This bicentennial baby turns 50

International wars and government corruption aside, 2026 just got really cruel for those of us born the first week of January, 1976. I swore I was always too young and spunky to let this happen to me. Yet, here we are today, you big fat uglyass 5-0!

Having an early January birthday can be a bit underwhelming since everyone is so done with holidays at this point and nobody wants to shop anymore or it’s just completely forgotten. My youngest wrote me a Post-it note five minutes ago saying “happy birthday” because my birthday “snuck up on her.” Another child said she might give me some back rubs. Promising. The boy is home from college and managed to go get his mom a card and a beautiful bouquet of roses —I’m going to ignore the fact I pay his credit card bills.

Today is Elvis' birthday, too. I came into the world on the King's 41st birthday in 1976. I have so many Elvis t-shirts and Elvis memorabilia given to me over the past 50 birthdays, I could start my own gift shop. Today is like a holiday in Graceland/ Memphis, and for that matter, in Las Vegas, too—which is where I'm headed today with a few girlfriends for some middle-aged fun —Sally O'Malley style.

I remember when I turned 21 back in 1997, I LOVED to get carded. When the bartender at Corbys (or the 7-11 store clerk ringing up my wine coolers) had to read that beautiful year on my license—1976–I loved the comments. "Oh, you're a bicentennial baby!" “What a great year, 1976!” Yes! Look at us bicentennial babies, so young and carefree, playing rap music in the car on our way to legally drink at bars! Glory days!

Welp. The glory is gone. As my son reminded me in his card, I’m half a century old now. I do get really hot in the middle of the night and am always shedding clothes and turning the air conditioning on when it’s 60 degrees and freezing out. The girls tell me how ancient I am, being born back in the “1900s.” If Matth were here for this, he'd be joining them making fun of how old I am and how young and spry he still would be at 49, at least for the next two weeks until his birthday.

The past couple months have been rough for me going through a breakup and doing the holidays alone—another thing I never thought I'd have to do at this age. But I’ve accepted that I’m the only person who is going to make this life a good one for me and the kids. I write the chapters in this hot-mess book of life. Maybe I'll get it all figured out someday or maybe not. Not every story gets a perfect ending.

Right now, it's a new year and a milestone birthday filled with opportunities to make new resolutions in the face of heartaches and challenges— to hit the gym more, enjoy my kids more, pray more, try and yell less (the ongoing impossible resolution each year).  

Who knows what 50 will bring. Might try and see about another 50 despite my not-so-stellar driving record. We'll see. Hot(flash) mess chapter incoming...

Cheers to us ‘76ers. Crossing fingers I get carded in Vegas tonight, when we toast: TO THE BICENTENNIAL BABIES!