"What a drag it is, getting old..."

"After age 40, it's all about pluggin' holes in the boat." ~ George Clooney

I remember shortly after I graduated college, I was talking to my aunt Bonnie. I mentioned that I was still waiting to feel like a "grown-up."
She laughed. "You're never going to feel like an official adult. I still feel like I'm an 18 year old on the inside, with just a ton of life experiences."
True dat.
Sometimes I can't believe I'm living the life of an actual adult. I'm almost in suspended disbelief that no one has jumped out from the curtain (think Wizard of Oz) and exposed me. "She's not a real grown-up! She's faking it!"
When my first baby was born, the nurses handed me a chart and instructed me to document every time she pooped or peed. Several hours later a nurse checked the chart and said, "You didn't mark down how much she ate?"
I was surprised. "No one told me I was supposed to feed her! She's been sleeping the whole time. Aren't we supposed to let sleeping babies sleep??!"
Apparently not. Lesson learned. I still can't believe the nurses let us take her home with us.
But even though I still feel 18 on the inside, my body screams otherwise.
I feel like I've been blessed with some pretty good skin, so the beginning of wrinkles and laugh lines don't bother me as much as I thought they would. I'm a little perturbed with the parenthesis forming around my mouth, though. And once I turned 35 my forehead declared, "Either bangs or Botox. You choose."
I chose bangs.
Yesterday I went to a sports doctor to finally deal with years of back pain. He took one look at my x-rays and said, "I can see now why you're in a lot of pain. You have degenerative disc disease."
"What?" I asked him. "I don't think that's right. That sounds like something old people have."
He raised an eyebrow. "Well, your chart does say you're 42."
Ugh.
He gave me instructions on what I should be doing when I work out, and a name of a clinic that can help with physical therapy.
I promptly called my personal trainer, The Tin Man, and told him about my appointment. "And my doctor also said I should concentrate on my core muscles for stability. And I shouldn't do things that hurt my back. So maybe you should take it easy on me... and maybe even buy me a candy bar?"
The Tin Man wasn't buying it.
Oh well, at least I tried.
One of the benefits of getting older is all the great ideas we (think we) have now.
At my recent annual exam, I told my gynecologist: "Have you ever thought about putting a flat screen up on  your ceiling for your patients?"
"Um, no, I haven't."
"Really?" I continued. "At the very least, you should think about selling ad space. Talk about a captive audience. You could have these businesses advertising specials for bikini waxes and things like that..."
I don't think he was paying a lot of attention because he just nodded and asked me to "Scoot down please."
All in all, when I think about the hands of time, I can handle all of the creaks and pops and wrinkles and saggy butt cheeks. Because along with all of that comes wisdom, education and confidence.
And those traits, I believe, are the most attractive of all.

Pimples, Pit Sticks and Puberty

"Growing up as a girl is always traumatizing, especially when you have the deadly combination of greasy skin and getting your boobs at ten. But I think it's good to grow up that way. It builds character." ~ Tina Fey

Too bad girls in 5th grade aren't just handed a gift box that includes a dozen sticks of deodorant, a case of Proactiv and an extra large bottle of Agree Shampoo. Remember that shampoo from the late 70s, early 80s? I don't think I could have survived puberty without it. "Help Stop the Greasies Between Shampoos" was a mantra I held dear to my heart. It was my favorite shampoo, second only to "Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific". Which, unfortunately, always reminds me of one of the first dirty jokes I was ever told: "What did the midget say to the woman at the bus stop? Gee, your hair smells terrific."
Hey, I never said it was funny.
With three of my four children being girls, escaping puberty unscathed in our house would be akin to seeing the Dalai Lama in a porno.
Not. Gonna. Happen.
It all started with shower time. I used to waltz into the bathroom when my daughters were in the shower, putting away towels, grabbing a hair brush, whatever. If I happened to catch them climbing in or out of the shower, it was no big deal.
Then one day everything would change. It's how I know when they started puberty.
God forbid I would catch them naked, either in their room or in the bathroom. I would hear a shriek, a door slam, and an unmistakable growl: "MOTHER! I am CHANGING! Can't anyone KNOCK?"
I don't know... can't anyone lock a door anymore?
One time I walked into Chloe's bedroom when she was about 6. She must have inherited her modesty earlier than her sisters, just by observing them. I walked in, carrying an armload of freshly laundered clothes. She was topless, just in her jeans, staring at her closet and trying to decide what to wear.
Before I could even say anything, she folder her arms across her (non-existent) chest, looked over her shoulder at me and snipped "It's a new thing. It's called knocking. Maybe you've heard of it?"
My 7 year old son is a different story. He doesn't care who sees him naked. I think it's because we first taught him to pee outdoors, standing up. Since then, pants (and underwear) can be a complete nuisance to him.
This weekend we were all at my parents' retirement party. My son was playing with another boy, who was a couple years older than him. They were sitting at a table, guzzling their root beer floats, when Wyatt announced to me: "Hey Mom. I know what puberty is. He told me."
I raised my eyebrows. "Oh really? And what do you think that is?"
"It's when I'll get my period, grow taller and my balls will drop."
I didn't really know what to say. The majority of what I know about boys going through puberty comes from what I've learned from Judy Blume books. I didn't know for sure about the balls dropping part, but I was absolutely sure he wasn't going to get his period.
I leaned forward and told him, "Ummm, maybe you can talk to your dad and clear up any misunderstanding."
At least for now, I can focus on what I know best - girls puberty.
This morning I stopped at the store and bought 4 sticks of Secret deodorant.
In another week or two, I'll be standing in front of the "feminine products" aisle at Walgreen's. Where, once again, I get confused and forget what I bought the previous time.
Am I supposed to get them something with wings?
Scented? Unscented?
Do I need to buy Always, or is the generic version good enough?
It makes my head hurt.
As for now, I have several years ahead of me filled with exasperated sighs, pimpled foreheads and a new found love of Justin Bieber perfume. Oh, and plenty of "winged" products on stock.
Goody.
I can't wait.

