My life is full of irony. Sometimes so much so I feel I’m choking on it.

When I was in my teens, I looked a little older than my age. It caused misunderstandings. Now, I’m older, but look and feel younger than my chronological age. That causes misunderstandings too. Often disappointing ones. Sometimes it’s a nice guy who decides I’m “too old” for him. Or the surprised look when someone who knows me as James’ mom learns my other two kids are much older, and looks shocked; or when James tells them how old his sister is, and I get the “oh, you’re raising your grandbaby” look. Thank you, no, he’s mine.

Speaking of my kids, there’s plenty of irony there. Both my sons have sound sensitivity. The older one has the worst of it, so much so, I sometimes forget the youngest is sound sensitive until some loud noise triggers him. I took the little one to a hockey game. His older brother had declined to go because of the noise. James was okay until a goal was scored. When the horns started, he buried himself between my arm and my chest. I felt stupid for bringing him. But he enjoyed other parts of the game.

Last summer, I got an SUV. It was a Pontiac. My first Pontiac was a barely used Grand Prix. I loved that car. It lasted 15 years. Sadly, the SUV was a lemon. It broke down completely five times in five months. I was able to swap it for a newer Ford SUV, and it’s a gem. But I had high hopes for what was likely the last Pontiac I will ever own. (Dear General Motors, wish you will someday find your former glory).

My financial situation is a wreck of irony. A combination of having no resources when my marriage ended, and my own foolishness. Erick keeps reminding me things are getting better. Yes, but I want them to be better NOW. Still, just knowing things are improving helps me swallow the irony. After all, life if full of irony, and there is no avoiding it. Sometimes, it even makes me smile.