This week I turned thirty-eight. Holy cow, I turned thirty-eight! Where did the time go? I swear, inside I still feel like I’m fifteen.

I still love to sing to the radio, and not golden oldies, but the new stuff. Some of the music artists coming out now are amazing. I still even dance like a crazy man all over my house. The biggest difference in thirty-eight-years—I have teenage-eyes in my house looking at me like hey-old-lady-you’re-embarrassing-me. Oh, but guess what babies? This momma ain’t gonna stop. I’m pretty sure I’ll be shaking it when I’m sixty.

Besides, embarrassing my children is a fun way to exact revenge for all the teenage attitude I put up with. That’s the great thing about being thirty-eight, I’m too smart to stop doing what I love just because somebody else doesn’t like it. It’s a very freeing feeling when I’m only person defining my worth. Of course, you don’t have to wait to be thirty-eight. Any time is the right time to take back control of your life.