Right after Christmas, I turned 41. Turning 40 felt like reaching a benchmark, an achievement. Turning 41 just felt older. Like a reminder that it's all older from here. I know this is a just a state of mind. But listen to my day.
I woke up and realized there was no escaping a trip to the grocery store. Somehow, even with the glut of food the holidays brings, we were still out of food. So the girls and I went to the grocery store.
On the way home, we stopped at the library and picked up some books and a video on the upcoming Chinese New Year. Then, while the girls watched the video - and then several other videos besides - I cleaned the stove. You see, on Christmas, I'd set the stove on fire cooking a giant turkey in a tiny pan, and the stove was covered with fire retardant.
The self-cleaning feature was a no-go. Anytime I turned on the oven, it started smoking and setting off the fire alarms. So I chipped and scrubbed and sprayed and wiped. For several hours. The girls watched videos.
It wasn't as awful as it sounds. The absolute necessity of the shopping and the cleaning sort of nosed out any room for self-pity. But it did feel like a very Adulthood sort of day.
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