Mother of the Bride-To-Be, or My baby's not a baby any more.

I've been running like a mad woman these past few weeks helping to prepare for my youngest daughter's bridal shower and wedding.  It is the first time I've actually been able to help hands on, since two children had courthouse weddings and I was in Hawaii during the prep for the other.  (I was present for the dress and ring selection with Art and Stephanie and those memories are priceless.)
Rachel, or as many closest to the family know as Rocky, is my Mini-Me in more ways than one.  In fact, she has masqueraded as me on numerous hacks of both this Dust Bunny blog and Facebook.  My readers and followers have watched her grow up.  To her honorary cyber Aunties and Uncles, you could not be more proud of the amazing person she has grown into, or of the man that she has chosen to spend the  rest of her life with... and the cat and dog who complete their family.
Helping to plan her wedding (actually I'm just helping to make the decorations) is an honor beyond belief.  Last week we sat in her dining room with her sister Becca and Aunty Nim, and she called me Momzilla.  I fricken loved it!  Why? Because I was there and I was a part of it all.  My goals as a parent were simple.... raise my children, get them through school, prepare them for independence in the world, and entrust them into the care of another who loves them as much (almost) as I do.
I predict that I will cry at the wedding.  Don't be impressed, I cried during Lilo and Stitch.  But I know I will cry because I know how perfect this couple is for each other and I have faith that my daughter will be happy for the rest of her life with her husband John... and their cat and dog.
The only thing that could make this story any happier would be chickens.
Are baby chicks appropriate as wedding gifts?

Life's different now... (or Learning to Adult on my own)

I'm on the downslide of 50 and have only just recently taken an active role in managing my credit score.  Well, it's been a year, but it's paid off.

I'm finally in the triple digits!

Kidding.
Actually, I'm in the green.
Green is 'Good'.

I have a cute little ground floor apartment, which I share with my sister.  The utilities are all inclusive except for cable, internet and telephone.  I own my car, even though I didn't buy it.  I have a fulltime job with benefits.  I have a decent life insurance policy so in the unlikely event of my untimely death, my kids won't have to stash me in the freezer until they can get enough from a GoFundMe page to cremate me.... which is just as well since their father just posted that he was getting rid of the freezer/cryonic pet mortuary which is the only freezer my fat arse will fit in.

This is hardly how I envisioned my life as a half-centurion.  I thought I'd be working towards my retirement, when in fact I'm only one year in.  I thought I'd be playing Bingo every Monday night at the Senior Center, and having cookouts with the kids on Sundays.  Sadly, my neighbors are no longer neighbors and I found myself actually sharing living space with a few of my children and other family members for a while until I was able to make it on my own. I thought my hair would be turning silver with the man who said he wanted to watch it happen.  Instead, I watch his hair turn while he watches someone else.  Some days are easier than others to be happy for them.  

But, for all the heartache and frustration, I would not change it for the world.  Being pushed out of my nest and comfort zone forced me to forge my own way and opened doors to opportunities that would have been missed had I remained in my former situation.

So while I will stop short of saying 'Hey, thanks to falling out of love with me and breaking our wedding vows', I will admit that life is good now.

Very good!

Woman, Over 50: Explained.
(Because no stupid little quiz can really get it right.)

Since my separation and eventual divorce from my ex, I have found myself back in the social stream and exposed to just how many other fish there are out there in the sea, but I am no longer the nubile young woman I once was.  I have had a few very flattering propositions but I have also been the recipient of a stinging rejection once my true age is revealed, much the same as one might react when they discover that a vehicle has over 100,000 miles on it.  I refuse to be apologetic about my age, but I do feel I need to offer a disclaimer or warning label of sorts to prevent an  "OMG!" moment at a potential unveiling as a result of my witty charm, clever packaging and creative selfies.
For instance, there is a lot more to me than meets the eye.  Literally.  I have a double chin where once there was one.  I have more curves than I ever imagined possible, and believe me when I say they are far from seductive or alluring. Just about everything has succumbed to the gravitational pull of the earth... my gluteus maximus, the skin around my eyes, and even my once proud and perky twins have fallen to the passage of time. My biceps have relocated to the underside of my arm and my muffin top is sagging.  Tiger stripes are the new stretch marks?  Please! They are called strength marks, and I proudly bear them as testament of motherhood and a life that has at times stretched me to my limits but has never broken me.  I jiggle when I walk, and I've developed an annoying little snort when I laugh.
I'm rude, I'm crude. I'm facetious and flirtatious yet awkwardly shy at the worst of times.  I run through life because life is too short, but I make frequent stops because I don't want to miss anything.  I lose my temper quickly and often but forgive or apologize just as quickly, because seriously, life is too short.  Women like me tend to be candid but compassionate because that "Been there, done that"  look etched on our faces is genuine.  If our ferocity contradicts our vulnerability, it is not hypocrisy but mere facets in our personalities that have developed over decades of conflict and coping. If we have convictions, they come from experience. Please respect them.
I'm not a flower, I'm not a song. I'm not a 70's Sit Com mom or an aura color.  I'm not on the down slide of life or out to pasture.  Every change in my body and personality, I proudly display like a combat stripe. I agree it could be packaged better, but I won't put myself through torturous routines to better fit someone else's image of how I should look or act at this age.
I believe that it's perfectly okay to be 50+ and happy, without apology, so consider yourself warned.  ;)