Turning 40, Part 4: Hangin' at the DMV

I spent my fortieth birthday waiting for this temporary license.

Hey, thanks for staying with me during my four-part "Turning 40" series. Congratulations! You have reached the final installment.

For those of you who missed the other three parts, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU?

Just kidding. You can easily catch up. The links are at the bottom of this post.

Seriously though . . . you should try to catch up.

This year, I spent my fortieth birthday at the DMV because I needed to renew my driver's license. In hindsight, it may not have been one my brightest ideas to go on a Monday that also happened to be the first day of summer break for the local school districts.
 
When I arrived, the reader board assured me it was an approximately fifty-five minute wait. I had a ton of Facebook posts and texts to answer since it was, after all, my birthday, and when I finished replying to everyone thirty minutes later, I grabbed a book out of my car.

Another gentleman sitting in the waiting area, leaned over and said to me with an air of confidentiality, “I don’t want to read. I am afraid I might miss my number.”

I looked at my number (230) and up at the projected numbers (148, 149, 150, etc.) and said with resignation, "I think I've got a while."

I did have a difficult time reading though and didn't get very far. I texted my husband, Dan, instead.

Dan didn't commiserate with me. He proceeded to text me information from Google Maps about the best times to visit the DMV.

"This is THE worst time to go. In fact, it looks like it's busier than usual today. Probably all the high school students wanting their driver's licenses," he told me. "Thursday morning would have been the best time. Actually, any day other than today would have been better."

“Thanks," I texted back. "Now you tell me.”

No one goes to the DMV expecting to get in and out quickly. It's like being at the airport. You expect to be there forever.

I waited an hour and a half. I ran into one of my fifth graders and a music teacher friend, and I got to know my fellow DMV prisoners.

I sat next to the woman I had walked in with, and we talked from time to time, mostly about how long we had been there.

"Didn't the screen say it was an approximately fifty-five minute wait?" I said.

"Yes, it did!"

"It's been a lot longer than fifty-five minutes now." 

The guy behind me wearing ear buds and playing on his phone laughed and nodded in agreement.

“Remind me again why I moved to Idaho?” the woman said.

The numbers had been called pretty consistently for the first half-hour, but then it slowed down. I realized several booths were suddenly unmanned.

Lunch hour at the DMV, I thought.

Finally, ninety minutes into my fortieth birthday adventure, my number was called.

I rushed to the desk before they could cancel my number and call someone else's. Having become somewhat of an expert in DMV protocol that morning, I noticed the numbers were only called two or three times, then it was, "Too slow, Joe."

“Good book?” the clerk asked me with a slight grin as I set the book down on the counter.

I told her it was. She told me I wasn't allowed to open my mouth when I smiled in the license photo.

I don't know how to smile without showing teeth. In the picture, my mouth is crooked, and I look like I am swallowing something gross.

There was an awkward pause in our exchange while the clerk waited for my information to register.

"Sooo . . ." she said, "did you make friends with everyone here while you were waiting?”

Renewed. No toothy grin allowed.

Now that you have read and loved part four, feel free to revisit:
Turning 40, Part 1: Dan Is 40 Now
Turning 40, Part 2: #birthdayweekend
Turning 40, Part 3: I Am 40 Now

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Turning 40, Part 3: I Am 40 Now

How about we call it "Forever 40?"

Back in January, my Facebook friends from high school started posting about their fortieth birthday celebrations. There were pictures of my forty-year-old friends wearing funny hats, blowing out forty candles, doing shots, partying while eating cheese and drinking wine.

Then my husband, Dan, turned 40 in April, and I felt like, “It’s coming for you next. There’s no outrunning it now.”

Actually, it's been coming for a while.

I fall asleep while watching my favorite TV shows, even though I vehemently deny it when I wake up at end. Nonetheless, Dan has to fill me in on what happened during the episode I absolutely DID NOT sleep through.

I wake up stiff in the mornings, and my left leg won't lift as high as my right anymore. No one would ever believe I took fourteen years of classical ballet.

I don't get carded when I buy wine now, but Dan . . . and his graying beard . . . are usually with me.

