Who is that?

For me, it started at around age 37. It was subtle, but I noticed it. You know those lines in your face made by your pillowcase at night? When you are 20, they go away in about an hour. As you get older, it starts taking longer and longer. The first time I realized this sad fact was when my neighbor knocked on the door one day at around noon. The conversation went something like this:
"Sorry to wake you, I need to borrow some sugar," she said.
"I've been up for hours," I responded brightly.
"Oh, right," she said, the whole time staring at my cheek.
When she left, I looked in the mirror. Gasp! Were those the same lines I saw at 8 am this morning?

Since then, new lines and creases seem to pop up every day. I'm obsessed with them. There are times when I am sure my mother is inside my hall mirror, staring back at me. When did this happen? I can be going about my day, feeling young and energized, and boom! I just have to pass my reflection in a store window. Sometimes, I do a double take. "Who is that?" I think to myself. I stare wistfully at my children's firm and taut skin. When I'm really depressed, I'll pull the sides of my face back and say hello to myself--10 years ago! Did you ever see a woman "of age" with a very tight ponytail? Yeah, that's what's she's trying to do as well.

Aging is not glamorous or fun. Society makes women feel that our self-worth is tied in some way to our appearance. Count the commercials for "anti-aging" products during an afternoon show. The models with the flawless skin are demonstrating lotions and potions that lull us with promises of a youthful glow. It is a billion dollar industry. We are told to fight aging with everything we've got, which usually means all the money we've got. Botox, fillers, and facial peels all cost big bucks, and that doesn't even begin to delve into the whole plastic surgery realm.

It is not the same for men, however. I have never seen a commercial that touts a "firming, lifting, sculpting" face cream with men as its target audience. Somehow crow's feet are sexy on a man. It's the old double standard. And thanks to the new digital photography, cropping, and airbrushing, these gray haired men with crow's feet, expect women their own age to look like the flawless women in magazines! Sadly, we've come to expect it ourselves.

Mid-life is tough. We aren't young, but we really aren't old. We are expected to look young until we reach a point when we realize it is no longer possible, I guess.

Will that be giving up? Or will that finally be freedom?

When I was teaching high school, I used to do a poem with the kids entitled, "Warning," by Jenny Joseph. She writes,

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.


The speaker of this poem was feeling trapped by all of society's expectations, but it is certainly relevant here. Oh, imagine how liberating it will be when no one expects us to look or act a certain way anymore. Old people can get away with just being who they want to be, and looking the way they naturally look. We don't judge them by the lines in their faces, we just say, "She's old," and accept it, and move on. I have always found this poem fascinating, and I can relate to it more and more each day. I think the key to having others accept it, is first accepting it ourselves, and society makes that extremely difficult.

I don't think I'm ready for my red hat just yet, but I do look forward to that time in my life. For now though, I still have to use up all those lotions and potions in my bathroom drawer before they expire.

We remember

Ten years ago today our world was forever changed. For the past week, the media has inundated us with footage from that day, and stories of the victims and the families they left behind. Many of us can't remember what we ate for lunch yesterday, but we all know exactly where we were that fateful morning. I had just dropped my oldest at his first day of pre-school. I came home to a phone call from my husband, telling me to turn on the television. As I watched the events unfold with my one year old daughter sleeping next to me, I remember feeling a sense of panic and helplessness that I'd never felt before. I looked up at the beautiful, clear sky and couldn't comprehend how something so sinister was happening only 20 miles away.

As a mother, I thought immediately of going right back to that school and getting my son. I also felt that I needed to buy a lot of milk. My husband convinced me to leave the boy in school so I didn't frighten him, but I did buy about 7 gallons of milk. Much like when we prepare for a snowstorm or hurricane, I felt the need to stock up on necessities. I didn't know what would happen next, and I was scared.

Remember how eerie it felt to not hear any planes for several days? Remember how scary it was to hear them again when they resumed flying? For weeks, the sound of a plane made me cringe.

Of course, the horrific stories and images were countered by heroic ones. People stepped up, helped out in countless ways, and came together in the face of tragedy. Lines between races and religions were blurred, and we became united as Americans. Parents hugged their children tighter, wives and husbands counted their blessings, we all stopped sweating the small stuff, and truly understood what was important in our lives. The world became a better place--for a little while, anyway.

