I turned 40 on Sunday. Leading up to it, I expected to maybe feel different or nervous(??) but I quickly realized I had no actual qualms about turning 40. Somehow, even when actively facing what one might accurately call an existential crisis, turning 40 does not feel dire to me.
In fact it’s quite the opposite - I’ve actually felt like I have been 40+ years old for a decade or more so actually turning 40 is a technicality. It’s simple math really: I had kids young (23) and so, without any local peers who were also moms and myself in desperate need of camaraderie I sought out friends via a Moms Group. The moms that I met and clicked with, well they were all 7-10ish years older than I was, and thus I was quickly fast tracked to a life of a mental thirty-something at the tender age of 23. Add to that my cousin Jess, 10 years older than I, also had a baby around the same time which meant between her and my new mom-friends, I was now a pseudo Gen-X mom! Besides the technicality of my year of birth, this proved to be no issue, as the bonds forged over shared early parenthood experiences are strong and boundless. See? Simple math!
A twenty-something mom cosplaying a thirty-something mom was at times conflicting. To look to my left was to see my peers— young! Single! Moving to Colorado on a whim, adopting a puppy in San Diego, going out to bars and restaurants! To my right? Meeting at the library in the middle of the morning for a playdate, lamenting bedtime issues, growth spurts, and calendaring precious, precious mom’s nights out weeks in advance.
I often felt at odds in the middle. Whiplash between worlds of college friends and mom friends. A need to at least try to balance out the selfishness of your early twenties with the overwhelming selflessness of early parenthood. In an attempt to reconcile the two, I started throwing parties at my house.
When we first had Owen, Chris (lets not forget, also a young dad in the trenches with me) and I had a house! With a backyard and a driveway and everything! We were a year out of college, so everyone who had stuck around Indy after graduating had roommates or had otherwise fled Indiana as fast as humanly possible. The only time of year everyone was in town at the same time was Christmas.
Soon, an annual Christmas/New Years gathering emerged. We would host in our Actual House, put Owen to bed early upstairs, and then our friends could come and we could finally hang out and catch up and feel like we weren’t totally missing out on our twenties. For seven or so years, we hosted a casual party/gathering around the December holidays and ten years ago upon moving to our current home, it became a real deal official Holiday Party, invites and everything. Now, instead of just college friends coming over while they were in town we invited all sorts of friends. Family, work friends, mom friends, neighborhood friends, and that one woman you met at the library sure she should come too! The party has since become an annual tradition, a reunion for many, and one of my favorite days of the year.
Throughout all of this, from our first casual chips and dip hangout to now, I learned that what it comes down to is that I simply love to throw a house party. It’s not limited to the holidays either, any excuse for a party is a good excuse for me. I like garden parties and pizza parties, summer solstice parties and “it’s Friday come over” parties. I like parties that need lots of prep and parties where the people you invite over don’t really care if your living room is vacuumed. For big parties, I delight in the detailed prep, putting a menu together, and writing list after list after list. And while anyone in my vicinity during the time would likely disagree, I even have become sort of fond of the stressed out 30 minutes before the party start time, and how it takes me a few minutes to chill the fuck out once everything is ready.
Once the party begins I revel in offering someone a drink, and giving them little instructions on where they can put their coat. Let me tell you how much I love squeezing through a crowded kitchen to get a snack. Discovering pockets of friends in different spots in my house is a treat.
I love watching the party evolve. From its inevitably segregated middle school start (women in the kitchen, men in the basement — old habits die screaming etc etc) to eventually a mix of people moving throughout the house. The occasional uproariously loud laughter coming from a corner, everyone loosened up by the good energy of the room —and maybe a drink or two— there is just nothing better.
As I navigate what is likely one of the wildest years of my life (second only to becoming a mom at 23 which was still more insane than early stage cancer at 39 I’ll say that much) it felt good and right to throw myself a big fat house party for my 40th. I made the lists, I prepped, I got stressed! I felt love from every single corner of my life as friends and family helped coordinate the cake (the CAKE) and made party food and playlists and bouquets. I felt love when I had to squeeze through my crowded kitchen to get a snack and then into the office to grab a glass of wine.
I blew out my birthday candles on my big giant ridiculous birthday cake and I got sappy and thought to myself what a privilege it is to get older, to live another year in this life of ours, warts and all!
Hell, I even felt warm and fuzzy doing the dishes the next day. In the excellent book Company by Amy Thielen, she writes
“For some, cooking might remain an occasional dalliance, and deep kitchen cleaning a tolerated chore, and that’s ok. But when cooking deepens into a pleasure-seeking restorative daily practice, a certain fondness for cleaning the kitchen usually follows”
She is not wrong. I have such fondness for both prepping and hosting the party, that the cleanup serves as a gentle reminder as well as a wind down from the night before. It’s not a chore at all.
Even though I’ve mentally felt older than I actually am for years, this year I have plummeted into the reality of physically growing older, of “shit happens” actually happening, of diagnoses and deaths and doctor’s visits and all the other uncomfortable things that remind you of our collective waning mortality. I also feel more motivated than ever to continue to gather with my people, to extend an arm of hospitality and welcome whenever I can, and to keep going as much as we can while we have the energy, the health and the willingness to have a house full of friends, a crowded kitchen, and a big mess to clean up the next day.