Forty is a weird age. One day, I received three separate brochures in the mail regarding hearing screenings, prenatal care, and premenopausal symptoms.

Lest I forget my real age and decide to call the number on that prenatal care flyer, there have been several friendly reminders.

"You know, when I'm forty, you'll be almost fifty," my little brother, who is almost a decade younger, said to me.

"Yeah, but you have two kids, and that ages you at least ten years," I countered.

In case that wasn't enough of a reminder, here is a Facebook post of mine from a few weeks ago.

It finally happened. One of my kindergartners dragged her dad over to me at Graduation today and said, "Do you remember him?"
He was one of my former students. I have now reached the age where I'm teaching my students' children.
Dan said, "Well, you are turning 40 on Monday."
#grandstudents #notoldenoughforthis

I have always looked fairly young for my age.

Five years ago, I was in The King and I, and several people told me I didn't look old enough to play Anna. I was thirty-five at the time, a year older than when Deborah Kerr portrayed her in the movie. In everyone's defense, I did wear pigtails to the rehearsals.

Recently, a couple of colleagues of mine said, on separate occasions, I didn't look old enough to have taught sixteen years. A friend of mine asked my secret to not aging . . . like ever, and another friend said I must have made some sort of dark pact. I liked that. I'm the Robert Johnson of Aging. 

One of my teacher friends, who seemed surprised by my age, gave this explanation, "I'm sixty, but I feel thirty inside. Our jobs help with that."

It's nice to receive compliments about not looking my age, but I don't want to turn into my age-obsessed grandmother, always "the pretty one" in the family.

She would buy clothes in the juniors department for me, a preteen, and then buy herself same outfit . . . at age seventy. She lied about her age so much, she forgot when she was actually born.

She did look good for her age throughout her entire life. But is there really a difference between looking eighty and ninety? When does someone saying, "There's no way you look [fill in the blank] years old," stop being true and turn into people just being polite?

I don't want to spend that much time and energy attempting to retain my youthful looks.

But I do have a few not-aging-so-gracefully admissions.

My "elevens," those little crinkles in between your eyebrows, have become much more prominent lately, and the lines on my forehead are not as fine as they used to be. My neck is starting to look a bit like a turkey but only if you look really close.

I may or may not try to adjust the natural light behind me to diminish those telltale signs when I take selfies.

I might have a few fifty-dollar Jars of Hope sitting around my bathroom. I'm still waiting for my laser treatment in a bottle to kick in.

For the most part, I'm ready to embrace middle age, not fight it. I earned these elevens (I'm looking at you, former students) and forehead wrinkles. As for my future turkey neck, I love scarves.  

One of my good friends, who turned forty a few months before I did, put it best.

Oh, THANK GOD WE ARE FINALLY the same age again! Welcome to 40! It's so bad-ass, Becky! Not kidding...we are going to slay this 40 business! I have been doing it half a year now, so if you need any pointers let me know.

"Welcome to the club!" several of my friends said to me on my birthday.

A club? That makes turning forty sound fun. Let's do this!

Welcome to The 40 Club

Now that you have read and loved part three, feel free to revisit:
Turning 40, Part 1: Dan Is 40 Now
Turning 40, Part 2: #birthdayweekend

Still to come next week:
Turning 40, Part 4: Hangin' at the DMV

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

Turning 40, Part 2: #birthdayweekend

I have posted a lot about my birthday since starting this blog. A year ago, I wrote, "Our Last Year of Our Thirties," and after tracking down several other birthday-related articles I had written about turning thirty (it doesn't seem like that long ago, but nobody hints that I should have kids anymore) and birthday playlists, I realized I needed a pretty monumental turning forty entry.

That's why my big 4-0 won't be a one-time reading experience. I will be blogging about it four times!

That's right! My fortieth birthday just turned into a four-part series, friends.

If you are one of my astute readers, you might remember I wrote part one when my husband, Dan, turned forty. Technically, you only have to sit through three more of these things.

My birthday fell on a Monday this year, so the festivities began that weekend. #birthdayweekend

I am not a wild woman or a partyer. I wanted a simple celebration.

I wanted to see the movie, Wonder Woman.

