I was listening to the radio the other day, and Sarah and Vinnie asked the question, "Do you consider yourself old?" Before the thought even completely registered in my brain, I sighed an exasperated, "Yes."
So is 'old' a state of mind? Is 'old' when you get to a certain age? Is 'old' when you have to pay a mortgage? When exactly are you considered 'old'?
Is it when you amble to get out of bed in the morning, creaking your way down the hallway? Or when you pee yourself while laughing/running/coughing/jumping on a trampoline? Are you 'old' when you just don't care what people think anymore?
Sarah and Vinnie came to the conclusion that considering yourself 'old' is more a state of mind, than an actual age. All I know is this...I'm only 41, and I am EXHAUSTED.
So I guess I feel tired and old. Double whammy. I'm not sure if it's one thing in particular, or like, a whole lotta things coming at me at once. But I've noticed that my cat-like reflexes, have become sloth-like movements.
And then I start to play the "I used to" Game. It's a past time, that mainly consists of beating myself up for what I used to do, but now, no longer enjoy. The monologue sort of goes like this:
"I remember when I used to RUN 6 MILES WITH HILLS, AND LOVED EVERY MINUTE!!"
has since been replaced with a leisurely stroll around the Glen, followed by a nap on a cot.
"I remember when I used to DRINK SHOTS OF SOUTHERN COMFORT (eww) AND CARRY ON AT THE BARS UNTIL 1 AM" has turned into (GASP) watching Breaking Bad on Netflix.
"I remember HAVING NO WRINKLES, AND NO STRETCH MARKS, AND NOT BEING SO FUCKING TIRED ALL THE TIME" has left me holding a white flag, while in the fetal position, that says, "I surrender."
I blame that baby. Who is now a toddler. And almost a Preschooler. Number 5.
Don't tell Charlotte this, because she'll find out later in therapy and can actually read my blog, but often times, I find myself saying to no one in particular, "We were good with four. Four was good."
Charlotte has definitely been a game changer. And since I am 'old' now, I don't remember my other kids throwing tantrums, telling me "NO!!", having to man-handle them into their car seats, pooping on the carpet, or screaming AND kicking the back of my seat while I'm driving.
But they did. Of course they did. ALL kids pull those shenanigans, it's just that we selectively choose to delete those less than pleasant memories.
Which leaves me with a random thought: Did Jesus try to pull that stuff with Mary? Did he sneak out of the hut to go hang with the Disciples, when clearly, he had to be in the field with Joseph in the morning? Did he take an extra piece of bread when clearing the dinner dishes? Was he like, "Look what I can do?" and proceed to walk on water, to get the girl?
Sorry, these are the things I think.
There is a silver lining in all of this: Abby, Bella, and Em are at the Middle School. And you know what's sweet about that set-up? Those girls bike TO and FROM school everyday. And if that leaves me with more time to read People Magazine, then I'm all for it.
Bella and Emma have decided to try out for Cross Country. Although everyone makes the team, I don't think either of them really understood the concept of Croooooss Cooooountry...running...far distances...sometimes on the track...sometimes on trails...like Forest Gump.
We are officially 1 solid week into it...I'll let you know how it ends. When I asked Abby, why she didn't want to go out for the team, she answered, "Um Mom. Running is like SO not my favorite thing, ever."
Understood.
If I've learned one thing being a Mom, it's present something like it may be a cool "opportunity for growth", but if there is absolutely no interest...let it go, man. Just like that shit-head boyfriend you had in High School. Let. It. Go.
Foxy is hanging in there. She has decided to stop Chemo because, well because, frankly, it was killing her. And Hospice has started to visit on a weekly basis. This has left me feeling relieved, and extremely saddened that the end is more near than far.
I never knew this before my Mom got sick, but she has a dead pan sense of humor. Luckily, we have been able to keep each other laughing through this horrible mess, called Cancer. I will say stuff like, "You know Mom, that Oxycontin has a high market rate right now," and she'll look at me, and without hesitation say, "Get your own source." I'll start laughing, and she says, "And tell your brothers they can't have any either." Because with one being a cop, and one being a lawyer, that's exactly what they would want, right?
I still make her Cannabis treats for her, but I've more than screwed up the last 2 batches.
"Foxy, how are you on brownies and muffins?" I asked her last night.
"Oh, I'm fine. Although the brownies are a bit chewy. I like them a bit more done. And I'm not quite sure what happened to the muffins, but they are a bit..." she trailed off.
"DRY." And she's not kidding. I burned those to a crisp, "Mom, just promise me that you will NOT throw them away, ok?" I pleaded.
"Oh noooo, I would never do that." Pause.
"Geez Mom. You're making me feel bad. I know I really screwed up the last 2 times baking," Longer pause. "Well, you know what?" I ask her, starting to get punchy.
"What?" she says, starting to laugh.
"Well, it's your fault you're still alive. I didn't know I would have to do all this illegal baking. It's a lot of responsibility, you know."
And Foxy just laughed, and laughed, and laughed. And when your Mama has Cancer, and there's nothing you can do to stop it, but make her laugh, I'll take it. Over and over, again.
So I guess I may be old and tired. But I'm still here. And so are you. And man, I'm glad we're on this journey together!
