Posts Tagged ‘forties’

I Get by with a Little Help from my Friends

December 9, 2014

My handsome husband and I are still in our forties…. barely. By the skin of our teeth, but we ARE!  We were caught off guard this week when we both asked for help with COMMON words that we could not remember. I started the memory-fail game by asking, “What are those things called that come out of the ocean and are shaped like stars?” The confused look on his face lead me to believe he thought I was joking. Sadly, I was not. “Starfish?” Oh, yeah… and we broke out into laughter because laughter is good for your soul.  And after you can’t recall the word starfish and/or you realize your spouse can’t recall the word starfish you need something…. anything that is good for your soul.

starfish

The very next day hubby was at the kitchen table texting someone, looked up and asked me, “What are those things called that go up in the sky and explode in pretty colors?”  …. I looked at him with that same confused look he gave me the previous day and answered, “Starfish?  … or did you mean fireworks?”  And we both laughed heartily again, as this seems to be the go-to response for aging in our home.

And names!  GAH! Really, we should all have our names tattooed on our foreheads, then there would be no need for racking our brains to remember names. I loved it when my boys were little and on hockey teams with their names written on the their helmets on hockey tape. Easy Peasy. My husband and I have an unwritten rule that I am talking with a person and he walks up, if I don’t introduce him, it means I have forgotten the person’s name. Then he puts out his hand and says, “Hi, I’m Rick,” and saves the day.  It works perfectly!

Mothers have forgotten their children’s names for all of history and that is somehow forgiven and thought of as common. When we were recently in the DMV for son #2’s driver’s license, his number was called and he started walking toward the counter without the needed paperwork that was in my hand. So I called him… by his father’s name… and then added, “Or whoever you are.” He turned back to get the papers and rolled his tootsie-roll brown eyes at me. Another mother seated a few seats over laughed and said that she does that all the time with her kids! That didn’t really make me feel better… just commiserated with company.

I won’t even get into trying to follow recipes at the ripe old age of 48. Don’t get me started. Don’t even get me started.

Time Flies when You’re having FUN!

December 11, 2009

I just figured out that I’m getting old.  Last week, I figured it out.  All by myself.  Yep.  Old.

The KID that wore the pharmacist badge in the drug store couldn’t have been more than 13 years old.  He didn’t even shave yet.  Isn’t pharmacy school the long version of college?  I’m not getting old.  He was probably homeschooled.  Graduated highschool at 9 years old.  Yep.

The nine-inch zipper on the front of my jeans… is quite lovely.  I can’t imagine a two-inch zipper!?!  What’s the point?  And the back!  Gaaawww.  Say “NO!” to crack!  “Moms will love the nine-inch zipper” is TRUE even if it was on SNL.  We love it for everyone.

Where did these four boxes of Christmas ornaments come from?  We just got married… just a while ago…  seems like last year…. could it really be 23 Christmases ago?  We’ve celebrated baby Jesus’ birthday 23 times as married folk?  That means I was 13 when we got married, if I remember right.  I must still be in my 30’s.  Right?…. Anyone?….

Forty-something-year-olds are almost 50.  That’s half a century.  Old.  That’s the middle ages.  Ouch.

And when did they start letting pre-teens work at the post office?  I thought for government jobs you had to be 18?  I think the postal worker was wearing root beer glossy lip gloss and a training bra.  Goodness.

The phone rang last week.  Caller ID read “Telemarketer.”  Total no-brainer.  Don’t answer.  Well, I knew I needed to clean the whole kitchen and I thought the mental distraction would be proactive on my part.  Plus, with caller ID, who do these poor telemarketers talk to anymore?  The decision was made in a nanosecond. I would take a survey.  I would be the nice person.  I would make Mr. Telemarketer’s entire evening by being cheerful and peppy with my answers.  Come to find out, it was about jams, jellies and preserves!  I love jams, jellies, and preserves!  This would be more fun than I originally thought!  Well, question #3 was “What age group do you fit into?”  I’m always in the third group, I thought patiently, waiting for the age groups.  His monotone voice began, “Group 1: ages 18 – 21, Group 2: ages 22 – 25, Group 3: ages 26 – 29, Group 4: ages 30 – 34, Group 5: ages 35 – 39, Group 6: ages 40 – 44, Group 7: ages 45 – 49, Group 8…..”  I hung up.

The stupid jam guy said I was old.  Group SIX!  Nearing Group SEVEN!  That’s how I figured it out.