She’s forty-one and her daddy still calls her “baby“,
All the folks ‘round Brownsville say she’s crazy,
‘Cause she walks downtown with her suitcase in her hand,
Lookin’ for a mysterious dark- haired

—Helen Reddy, Delta Dawn

As of today I’m no longer 41. And my dad calls me honey, not baby, and has for as long as I can remember ( I call him dad because I don’t live in the deep south and I think calling anyone daddy when you’re older than 11 is super creepy).

I’m not freaked out about being forty-two years old. I’m not worried about getting wrinkly (Botox), or flabby (tummy tuck), or saggy (boob job) because when the money tree I planted in the back yard starts sprouting fifty dollar bills, I’m giving Dr. 90210 a call.

I have no regrets so far and worrying about things I can’t change is a total waste of time. And since the DeLorean is in the shop, I can‘t find my flux capacitor, and Dave used all the plutonium I can’t go back to the future even if I wanted to. But if I could, there are a few things I might mention to my younger self:

1. Don’t let Trish get so smashed at your bachelorette party. Everything was fine until she fell down Angie’s stairs and broke her leg a week before the wedding (also warn Angie about tricky stairs).

2. Always wear sunscreen and don’t climb into a tanning bed ever again. The more sunscreen you use now, the fewer dollars Dave will have to spend on chemical peels and microdermabrasion (leaving more money in the kitty for better boobs).

3. Don’t waste so much time on the couch with Dave watching Real World/Road Rules marathons on MTV. Once the babies start coming you and Dave will feel like two ships that pass in the night so get off your ass and go see a movie or something.

I’m sure I could think of more but mama had a lot of wine last night and I don’t think the part of my brain that creates the content for funny in the ‘hood is firing on all cylinders today. I think I need to put myself down for a nap.

But first I need to search itunes for a song about a woman who’s 42.

My sister in law Stefanie sent me an e-mail the other day letting me know she left a comment on my blog. She mentioned she had never heard the adult diaper story and thought it was funny. She said she hoped Debby never got a hold of my blog because if she did, she’d need her own diaper because she’d probably crap.

My mom and dad got divorced when I was seven years old. Debby is my step – mom. She’s an important part of my life and she’s been with my dad since I was twelve. Even though Debby will never take the place of my mom, who died when I was 18, she comes pretty damn close.

Lots of people have asked me what I’d do if my dad and Debby found my blog. Damage control, probably. But I’m 41 years old and at some point we all have to come to the realization that we only really need to answer to ourselves (and maybe the police and God).

I have no such concerns about my mother in law reading my blog posts. Dave and his siblings spent a year of their childhood living in a Winnebago touring the west coast with their mom and her boyfriend (who went by the moniker Poet). I’m guessing she’d be A-OK with everything I’ve written.

Since I haven’t told my dad and Debby I’ve started a blog, they’d have to stumble across it on their own. That might not be so difficult since I used traceygarvisgraves.com for the domain name. If they Google me, they’ll see it. They’re getting pretty technically savvy at their house.

I’m not trying to hide anything. Some might wonder why I even care, at my age, if my dad and Debby read it. But I do care. I have a lot of respect for them and some of the things I blog about are things they might not necessarily be proud of.

I’ve posted about things I’ve done that are “technically” illegal. But much like the proverbial tree that falls in the forest when no one is around to hear it, I like to think my illegal shenanigans don’t count if certain people don’t know about them (plus the statute of limitations has long since run out on any of the crap I’ve pulled. I’m not entirely stupid).

I’ve always been the one no one has to worry about. I’ve only had one husband, both my kids are by the same father, and I don’t do anything freaky like practice witchcraft or swing with my neighbors. I try not to embarrass anyone with my blog posts but myself (and sometimes Trish).

I’ve never been arrested. The closest I’ve come to the clink was when the campus police pulled Noelle and me off the roof of Seashore Hall after we ate a big pile of ‘shrooms. The officer loaded us into his pseudo cop car and drove us back to the dorms. Even though we asked nicely, and thought it would be hysterical, he wouldn’t turn on his lights and sirens and run all the red lights. He deposited us back at our dorm and promised us the incident would appear in the Daily Iowan (we made sure he wrote down our first and last names). He must have been lying though because we never saw any mention of it in the paper.

I’d have to do a lot to surpass some of the stunts my siblings have pulled. God knows Trish has set the bar pretty high. But as I sit here polishing my sparkly good girl tiara, I realize my perch on the pedestal I’ve placed myself is growing more precarious by the day. The more people that read the blog, the better chance I have for someone to mention it to dad and Debby.

