Thirty Five

Welcome to the most boring chapter in the whole book. If you’d like to skip it, I’d suggest page 124. Some really juicy bits are on 124.

No? Sure?

Okay, well let’s get to it then.

This chapter is book two of a trilogy, where not much happens as the story trudges along slowly at a steady pace guaranteeing a truly spectacular finale. It is the Two Towers movie in the Lord of the Rings franchise. No offense bestowed upon Peter Jackson or the great J. R. R. Tolkien himself. In fact, I’d even go so far as to say it was the best of times.

At this time in my life, aged thirty-five, I would walk around and tell anyone who’d listen, that my 30’s were much more enjoyable than my 20’s. Absolute stellar wisdom, in my opinion, real Mandela stuff. I’d tell people how I gave less fucks hoping to immediately ease the anxiety I was sure everyone in their twenties felt.

The need to succeed with a career, a family, financially stable, all wrapped up with 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. And don’t forget the yearly vacations only accessible by plane all before the bell tolls thirty. I’d let these kids know they could say screw it. The American dream is not universal. Happiness can come from places you never considered.

Saggy boobs, stretch marks, not bikini ready? Too bad. When I think about what I obsessed over in my twenties, like OBSSESSED over, gosh. What a damn waste.

My thirties were a time of learning, I was humbled by my ever-growing children, challenged in ways I never truly imagined, and well I was boring as fuck. Man, it was a good time.

Natalie was now 14, Hannah 12, and Gwendolyn 9. I’ve been married to my husband for eleven years. To celebrate our anniversary we bought each other, as in we bought one thing- a silver decorative bowl for the dining room table. It's a silver jagged edge oblong piece that reminds us of a crocodile head. I still have it to this day. Pristine, minus one little chip.

We had bought it that weekend before, at a store called Homesense, when we were in the city back-to-school shopping with the kids. Convenient and impractical? Where do I sign up?

Got home, put it on the table, done. Check.

For a few years, our weekdays usually ran the same. At this time, we both worked government office jobs Monday through Friday. We’d go to work, kids would go to school, Hannah’s first year at the high school with Natalie. Gwen was happily alone in elementary school.

4:00 pm- 9:00, went like this: They’d get home, and go on screens, either computers, tablets, TV, or phones until we got home. I'd walk in, let the dog outside, which they have mostly ignored until then, and ask if they have homework while picking up things around the house. I'd play crosswords with Natalie. Dustin would get home and make supper. We’d eat in front of the TV watching a show we’d only watch when the five of us were together. A lot of British TV, Doctor Who, Ghosts, Bake Off, etc. Then it would be shower-brush teeth- jammy time. Gwen would read with Dustin. I would read in the living room with Hannah. Natalie would descend to her room to watch anime.

Eight thirty, Gwen to bed. Nine p.m. was Hannah’s turn. Natalie was nine-thirty(ish). Then Dustin and I would cuddle in bed watching one of our shows until eleven or so, or have what we called “a chill night” which meant I could keep reading and he would play NHL on the computer or putz around on his phone.

Boring! I told you. I’m actually surprised you made it past the last two paragraphs. Good for you.

But you know what? Stability is criminally underrated. We were a goddamn Norman Rockwell painting. Did we have a ton of money? Nope. But we had enough, in a time of inflation and world crisis, we had enough.

Our weekends were typical. We’d host game nights with friends or quiet nights at home. Cocktails and Cards Against. Superhero movies with popcorn.

There were camping summers, football-watching autumns, and cold-ass winters. But hey, Saskatchewan will do that to you.

Natalie, Hannah, and Gwendolyn grew up with their cousins. I’d cook American Thanksgiving every odd year and Canadian every even. The backs of our vehicles boasted an incredible assortment of dog hair, empty water bottles, camp chairs, and shopping bags.

I read. I wrote. I lived.

There are few things in life that you can count on. Death and taxes, they say. And while as you probably have gathered so far my life wasn’t always easy, and there are some truly incredible things to come, page 124, wink, wink.

But at this point in my life, I counted on my people. My family, my friends, and most importantly myself. I trusted my gut and believed my opinions mattered.

So really- Boring as shit was pretty fucking great.