To hell with your age- a drabble by avsongbird, read audiobook style on my youtube channel

To hell with your age

               I've never really understood society's obsession with age. I just started my online blog back in May, and wanting to make sure I get my writing out there to as many potential readers as possible, I linked it with various social medias, including posting my vlogs on my Youtube channel.

               Part of the idea behind all of this was to help me come out of my shell a bit-- to help me get over being so shy and nervous and afraid of the thought of sharing my work with others and putting myself out there for people to see and point at and possibly mock and ridicule-- to show me that maybe the world isn't as scary a place as I've built it up to be in my head.

               Needless to say, I share links on my Facebook and across all of my social media, learning how to network on my own and trying to learn as much as I can as I go along, and I've been getting various response whenever the people in my life find out about what I'm doing.

               My mom, of course, is thrilled, but then again she's always been supportive of my writing and to be fair? I was on the phone with her the day I posted my first video blog on Youtube, and to be honest? She was the one on the other end of the line going "do it do it do it doooooo iiiiiit!"

               My husband is thrilled-- he's been pushing for years, telling me I should finish one of the various books I'm working on and send it in to various publishers to evaluate, and telling me that I'm too much of a perfectionist and that I shouldn't be quite so scared to share my writing with others (You know how it feels, don't you fellow writers? People find out you're a writer, and they ask to see your work and suddenly you hate every word you ever put to paper? I can't be the only one out there.)

               I'm like my mother in a number of ways (Yes I admit it, and with pride dammit, my mother's one hell of a strong and loving, compassionate and selfless woman, and I'm proud to be her daughter), one of which is the fact that neither one of us really pays attention to our age anymore. We both figure we're old enough to drink, drive (SEPARATELY), and vote, so why obsess over a number anymore?

               There's been people who hear I'm doing all of this and look at me like I've got a third eye. Which is fine. My life is supposed to be my life, not theirs. At the end of the day, how you live your life is your business, and how they live their life is theirs, and I've always believed everyone should live their life in whatever way makes them happy, as long as they're not encroaching on the happiness of others, or hurting others in order to make them happy.

               I don't understand why we're expected to dress and act and speak according to our ages all our lives. But then, I've never understood why people felt we should give up who we are in order to fit the cookie-cutter ideal laid out by whatever hats we happen to wear.

               I don't understand why people should feel like they have to change who they are just because they're getting older, or because they get married or have kids or even grandkids. How can you live a happy and emotionally fulfilling life if you're not even free to be who you really are? How can you be truly happy in your life if you have to spend all day every day pretending to be something and someone you're not?

               I'm in my early thirties now. And guess what? I still read comic books, just as I did ten years ago, and longer ago than that. I used to play dungeons and dragons when I was younger, and if my younger brother showed up at the front door with it today, damned if I wouldn't play it still.

               I rock out at guitar hero with my stepsons, and whenever the newest Marvel movie comes out, I geek out just as hard as they do, if not harder, and so does my husband.

               Oh yeah, family of Marvel nerds here, and DC, and every single person in our house is a gamer of one kind or another.

               I curl up on the couch with my stepsons and watch video-gamer commentaries on Youtube and crack up just as hard as the kids do, no differently than when we curl up for our movie marathon nights.

               My middle stepson calls me up out of the blue from his mother's house to talk to me about Minecraft (his latest obsession). He tells me about what he's building and sends me pictures, and we brainstorm about what he should build next. You wouldn't believe the incredible things he builds. I told him I was considering giving it a try, just to see what it was about, and he and his younger brother were both on board with the idea.

               My younger two stepsons and I get into lengthy discussions about how much of a badass Thorin was in Lord of the Rings (they've both read all the books), and get into playful arguments over who's the best Marvel superhero (The youngest would say Captain America, the middle one would say Wolverine, and I have my own opinions).

