I might add 17,896 days.  Not to mention 2,555 weeks and then there are the 588 months. It would be a shame if I didn’t add the 13 leap days.

This is how long I have lived on this earth. No joke. Just for fun, I thought I’d Google all this information that isn’t even that interesting to me. I can only imagine how you feel.

What struck me about turning 49 this year was how we hardly acknowledge this last year of our 40s.

Really, how many times over even the last couple of years have I said, “I’m almost 50.” Seriously. What is the rush?

I’m not sure if I talked about being 40 a lot when I turned 39. I probably did. Pretty sure I was worried about turning 30 at this point 20 years ago. Wait.  Twenty years ago? I was turning 29?  OK, that probably makes me feel weird.

But really, how fast is time really supposed to go? All of the cliches I’ve heard about age over the years have made me roll my eyes. Isn’t there something else to talk about? I mean, do we constantly have to make small talk about how old we are or how fast it all seems to go?

Now I roll my eyes because these things I’ve heard are all true. When you have kids, time really does move at warp speed.  We started having kids 18 years ago and my oldest is off to school in a few weeks. Our youngest is starting kindergarten. It seems like last summer that she was being held in her big brother’s arms at the hospital.

After 45, you have aches and pains you can’t explain. Yes! I sometimes get up after being seated for a long period of time and wonder why my feet seem to hurt or want to turn weird ways. After some redirection, I’m travelling just fine. Then there are the times I’m playing in the floor with the little one and I get up to find that I have temporary paralysis on an entire side of my body. What is that all about?

You have less tolerance for bull-hockey when you get older. Again, yes indeed. Most people who gave me this advice didn’t say “hockey.” I regularly tire quickly of small talk and what I deem as useless banter.

You know, if you have read this column, that a teacher’s pet peeve is to hear those overused questions “What did you do all summer?” and “Are you ready to go back to work?”  I’m not a violent person, but if I could just stun people for a few seconds when they ask those questions, I think I’d be satisfied.  Follow me around during the school year, and I’m sure you’ll wonder why teachers don’t have more time off.

But then there is the flipside to all of this. This is not a cliche I’ve heard, but it’s one I’ve invented myself. I’m sure someone has put it into their own words, though. As you grow older, you learn to love more and have more joy.

True, I don’t have much tolerance for B.S. anymore, but I certainly have more tolerance for people. I’ve realized it’s easier for me, year after year, to forgive and forget. I also feel a great need to make things right with people and admit my faults.

There has always seemed to be a certain amount of joy for life within me. Sometimes, it feels like it’s way up at the top.  Other times, it’s pushed down low, covered up by fretting and fussing and all the mundane things that often get in the way.

Lately, and as I grow older, there seems to be more time when the joy is bubbling near or over the top. The fretting and fussing and mundane things seem less and less important.  For that, I’m thankful for growing older.

And, by heck, I’m going to enjoy this 49th year. I sure am.  I’m not going to talk about turning 50 until it’s time.

But don’t get me wrong; 50 sounds pretty good, too.