I should be more worried about a potential employer finding it. I’m guessing even if I’m hired by a company that doesn’t drug test, I might be asked to pee in a cup (I would like to think I’d pass but I might go to Jamaica again). I’d rather cover my naked body in honey and roll around in a pit of fire ants then put my neck in the noose of corporate America again but I may not have a choice. And blogging might make me less employable than I already am after a nine year hiatus from the work force. Let’s hope Human Resources has a sense of humor.

Sometimes I think about telling my dad I’m writing a blog. He knows I like to write and he’d be happy I was doing something I enjoy. But it would be kind of like telling him I’m earning some serious coin as a stripper. On one hand, yay for me for earning a nice living. On the other hand, he probably wouldn’t brag about me to his Friday morning breakfast group. I’m guessing telling all his friends I write a blog that highlights my love of wine and showcases my potty mouth wouldn’t be something he could get real excited about either.

My dad has always operated on a need to know basis. I once rolled in at 6:30 on a Sunday morning without a shirt on under my coat (I couldn’t find it in the dark. Could happen to anyone). He didn’t ask any questions, just offered me a cup of coffee. I was 21 at the time and home on break from college so he probably figured there wasn’t much he could do about it anyway. I love that about him. Debby is the one I’m worried about. She thinks Redbook magazine is kind of racy so if she reads the blog, the top of her head might blow off. She’s a bit more conservative than me.

When Matthew was a baby Dixie the psychic told me I would start writing again someday when the kids were out of the house. She said I would want something just for me. I never forgot what she said and I don’t know if the blog is just a self fulfilling prophecy or she really could see into the future.

For the first time in 9 years, my house is quiet during the day while the kids are in school. Blogging is something I tried and discovered I really liked. That fact that some people read it regularly blows my mind and I appreciate it. If you’re one of them, thank you.

Sooner or later I’ll tell dad and Debby about the blog. They’re welcome to read it at their own risk, of course. I’m not ashamed of anything I’ve written but my dad would probably be a little surprised by my language and some of my behavior. His opinion will always mean something to me. And no matter how old I am, there will always be a part of me that is still daddy’s little girl.

Dear David,

There are only 6 shopping days left until I turn 42. Though you probably won’t go near a mall until the day before my birthday, I’ve compiled a list of things I would enjoy receiving from you (in case you want to start shopping early).

1. The Dooney and Bourke medium chiara bag in black leather (not the patent leather one – patent is shiny. Just do what you usually do and tell the salesperson exactly what you need and then let them find it). I am going to ask for this handbag on every gift giving holiday from now until eternity (or I receive it, whichever comes first. To hell with my New Year’s resolution not to keep talking about it).

2. Black Uggs (the tall ones). I saw a 7 year old girl wearing them the other day and I almost snapped. The bastards at Younkers don’t sell them so you’ll have to go to Dillard’s (where the Dooney and Bourke handbags are also sold).

3. Nike Shox workout shoes. I need to replace my shoes if I’m going to continue going to Body Jam classes at the Y. My current shoes are getting worn out and if I trip and fall on my ass I won’t be able to wait on everyone hand and foot. Think of the shoes as a gift to the whole family.

4. Approximately 40 units of Botox. Stacy told me all about what Botox can do and I want to try it (no medi spas please. Dr. Feldman is the only one I trust to shoot poison into my forehead). While you’re at Dr. Feldman’s please grab a brochure for Restalyne (Stacy’s just recently filled my head with what this wonder drug can do).

5. Jo Malone Grapefruit Cologne. You can find this at Sephora at Jordan Creek Mall. You were so sweet to buy me Chanel’s Coco Mademoiselle (that I asked you for) as one of my past birthday gifts but unfortunately it smells horrible on me. I do not smell like a mademoiselle, I smell like a 90 year old Madame when I wear it. I’ve done my research this time and the grapefruit scent is fabulous.

6. Please, no gifts from Dr. John’s lingerie boutique (and sex toy emporium). I’ve got enough of their inventory already. I know you like going there and they recently drew your name in the raffle but enough is enough (and the lingerie you “won” in the raffle wouldn’t fit an anorexic 9 year old so you’ll probably never see me wearing it).

Hopefully you’ll find this list helpful David. I want your shopping experience to be a pleasant one.

Love,

Tracey