               The point I'm trying to make is that it shouldn't be up to your age or up to other people to tell you that you can't love the things you love, that you can't do the things you do that make you truly happy, that help you connect with the people you care about and make your life feel complete. Just because you're getting older or you get married or have kids, you shouldn't have to change who you are. I am who I was when I was younger, and I regret having to admit that I spent far too much time in my recent past stressing over what I was supposed to be and how I was supposed to act and what I was supposed say and wear and do now that I'm a wife, a stepmom, and a woman heading into my thirties.

               I became so caught up in everyone's expectations and bending and twisting and contorting and pretending so much to be something I wasn't for so long that one day I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror and I didn't even recognize myself anymore.

               You can't do that, and be happy. And I wanted to be happy. Not "smile for the camera" happy. Honest to goodness "screw what everyone else thinks, I'm gonna be me and they'll either accept it or not" happy.

               Because you know what? You deserve to be happy in your life, and not just "smile for the camera" happy. Not "oh shit they're looking I have to fake it" happy. Honest to goodness "smiling when you go to bed at night, excited to wake up in the morning" happy.

               Screw their expectations, their guidelines for what is and isn't acceptable per your age and your status in life. Your life is yours to get out there and own, and if you don't get out there and own it, and live out every single glorious day of it to its fullest, at the end of the ride, you'll regret all the chances you didn't take, all the words you never had the guts to say, and all of the times you sacrificed who you were just because you let them tell you what you could or couldn't do, and who you could or couldn't be.

               I'm Jennifer. I'm a writer, a blogger, and a reluctant nervous-as-hell sometimes Youtuber. I'm a comic book reader, a gamer, a bookworm, and a life-long middle ages and horror and zombie movie addict. I'm a devoted wife and a proud stepmom and a proud member of the Lord of the Rings fandom among others, and I'm working my way steadily into the Doctor Who fandom as we speak. I love a good story anywhere I can find it, whether it's in movie, book, play, or video game form (To be honest, some of the best horror stories I've heard lately have been through video games), and I love meeting fellow readers and writers who love a good story just as much as I do.              

               And there are days I honestly forget how old I am because, at the end of the day, I refuse to let my age tell me who I am.

               And neither should you.

Busy Week

Not gonna lie to you? This week has been busy as hell. Zucchini plants are taking off like I water them with coffee and steroids in equal measure, likewise my rosebushes, and the apricot tree finally put out fresh apricots. Two days later, my youngest stepson is still checking the tree every day for more. 

       Oh yeah, did I mention our youngest decided to hang out with me this week? Turns out he'd never had an apricot before, so when the first one was ripe and we were the only two home (dogs aside, fuzzy little permanent fixtures that they are), I pulled it off the tree, rinsed it off with the garden hose and split it with him. It was rich and perfect and still warm from the late afternoon sun. He'd barely even had the first bite swallowed before he declared his love for all things apricot. It made me smile, reminded me of me when I was his age and tried one for the first time.

     He's been running me ragged this week, the way the young always do. 

     We have a huge trampoline out in the back yard, and it's always been one of his favorite things to do around here. When we first bought it, paranoid crisis planning sort that I am, I set out to dig a hole in our yard big enough to put the trampoline surface level with the ground(If you knew just how hard the dirt was in our area, you'd call me a masochist, and looking back, I can't completely disagree with you), and with my husband and oldest stepson's help, we put the trampoline in it. 

     Don't get me wrong, they can still fall, but they can't fall far, which I figured was far better than the alternative. 

     With his older brother back at their mother's place for the week, since he's not out of school yet, that leaves me to be the playmate of the week. Which means my "I'm getting too old for this" arse was out bouncing around on the trampoline with him and trying to delude myself into thinking I was a kid again. 

     I forgot about my age and the heat when he started giggling either the third or fourth time we played "Crack the egg" (It's his favorite) and I sent him launching up into the air.

     Don't worry. For those of you who've never played, you sit cross-legged on the trampoline and hold onto your ankles with your hands, and its the jumper's job to get you to let go of your ankles, and to topple over, thus to "crack your egg". Good fun for the jumpee, great exercise for the jumper. 

