or something we will be having a real roast. Bring it on! My dad’s side basically lives on friendly abuse and my brother and I inherited that.

My mom really didn’t want to turn 50. She’s decided that 50 is officially old. I don’t know why it bothers her. I’ve been calling both my parents old since they were 40. In fact, “Daddy” and “Old One” are basically interchangeable. He thinks it’s funny. He has a pink shirt that says “Old Guys Rock” on the back. In all seriousness though, she says it’s because it’s quite probable that half, if not more of her life is over.

I’ve said to her over and over in conversations about other stuff that the party in Heaven is going to be EPIC! It didn’t sink in until Ken, who was my guitar teacher and is my friend and mentor told her. How come she listened to him and not me? I guess maybe it’s because I’m her daughter and because he’s older and probably knows more what he’s talking about when it comes to this kind of stuff. It’s one of those things you just have to believe. It makes life a lot easier and less scary if you do.

She got her hair done this morning. She insists on coloring over they grays at least twice a year. All the neighbors wished her a happy birthday on Facebook and my friend called to ask what she could bake her for her birthday. I think our party is going to knock her socks off and knock the “holy crap I’m old” sentiment right out of her.

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