Gym Shorts, Flat Irons and Generation Gaps

I know every parent thinks this, and most every parent says this at some point in time. It doesn't matter what decade or even what century we're referring to, but at least once... every parent has exclaimed, "I can't believe how different kids are these days."
A few nights ago I was at the high school for a parents meeting dealing with next year's class registrations for sophomores. As the teachers took their turn explaining the requirements for graduation and college, I glanced at the list of classes being offered.
I was stunned.
And a little jealous.
"Crime and Delinquency"? Part of Social Studies. "Lifeguard Training"? Part of Physical Education. "Sports and Entertainment Marketing"? Part of Business Education. How fantastic!
And then, of course, there were the math classes listed. I didn't look at that section too closely because my mouth got dry and my hands got sweaty. It's safe to say my 4th grader's mathematical abilities surpass mine, so there's no way I was going to be giving any math-class choosing guidance to my honor roll daughter in high school.
I know we had various options at my high school, but they usually involved if we were going to make a pillow or an apron in home ec, or if we were going to make a coffee mug or a painting in art.
There were no classes like Digital Media and Website Creation. Our kids are lucky.
And not even in just class selection. Some of the accepted methods of teaching in the early 80's still make me shudder.
Does anyone else from my era remember roll call in gym class during middle school?
At our middle school, we were all issued the standard red and white gym uniforms. It was our responsibility to make sure we took them home once a week and threw them in the laundry.
At the beginning of each gym class, after we had changed into our uniforms, we would line up in the gym for roll call. Boys on one side of the gym, girls on the other side. Our gym teacher would have us call out our number. Since we went alphabetical and my last name started with an S, I was always one of the last ones to call out my number. When we yelled out "23!" we also had to say if our uniforms were washed. Our roll call message for that was "clean."
Now to top it all off, to make matters even more horrific for middle school girls... had to deal with if we had our period or not. Because the teachers wouldn't expect us to take a full naked shower after gym class if we were riding the cotton pony, but they would expect us to wash our pits in the sink. Hence, we had to also call out if we were going to be taking a "half" shower.
So our roll call had to be yelled out in front of everyone: "23. Clean. Half!"
Pretty awesome, wasn't it? It almost boggles the mind when I think about it now.
And for years the boys in our grade confessed they thought it meant we only washed half of our uniform.
Now I can't imagine anyone conducting a phy ed roll call like that. My kids don't know how good they have it.
But isn't that part of what's wonderful about being a kid? They think every option they have is the best ever, and why on earth would their parents want to do anything differently?
Those that know me understand my love of big hair. Go Big or Go Home.
Maybe because I was a child of the 80's, or maybe I just love things over the top, who knows. My daughters, however, cannot even begin to comprehend why I would want my hair to be "poofy." The sleeker the better, for them. And they always try to convince me to use a flat iron on my hair before I go somewhere.
This fall my 9 year old daughter Chloe even begged me, "Mom... all I want for Christmas is for you to use a flat iron and go out with straight hair for a day."
Seriously, she begged for that.
Who does that?
And do you think I could acquiesce her request? Just one day with flat hair?
Hell. No.
I would look like a drowned rat. No thanks.
I'm really happy and excited when I think of all the opportunities that our kids have. It must be crazy for our parents to see it too. It's hard to compare when our parents can mention their memory of getting a color tv for the first time in high school, to our children getting their first iPod in elementary school.
I think Bob Dylan said it best: "The Times, They Are A-Changin' "