Next Stop ... Geriatrics

Man, all my kids are getting older!!! Time really is relative because I still feel young and immature. It's like I'm in the Freaky Friday movie -- somehow I woke up up in this middle-aged bod complete with the house, hubby, kids, pets and two cars. Weird ...

My eldest son is starting to have existentialist type doubts about the tooth fairy. My daughter has lost her baby belly and has sprouted these incredibly long pre-teen legs (already!). My youngest son is losing his baby talk (sad because I loved when he would said that he wanted to go eat at Tickle Bear (Pickle Barrel) or he would ask Justin to join him in a game of Pretendo (Nintendo)). My step-daughter graduates from high school this Friday and begins university in September. Where the hell does time go??

Meanwhile, back at the ranch ... not much has changed with me ... or so I like to think. But is that good? I mean, isn't change a good thing? If suddenly, my life is uneventful, hum drum and fairly static, isn't that the first sign of old age?

Further evidence of my middle aged status ... the fact that my big thrill these days is getting mistaken for someone in my twenties. Even if it's obviously complete bullshit. About a month ago, I went out with a friend of mine and she sent me into the store to buy her some cigarettes. I got I.D'd by the clerk who claimed that I looked like I was twenty-two. I think he was just hoping to get me to buy more stuff, but I didn't care (it worked, incidentally).

Today, I went into the LCBO with Richard, my step-daughter and her school friend. The purpose of our visit was to buy them some wine coolers to take to a graduation party tonight. The clerk at the counter asked Richard if he was buying the booze for himself -- implying that he'd hooked up with a bunch of under-aged kids outside who'd asked him to score some stuff for them. When Richard replied by saying that he was buying it for his daughter and her friends because they had just graduated from The Toronto French School, the guy turned to me and said "Congratulations. It's such a great thing that you can speak French". I don't think I need to tell you what a big thrill that was, even though I suspect the guy wasn't exactly Albert Einstein, and may also have been tippling abit of the store's inventory while on the job.

I realised that Justin is already halfway to the age of being able to get a driving licence. How scary is that? Jacqueline will probably start developing in a couple of years. Celine is probably going to lose her virginity with the next six months. I don't think I can bear it all!!!

It was pointed out to me not so long ago that my children are now closer to the age of twenty-one than I am. Gee, there's a lovely thought. Thanks, thanks very much for brightening my day. (That was one of your friends, Snooze, by the way ...)


I was looking over my wardrobe the other day and realised that I still dress in pretty much the same way as I did since I was fourteen. I'm still into cute little mini skirts and tights, or tight jeans and t-shirts with funny logos on them. I still wear my hair long. Should I be making some fashion changes in order to be more appropriately middle-aged? It worries me when I pick up my kids at school and see the eighth graders wearing the exact same skirt that I just bought a few days ago. It elicits that whole panicky feeling where I start frantically asking myself questions like Am I dressing too youthful? Or are they dressing too mature? Is it them? Is it me? Are they laughing at me?

To hell with it all. I'm going to wear my mini skirts into the grave. Old age doesn't mean that I have to become this decrepit, dowdy, boring person with no sense of humour. (I'm told that this is classic middle-age crisis thinking, but I choose to ignore that helpful comment).