My Wonder Woman pose . . .

I wanted to drink one glass of wine with dinner and eat good food that I didn't have to cook.

I wanted a new pair ear buds because my old ones were falling apart.

This mystery box included a brand new pair of ear buds.

I wanted to go out for coffee and read.

And I wanted to attend to the theater.

Here we are at the Idaho Shakespeare Festival, ready to see Hamlet.

My parents also visited Boise during my #birthdayweekend and took me out for brunch.

Remembering the Milk of Magnesia hat and toilet targets that were part of Dan's birthday party in April, I told my dad, "If we are celebrating in public, you can't do anything embarrassing!"

They were on their best behavior.

Fortieth birthday pics at Freak Alley in Boise

At lunchtime on Monday (my actual birthday), Dan surprised me with cupcakes.

The day after my birthday, I went trail running, and on my second loop, I ran by an older gentleman whom I had passed earlier.

"You got around there fast!" he said.

"Thanks!" I yelled back at him. "My fortieth birthday was yesterday,​ and I am running this whole thing. Life goals!"

"I ran seven miles on my seventieth birthday. Keep it up!"

Turning 40 was not so bad after all.

Now that you have read and loved part two, feel free to revisit:
Turning 40, Part 1: Dan Is 40 Now

Still to come next week:
Turning 40, Part 3: I Am 40 Now

And the week after:
Turning 40, Part 4: Hangin' at the DMV

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.

End of the School Year (And How We Survived)

We made it. I am typing this blog post after finishing up my final day of the 2016-17 school year.

We had fun at my school this year, especially during these last couple of weeks. Here were some of the highlights.

THE DUNK TANK
I sat in the dunk tank, along with other staff members, during Field Day this year. It happened to be a cold-ish, breezy day, but it was still a blast.

The sixth grade teacher said, some of her students wanted to dunk me, "but others were like, 'I don’t think I should do that to Mrs. Duggan!'”

The fifth graders on the other hand . . .

"Let's Dunk Duggan!" one fifth grade boy yelled, and it stuck.

"Hey, that's called an alliteration," I told them. "Nice literary device!"

The kids' aim improved all of a sudden. I went under. Several times.

MUSIC VIDEOS
You might remember that my sixth graders complete a music video project in my class every year. In previous years, the videos have often consisted of boys pretending to be in rock bands.

This year, there were lots of dancing girls. Actually, the boys danced too, but more whip/nae nae-style. The girls, however, performed self-taught, lyrical ballet pieces.

I blame Dance Moms. They all want to be Maddie. From what I can gather, the girls study the dances on YouTube and teach themselves the routines. It is an interesting trend.

DUCT TAPE
So . . . the students also duct taped our principal and our resource room teacher to the wall last week. (No worries! It wasn't a mutiny. It was for a fundraiser.)

CAMP DAY

I helped lead music for the third grade classes at Camp Day. We did some Taylor Swift and Shawn Mendes. Then the kids started making requests.

"Can you play "Feliz Navidad?'" one girl asked.

"It's like ninety degrees out here," I replied, "and you want to sing Christmas music?"

I scratched my cornea and had to wear glasses during the last week of school, which freaked out the kids to no end. That's a story in itself.

"You look very singer-songwriter wearing your glasses, playing your guitar," my husband, Dan, commented when he saw the Camp Day photos. "Very Lisa Loeb."

Yes! I'll take that!

IMPACTING STUDENTS
I often receive tokens of appreciation throughout the school year. This year, in particular, I heard from more students than usual that they came to school for choir or the Peter Pan play or whatever we were doing in music class that week.

One parent approached me at Kindergarten Graduation and said, "Our [oldest] child has had a rough last couple of years. But being in the choir really gave her something to look forward to at school."

I'm not telling this story to toot my own horn or even to say that I have had a greater impact on students than the other wonderful educators in the country.

It's just nice to remember, from time to time, why I do what I do.

WHAT NOW?

I brought some stuff home to work on during the summer. Now, I just have to figure out where it will go. And that's the real story behind the end of the school year.

For the latest blog updates, visit and "like" Rebecca Turner-Duggan.