Fifty days…

I’m off to Nashville!  Mhmm… Uhhuh… That’s what I said, Nashville!

Our son is headed there for a men’s retreat, and we thought we would make it a family affair.  I’ve never been there before.  I’m not sure what to expect.  When I think of Nashville, I think of sparkles, high heels, and lipstick.  I have no idea why, and trust me when I tell you I haven’t watched one episode of the new drama on television entitled after the famous city.  Actually, most places seem to heighten my awareness of sparkles, high heels, and lipstick.  I wonder what that could mean…

Here are the facts.  It’s a rare occasion I have cause to wear sparkles anywhere.  Wait a minute, I take that back.  Last week when I was decorating for Christmas, I was covered in them!  Does that count?  Although I continue to add to my collection of high heels, they hurt my feet in a way that will undoubtedly lead me to needing a walker at some point.  I don’t care how much cash one hands over for a good, name-brand pair of stiletto shoes, they all hurt!  But, come to think of it, they never cause pain in the store.  In the store they are comfortable and worth every overpriced dime the greedy establishment wants for them.  It’s when you get them home that you find you can’t make it from your closet out to the car without crying.  And lipstick, well, I guess I still wear that on a regular basis… no fun colors though, and usually just a tinted gloss.  My glitz and glamour days are over; actually, I’m not sure I ever remember living them.

All of these feelings are not rising to the surface just because I’m headed to the music capital. They are rising to the surface because in a short couple of days it is my son’s birthday… his 20th birthday!  I’m going to be the mother of a 20 year old!  Not only am I turning 40 next month, but I am no longer the mother of a teenager.  I will be the mother of a 20-year-old man.  God help me!

I’m hyperventilating… I think I need a brown paper bag.


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