Because we are human, we eventually got back to our daily routines-we started honking our horns again, and cutting people off. We complained when the toilet seat was left up, and got annoyed with the slow cashier at the store. We lost that incredible feeling of unity that surfaced when our wounds were fresh.

I have heard some people complain that the 9-11 coverage is overkill. It is too depressing, and too much to see again. I don't know how the families of the victims feel about that, but I'm sure their feelings on the subject vary from person to person. I can only tell you how I felt as I watched a documentary the other night with the pre-schooler I dropped off that historic morning. He is now 14, and it was a school assignment. To say it was upsetting is an understatement. All of my kids were watching, and they were shocked and frightened by what they saw. How many times have your kids watched a scary show, and you have said, "Don't worry, that's make-believe," or "That can't really happen."? The younger one looked at me, and I knew he wanted me to say it. I felt helpless as a parent at that moment. I had never forgotten what happened that day, but I forgot how it made me feel. The feelings of dread and terror came rushing back all at once.

Perhaps if we all remember the feelings we had, not just the event itself, we could get back to a place where we felt that unity again. We shouldn't need a tragedy to be kind to a stranger, to help out someone in need, or be a better person. In honor of everyone who lost their life or lost a loved one that day, I'm asking you to join me in taking a moment to remember the feeling, and think about what is truly important in your life.

God Bless America

Whatif?

My daughter came home from school with a poem by the great Shel Silverstein yesterday. It was entitled, "Whatif?" and it really hit home. The speaker, a child, gets the "Whatifs?" (worries) during the night when there is ample time to think. For example, "Whatif nobody likes me? Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?" The list goes on and on. I laughed when I read it, because, as I told my daughter, I could be the speaker of the poem, just substitute different worries. And I'm sure I'm not the only one.

Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night, and since there isn't much else going on, start to worry? Oh, I know you've been there. Somehow in the darkness of night, staring up at the ceiling, the smallest problem becomes magnified. It is very easy to allow our minds to wander and go places it shouldn't.

I am the Queen of worrying at night. Sometimes I will listen to my husband's breathing, and then worry that it may stop. I have actually sobbed over this in bed (while trying not to wake him, of course!), and imagined how lonely I would be. Another time, when I had a tingling feeling in my arm, I was certain I had a very terrible disease. I think I planned my own funeral during that sleepless night! I worry about mundane things such as if I remembered to pay the electric bill, and if I have enough sandwich stuff for the kids' lunches the next day. I worry about the more important issues as well, such as if I have provided my kids with a happy childhood, and how much longer my parents will live.

Then, after hours of tossing and turning and worrying, the sun starts to peek through the blinds. I stretch and get out of bed, and curse myself for having wasted what could have been a great night's sleep. Suddenly, the the things I worried about don't have as much power over me. It is easy to think of solutions in the light of day. Life is good again! If only I had a solution to these dark circles under my eyes!!

What do you worry about when darkness falls?

You can't stop time

As many of you also did this week, I sent my three kids off to school for a brand new year. This was an especially emotional time for me, as I sent two of them to new schools. My daughter started middle school, and my oldest son, high school. While I know that the schools are great, and I truly feel that they will both do well, I can't help but think about what this means for me. How I am old enough to have a child entering high school is beyond my comprehension, and a bit unsettling. I really feel that the countdown to college has begun. My happiest times are when my kids are all together, and we are doing family things. With the onset of high school, I realize those days are numbered, and family life as I know and cherish it, will inevitably come to an end.

Thankfully, I still have a second grader to keep me from feeling truly "over the hill," but I am hearing the ticking of the clock louder than ever, and I desperately want to make the most of the time we do still have together. Sometimes when I look at them, I begin to sob. They always roll their eyes at me, and say, "Why are you crying NOW, Mom?" I always tell them that things won't always be this way, with all of us together, and that makes me sad. They hug me, which makes me cry harder, and then go on their way. It is what they are supposed to do, and will continue to do for the rest of their lives. It will mean I have done my job well. Ironic, isn't it? I still don't have to like it.