The Oldies

I'm at a point in my life, 31, that is, where I've realized I'm aging. By skin standards, faster than many of you, thanks to my ruddy Irish heritage. Nonetheless, with age has brought a few iotas of wisdom. One of which is the fact that I finally understand that old people were once young people. That my feisty, often head strong personality, I think is all my own, is really channeled from my now senile grandmother who once ran a household of 9 children and her own real estate company. That my parents will one day be that crumpled couple shuffling down the plumbing aisle at Home Depot, clutching the shopping cart and looking for the vitamins. That although I like to think I'm the "young mom" at preschool surrounded by a pile of haggard, middle aged mothers who pride themselves on their up to date knowledge of the latest cleaning products and fastest diaper changing techniques...I AM the middle aged, haggard mom who usually shows up in her pajamas to drop off one of my TWO kids. Who really does know a thing or two about speedy diaper changing, who actually considers dinner recipes and feeding schedules to be a valid topic of conversation, and yes, who every so often catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror and goes, "Whoa, who's that wrinkled old hag looking back at me?" My newest habit is to find the youth in every face I meet, especially really old men. Because you know they didn't spend their life with giant ears and a set of double chins. Where is your real face, the face of a handsome go-getter? Oh, I see you now. It takes a few seconds but I admit I'm getting better at it. My middle aged self is also realizing that doing the best with what I have is good enough. And living life is even better than spending my time trying to preserve my youth. I'm earning my wrinkles (thanks, girls) and living life one iota wiser.