Relax, I'm 30, and it's just a head injury

Can you believe the astounding, astronomical awesomeness of this card by Anna M.???? Anna, I don't know how I got so lucky as to be your friend.

Being 30 has given me so much to think about. 30 was the age I dreamed about as a small child. I believed that when I was 30 I would be entirely *grown*, living in Barbie's Dreamhouse and fighting Super Villians in an invisible airplane. Am I grown? I guess maybe I am, which might be a tad disappointing because I thought I was going to be MUCH MUCH cooler.

This weekend has been good, though. My new years resolution has really sunk in pretty well, that is, to put it most poetically... JUST FUCKIN' RELAX. I have hated many aspects of my life since 2003, and have been railing hard in an effort to change it, but this year I'm not fighting. I am going to sit back, have a drink, sit on my couch, watch the sunsets, and be gentle with myself. It is ok to not be perfect. I have gotten to a safe resting point, and although there is still lots of climbing to do, 2010 will be the year of chillin'. I may not be able to control all of my rollercoaster life, but my hyper-driven-type A-never!good!enough! personality has been granted a coffee break. Take five.

Today, I lay on my white Ikea couch directly in line with a sunbeam. My livingroom was shockingly clean. Last night I had hung new art that we collected at Christmas on the walls. I unplugged the phone. I listened to spanish guitar and drank gingerale out of a wine glass. I read a book by Julie Andrews (Mary Poppins herself!) until I fell asleep. I stayed asleep for hours. It was sheer heaven! I thought I might explode from the bliss of sitting on my own god damned couch listening to my own god damned music and not doing anything for anybody.

In the afternoon, I brought the girls to the sledding hill. I stayed snuggly in the car and listened to my new Ani DiFranco cd until the girls begged me to give it a go. There was only about a half inch of snow on the hill, and that had been hardened and packed down into the frictionless gloss of a luge track. To my delight, I went down twice at the speed of 125 miles per hour, and then told the girls to have one more turn and meet me in the car.

It was around that time that my oldest daughter started screaming. At first I thought she was playing and ignored her, but she didn't quit. She had fallen off of her sled and hit her head hard on the ice. She could barely stagger up the hill where I was waiting, and I could barely stagger down. I was in full-on panic, but I couldn't show her that at all. I shushed and cooed, promising hot chocolate and administering kisses. I called my husband, and in the nicest, calmest, sweetest, fakest voice told him,"she hit her head. I'm not sure how bad. There is blood. Please come home, darling." You have to know me pretty well to know that when I am speaking at a low volume in a too-calm voice, it means that things are REAL BAD. Once at home I saw that she had a cut on the top of her head about a half inch long. My husband, the regional concussion king, gave me advice and gave her first aid, and within an hour she was A-OK, but that was a frightening hour when I didn't know if I was dealing with brains leaking out of the ear, or just a scratch.

I will be doing the round the clock wake-ups for the kid tonight, just to be safe in case she had a concussion. A little birthday cake and some Disney Channel tv has been a soothing balm. She is cheerful, bathed, pajamaed, kissed and sleeping. I just went to check on her, and told her I would wake her a few times tonight. She said,"Ok, Mommy. I love you. It doesn't hurt any more at all." Thank God.