More Things I Hate About Getting Older

2. Doing things for your parents that you used to do for your children. Your very young, very small children. 

This sounds like a gift, a wonderful thing that you can do for the people who raised you. Isn't it a blessing to care for those who changed your diapers and took you to all your medical and dental appointments? It's not. I loathe that my parents are no longer the people I grew up with, or even those that I spent most of my adult life getting to know and admire. It's not really the physical doing that I object to. I can go to the store, drive to appointments, even clean up and wash for my parents. What I hate is that the people I do these things for are not the parents I have known most of my life. I miss with an ache in my core the days that I could call up my mom and make plans to come over and bring the kids swimming, knowing she'd have lunch for us and a movie for the kids to watch on the VCR for afterward while we'd spend our time gossiping and chatting about friends old and new, and happenings in our lives. I miss camping with them, my dad taking my son fishing and teaching my daughter to play chess. I miss him being smarter than me. Although at the rate I'm going he probably still is. I miss consulting him on our latest planned purchase, asking him to help out with planning the garden or painting a room. 

I've seen things a daughter should never see, I've said things I never thought I'd say. I've had to turn on my teacher voice and mother my parents and I don't like it, not one little eensy weensy bit.  But I do it anyway, with love, for these people who are my parents, and are still themselves inside somewhere. They always had a way of loving me unconditionally. They deserve the same.

Things I Hate About Getting Older # 9: I'm Here, But Why?

The title is not a cosmic pondering of my existence, but the polite way of asking, when I leave one room with purpose and enter another with purpose, "Why the hell did I come in here? I know it was for some reason but I can't f#@%!+g* remember!" Sometimes it works to retrace my steps, but more often than not I still can't remember why I am standing there, in that room, at that moment. 

I feel like my brain is a sieve, and things just can't help but slip through the holes. I believe they are gone forever, not lurking somewhere in the recesses of my brain waiting to be discovered. They are just floating somewhere in the cosmos. The number one thing I would change about myself is my poor memory. I only have bits and pieces of my past in my retrievable memory to begin with, and as I get older I go farther into the darkness. Or is it that there is more to forget because I've lived longer? Thank god for photos, friends, relatives, and spouses with good memories (one of the five reasons I keep him around). Oh, and annual Christmas letters highlighting the year in a page (or two if you get mine).

*warning: I have a terrible mouth when frustrated. And on Saturdays and Sundays. And when I stub my toe or drink more than two shots of tequila. I don't really fucking care if you are offended.

Signs of Fall When you are 48

This week I was able to enjoy two of my very favorite signs of fall. They involve all of the senses, and leave me with the anticipation of change, that summer is stepping out the back door and fall is ringing the doorbell. As a teacher of young students I have my students observe signs of the changes in the seasons. In the fall we look for leaves changing color, a cooler breeze in the air, those subtle signs that the earth is revolving and our world is magically making it's way back around again. There's always a bit of magic in the science of it, don't you think? 

My signs of fall don't involve any magic, however. I anticipate their return each fall like the swallows to Capistrano. The first involves the steaming of an espresso machine and the pouring of hot liquids, mixing of flavors (okay, maybe a little magic is involved), sipping and savoring. Just the perfect amount of milk, espresso, flavor, and foam to make a Pumpkin Spice Latte. As much as I enjoy coffee from other coffee vendors, no one does the Pumpkin Spice like Starbucks. The second appears on the shelves of my favorite grocers, Trader Joe's, each fall in the baking section. A box of pumpkin pancake & waffle mix can fill my home with the aroma of fall. Pumpkin waffles for breakfast this morning! Fall is here, I love it!!

http://www.traderjoes.com/

Wow, I Finally Did It!

I have finally entered the world of blogging, I can't believe it! After I tried about thirty urls that were not available, I had to settle with kicking and screaming, so let me explain... I am, very reluctantly (an understatement) leaving my 40s behind me. This is happening without my permission, and is out of my control. I don't like it one little bit. I soooo enjoyed entering my 40s. My children were of perfect ages, independent but not impertinent. My parents were independent. My life was MINE. My job, my house, even my animals, were all that I wanted. It was, as it should be, all about me. 

Sometime over the last 8 years this has changed. Even my body is betraying me - hot, cold, hot, cold. Just had your period? Surprise! Here it is again! Thought your child was at a sleepover? Surprise! The phone rings and it is the friendly neighborhood Sheriff. My answering machine is full of messages from my dad that go something like this... "Hi, this is dad. Just wondering when I'll see you." 10:00 a.m. Monday. Beep. "Hi, this is dad. Pick up the phone." 10:08 a.m. Monday. Beep. "Hi, this is (insert Dad's proper legal name as if I didn't know who it was) just want to talk to someone in the faammmiiillyyy." 10:30 a.m. Monday. Beeeeep.

Soooo. This is a place for me, and for you, you forty- or fifty-something wife-mom-daughter-employee-volunteer-friend-sister. Because it still IS ALL ABOUT US.