Mid-Life Crisis – Is Forty The New Twenty?

My eldest son was waiting in car pool line with me one day, when he asked me a very delicate question for any older mother.

“Mom, are you the oldest woman in America?”

 

Such a statement could trigger a mid-life crisis.  I forgot to teach him never to ask a lady her age.

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I paused for a moment to catch my quivering breath, and to quickly glance in the mirror to examine the fine wrinkles beginning to appear around my eyes.

“No, love!” I replied.  “I think there are some ladies over 110, which makes me just a few years younger than the oldest woman in America and Ireland.”

Since I turned 40 a few years ago, and my son thinks I am the oldest woman in America, I suppose I should have a mid-life crisis.

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Buying fast cars and motorcycles is the stereotypical display of male mid-life anxiety.  New sports are tried by many middle-aged men in a vain attempt to regain their lost, youthful, physical prowess, usually resulting in crazy injuries.

What do mother’s do to cope with mid-life, self-doubt, and the stress of realizing how fleeting mortality truly is?

Truth be told, I don’t have time to plan my crisis.  I think keeping up with four children, aged seven and under, is proof enough I am still young.

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I remember when I was a kid, thinking how old I would be in the year 2000. The end of the millennium seemed like a monumental milestone when I was in my teens. The ripe old age of 35 seemed distinctly ancient. Never in my wildest dreams, did I imagine I would be in Dallas, Texas at the time of the big event.  Now the epic occasion is nearly twelve years past and my vintage forties do not feel so old after all.

My grandmother announced she felt like a recycled teenager on the occasion of her 80th birthday. She is my hero. She never acted her age.

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When my best friend turned forty I took great care deciding what to write on her card. Eventually I settled on the words of wisdom:

“Forty is the new twenty.”

 

I was ever so proud of myself. When she opened her carefully chosen card, she burst out laughing. In my haste, I had coined a new phrase:

“Forty is the new forty.”

 

My poor brain has never been the same since it drowned in a triple dose of pregnancy hormones.

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Truth be told, age is just a number.  So what, if forty is still forty and fifty is still fifty. Who cares?

I may be facing my mid-life years, but I am happy. Right now, I am at a great place in my life. I have a great family, love my life, and every year gets better and better.

Mid-life crisis ? ?

 

Who’s got time for that ? ? ?

 

Slan agus beannacht leat!

(Goodbye and blessings)

Irish American Mom

 

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A Mom’s Problem – Staying Awake for Movie Night

Is it just me, or do all Mommy’s have problems staying awake to watch a movie? I usually am a bit of a night owl, but I need to keep moving or thinking to stay awake.

Typing! Reading! Cleaning! Any job will do! Once occupied I can potter away till midnight. But don’t ask me to watch a movie. My eyes just cannot focus for a full two-hour duration.

I switched on The Wizard of Oz for the kids the other day. After only ten seconds of music and credits, my son let out an enormous sigh.

“Will they ever be over?” he said, with a distinct hint of irritation.

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He then reached for the remote control and fast forwarded through the lot. Let me just say, it took a lot of fast forwarding for a movie that old.

The amazing buttons of the remote control don’t seem so magical to today’s kids. They take them for granted. Mom remembers moving her butt from the couch to wander over to the TV to change channels.

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Many programs received an additional few minutes of watching, in the vain hope the plot might improve, thereby eliminating the need to move. One advantage of the old channel changing dance, was the fact it kept me awake.

I don’t know what it is, but whenever my husband sticks on a DVD, I seem to hit my own internal snooze button, as soon as the opening credits begin to roll. Keeping in mind how short opening credits have become, I am sawing logs in no time at all. I know my husband sits down beside me in the hope I will at least last through the first hour. He turns to tell me how much he loves watching a movie together. I inevitably respond with a snore, that shakes the walls.

I believe a surround sound system could not drown out the rattles of my snores. Thankfully we live in our own house, with some space separating us from our nearest neighbors.  If we were still in an apartment with cardboard thin walls, any tenants next-door would be ear witnesses to my snore-fest.

I think there would be a greater chance of survival, if we watched movies with every single light bulb in the room switched on.  Blazing light might sear my retinas, forcing attention. Retreating to the basement is a pure disaster altogether. My husband should open the windows. Chilly night air might whip me into shape, refreshing my leaden eyelids.

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Or perhaps a less cozy chair might do the trick. He should insist I sit in the most uncomfortable chair.  You know!  The high-back, wooden, kitchen variety! Armrests should be out of the question. The wooden rungs on the upright back-support should poke my spine, if my head even droops for one second.

The truth is I am an annoying wife who falls asleep in the middle (or at the beginning) of movies. I am a lost cause. Even George Clooney or Brad Pitt, in all their handsomeness, are no answer to the call of the dark calm behind my eyelids.

So my poor husband must resign himself to the fact, we will never again have brilliant, in-depth discussions about each movie we rent. I agree to sit beside him on the couch, but I can never promise to keep my eyes open for the entire length of a movie.

 

Slan agus beannacht leat!

(Goodbye and blessings)

 

Irish American Mom

 

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