    And guess who got to be the jumper. Yay me haha. 

    Trampoline aside, I've set out to do whatever I could to make this week special for him, as he isn't often over by himself, and with him being 10 now, I know it's only a matter of time before he wakes up and realizes he's "too cool" to hang out with me. 

    He came across his dad and I playing Rock Band sometime in the not-so-distant past, and seeing his dad on the drums, he decided to give it a shot. 

   Less than two years later, he's able to hold his own on almost every song on Guitar Hero 5 on the drums, and he likes having me play along with him on guitar. We jam along together and sing the songs we know, pretending to sing the songs we don't, and we have a mutual agreement on a couple of the songs we played through once and "shall never speak of this again". 

     I play on the easy setting, keeping my eyes on him with the understanding between us that if he messes up and gets booted, it's my job to bring him back in, so he can get better. I love seeing how into it he gets, hearing him jam to Bon Jovi, and hearing him sing the Beatles when we chance to switch over to the Beatles Rock Band. 

   Most of this week has been about the garden, Guitar Hero and the trampoline for him, and camping out in the living room together till all hours, watching whatever on the TV together till he gets up and staggers down the hall, to go to bed. 

   I love seeing the smile on his face when he drifts off to sleep, with him murmuring in his half-asleep-already way about everything we did together that day, and what he wants to do tomorrow. Makes me feel good to know that though he's on the brink of being "too cool to hang out with me" he's not quite there just yet.  

    My husband took last night off to spend with us, sort of as a special day, and the three of us headed out to the movies. How could we not? The new Avengers is out, and hell's gonna freeze before we miss that one in the theater. And yes, for the record, we always sit all the way through the credits, holding our breath for the spoiler scene. (Shawarma, anyone?) Our youngest was plopped down between us, stealing my popcorn and grinning ear to ear, practically bouncing in his seat with his big blue eyes glued to the screen. 

   Firecracker that he's always been, there are very few things that can hold his attention or keep him still for lengthy periods at a time-- video games, for one, but even those can try his patience, super hero movies for two (I think that's true for the whole house. Especially Marvel and D.C.), and books. I was tickled to death to discover that he runs through books like I do, and he doesn't just stick to fiction or comics.

   A few years back, he discovered that I'd gone through E.M.T. training at an earlier point in my life, and that I'd in fact graduated and had my license for a time, and that sparked a curiosity in him. Then came the questions. Questions led to answers, that led to more questions. Fast forward a bit, and suddenly he, his older brother and I are standing in Barnes and Nobles, browsing, and the youngest sits down in the middle of the aisle with a children's anatomy book, opens it, and starts reading. 

    He sat there for a good fifteen minutes solid without looking up, while his brother wandered off to check out the comics and I hung around somewhere between the two, to keep an eye on them both while they wandered the aisles. 

    When I came walking up to him as he sat there reading, he lifted his head, and he immediately started telling me what he'd learned so far. 

    We ended up leaving the store with the book. 

    Over a year later, he still comes over and tells me about what he's learned that week-- what the kidneys do, what the liver does. Telling me he may become a doctor when he grows up, and as bright as he is, I wouldn't be surprised if he did. 

   It's been a long and busy week, and I'm honestly sorry to see it coming to a close, at the memory of everything we've done together this week and how quickly the time will fly by-- knowing the day will come that he trades out time with me for time spent with his friends or at work or off on his own. 

   For now, I'm content to enjoy it-- to pop the popcorn and laugh with him as we stuff our faces and try to decide which Marvel is our favorite (His is Captain America, I have too many to choose just one), to have late night movie marathons and to play rock band together till he laughs and lets his hands drop to his sides because he's worn them out, to "crack the egg" on that old trampoline and hear him dissolve into a mass of grins and giggles as I laugh along with him. 

   I treasure these days with him at this age, and I miss them already, knowing already that one day soon, they won't be there anymore.

   When that day comes, I hope he remembers them all as fondly as I do.