Being “Of a Certain Age”

Maybe it’s the dismal time of year.  Or maybe it’s the onset of the mad cow disease.  I suspect, though, that it was just a symptom of being “of a certain age” that caused me to make a check out to the music teacher using just her first name.  One wonders what the bank staffers thought when they saw “Pay to the Order of…Barbara.”  Now, the music teacher is older than I am, so hopefully she got a sympathetic chuckle out of it.

I realize I’m not old in the grand scheme of things.  Just ask Oprah.  She’ll tell you that 40 is the new 20 or something.  Of course, she’s not the parent of teenagers who find it hilarious when darling husband or I slip and say we’ll “tape it” when we can’t watch a TV show.  Lately, though, I’ve had plenty of reminders that age is not actually relative:

  • All of the hair product and industrial strength flat irons in the world are not going to make my grey hairs behave.
  • Target, Old Navy, and Gap are not good places to shop for clothes.
  • There had better be a really good reason to keep me from getting into my pajamas by 9:00 pm.  Like a mandatory evacuation or an awesome date night.  Hauling kids to and from their social commitments doesn’t count and makes me cranky.
  • A perfectly lovely wool dress thrown over the top of jeans is an outfit??
  • Time management means something completely different to a teenager.  “We need to be out the door in 5 minutes,” and “Use this weekend to get caught up in your History assignments,” must come out of my 40-something mouth sounding like a foreign language.  I always wanted to be multi-lingual.

I think the first thing to go, though, is the ability to multi-task effectively.  Looking back, I can remember feeding a baby while paying the bills while talking on the phone.  Apparently now, as my check-writing demonstrates, I can do one thing at a time well.  Throw in a sudden distraction like the phone ringing or someone asking if I’ve seen their shoes, gloves, library book, etc., and I end up paying any old Barbara.

So here I am, transferring SuzyQ’s revised rehearsal schedule to calendar # 3 because apparently I need reminders on every level of the house and a mobile one as well.  Then I’ll dig out the old check register to remind me again about the regular monthly karate tuition because I can’t remember from one month to the next how much it is.  And did I forget to move that load of towels from the washer into the dryer?  Oh well.  It must be the mad cow.

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