44 Late Report

 So.

I turned 44 earlier this week.

Crazy.  My mother was 44 when we came to the US and my parents re-built their lives pretty much from 0. I don't know if I could do that.  I don't feel anywhere as grown-up, mature, or confident as she was at that time. I feel like a perpetual kid, playing a role of a grown-up, trying to keep things together.

Lucky things (tfu-tfu-tfu): I am alive. I am able to enjoy hiking, baking, board games, playing the piano, fun conversations with kids (about everything), fun conversations with my parents, reading books. I can walk, swim, bike, and sled (if we ever get any snow this winter). I have a job that pays well and has good benefits.

Meh stuff: potential health issues, my parents accumulating numerous health problems, pandemic.

Meh stuff that can be fixed: messy house, rooms in need of fresh paint, weeds in the garden, some ugly bushes that need to be replaced.

It is good to be 44. It is even better to forget that I am 44 and indulge in giggling with my kids or late-night conversations with friends.