My university roommate once told me that for a while, her younger brother was calling their mother “Old Yeller”. She, her sisters and Mom could not figure out how he knew of the movie or the main character’s name. Finally they asked him, “Tyler, why do you call Mom Old Yeller?”
“Because she’s old and she yells at me.”
He was five.
I haven’t been called anything so offensive, and frankly
downright ageist, yet, but regularly
hear that I’m really, really mean, or unfair, and often when
no words carry the weight of the fury they’re feeling, simply, “I hate you Mom.”
Also, I’m not sure if my kids understand age. Naveen still
thinks it’s all cyclical for some reason. He’s always starting conversations with,
“Mom, when I’m weally, weally big and you ah a little boy…” or “Someday when
you ah in my tummy and I’m the Mommy…” Deaglan on the other hand, could use a
few lessons on regression; that kid can count too high for my liking. Sometimes
he’ll ask me how old I am and if I’m feeling particularly girlish and extremely
non-premenstrual, I throw caution to the wind and ask him to guess. It goes
without saying I’ve finished the better part of a glass of wine at these times.
Lately I’ve thought about my age and mortality more than
ever before. I’m trying to come to terms with the idea that I’m “middle-aged”.
I mean when did this happen? And while I’m on the subject, where does the kid
at the bank get off calling me Mrs. McNamara? Do they not teach simple
psychology at bank telling school? Mrs. McNamara = I’m now irritated and
defensive. And also? I hate your stupid tie. On the other hand, Kim, in a
flirty tone that implies you think we’re close in age = unsolicited calls to
your manager raving about your customer service skills.
Have a nice day my ass.
It’s not like I’m on a crusade. I don’t buy anti-aging
creams or lotions. I don’t fantasize about Botox. And it’s not for the reasons
you might think; it’s not because I don’t believe they work. I’m just too cheap
to spend the money and too afraid of the unknown side effects.
A cheap coward.
Also, a part of me hopes to be able to just get on with it.
Get old but still have the energy I’ll need to live my life. Get old but deal
with it in some semblance of grace. Except when it comes to my hair. I will
not deal with grey hair with grace. I will fight those greys right up until
Fight them, do you hear me?
Speaking of aging, Shaune had a birthday at the end of January. He had the nerve to ask me how old I'd be this year. I didn't dignify him with a response. Seriously. How rude. Just wait till next year when he turns 40. He won't be feeling so smug.
I had a bit of time to write a second post today.
Shaune took Deaglan to a birthday party. It left me and Naveen together at home. Here's what I made him for lunch. He'll only eat "snack plates". You can put just about any combination of his favourite things on it, just make sure you address it properly. Snack plate. Not lunch.