Maeby is mad at me. Today she made a pass at my chocolate protein bar, which is like a brick of poison for her (because, chocolate kills dogs, and also because Protein gives her urinary tract infections). Being the good mom that I am, I leapt for the protein bar and disentangled it from her jaws. It was an unpleasant experience for both of us; Maeby’s favorite food is chocolate and she really resented my forceful robbery. (To be fair, she robbed me first.).
Hudson is eating solids now, and he has little star-shaped puffs that we use to help him with his motor control. We sprinkle them onto his high chair platform, and he maneuvers three of them into his mouth and swipes twenty onto the floor. But they serve a dual purpose, because Maeby has powerful emotions about food, and the puffs strewn on the floor seem like star-shaped gifts from Baby to Pup. I’m secretly hoping it helps them bond.
But Maeby is mad at me, and was conspicuously absent at dinner; she wasn’t there to lap up Hudson’s stars. After dinner, as an olive branch, I brought Maeby to the table, and showed her the smorgasbord of puffs Hudson had left her, and she resolutely refused to eat them! I’ve never seen her reject food!
My dad, sensing my struggle, and probably in tune to the fact that Maeby was hurting my feelings, tried to be a peacemaker. “C’mon, Maebs,” he said, pointing at the floor. “Let’s have some stars.”
This is a long preamble to a story that only tenuously connects to the the thoughts I am about to share. But tonight is the eve of my 30th birthday, which I’ve felt curiously blank about. I am not mournfully ruing the departure from my twenties, I’m not assiduously plowing into the next decade with enthusiasm and a list of goals spanning twenty pages. I’m not even “resigned” to turn 30. Turning 30 feels like a shrug of my shoulders… “Ok, I guess this is happening. Ok.” I thought I’d paint my nails tonight (because, you know, I’ve had that nagging goal to stop biting them for the last two decades or so), and I’d take a bubble bath, and I’d blow dry my hair so it could look extra cute tomorrow, and then I’d go to bed 29 and wake up 30.
I live life in constant emotional upsweep about one thing or another, so “Meh” is new for me. But my dad pointing at the little star-shaped corn puffs on the floor snapped me back into focus.
It was a little reminder from the man that sends 95% of his texts with shooting star emojis. It was a littler reminder that I want those stars (well, not the star puffs on the floor, per se but metaphorical ones, I want those).
And I want to keep shooting for them! I want Goal Lists a mile long, and I want to reach high, and love hard. I want to chase the moon and capture a star and put it in my pocket and take it out when I need reminding that life’s not “Meh.”
I found an unlikely motto for myself in the next decade as my dad pointed at Hudson’s puffs.
“Come on, Sierra. Let’s have some stars.”