02 August 2013

Now just wait a minute...

Let's Just Hang on ONE Minute Here....


I will be the first to say that this is a blog geared to the more mature adult. 

And I will be the first to admit that I am a mature adult.  Most of the time.

I mean...No. 29 on my list is "Plan my Funeral".   Not an item usually found on a young person's list. Or really, anyone's list.
But it hit me that if I don't plan it, then people who love me and are responsible for me WILL- and maybe their taste isn't mine and I don't want a tacky funeral or even one that isn't me.  Not to imply that my friends and family have tacky taste- just that what is important to them might not be important to me. 

Besides. I consider a little advance planning a good thing.  I am an organizer at heart.

BUT....I'm not planning on needing No. 29 any time soon.
I don't have one foot in the grave.

*
Not needing this. Yet 
But a "green" funeral does appeal to me.

AND...  I am on good terms with my dermatologist AND my hair colorist in an attempt to stave off the advances of time.
*
Not my hair. Yet.

Which made yesterday's turn of events all the more distressing.

I was driving my girls to Best Buy in search of new lap tops. Both of theirs have died and are at the age where repairs would be a waste of time and money.

They were teasing around and then Belle said "You know, we can't help it if we have parents that are basically GRANDPARENTS."
Excuse me??
Okay. I admit. I was an older mother. I believe the technical term is "Advanced Maternal Age".
I had amnios with all three of my children.
With the third child/third amnio, the hubs and I walked into the office for our pre-amnioscentesis counseling and the nurse walked out and yelled "O! It's you guys again!! Y'all didn't need to come in for pre-counseling. You know what's going to happen."
I'm guessing they don't get that many repeat visitors in that office. I mean, we hadn't been there for two years, yet she still remembered us?
I was only forty one.  Forty two by the time Bunny arrived on the scene.

OK. I can believe my waist line exceeded 42 inches.
But not my years...
Goodness, I was enormous!

Anyway, I don't feel old.  And yes, even though the hubs is the oldest child in his family now, we have the youngest children. The youngest grandchild and the oldest great grandchild are 18 months apart. My prince of a husband has siblings with grandchildren.  Lots of them.

Soooo.  Belle hit a nerve.
And I did what any nerve-struck mother would do.
I turned the car around and went home.
They need to learn to be nice.

After I cooled down, I took Bunny back to Best Buy.  Belle wisely decided that yoga class was a better use of her time and she would be happy with just any computer that was brought home.

So we are checking out and the salesperson needed to see my driver's license.
(I actually had written a CHECK! How archaic and old person of me.)
As he handed my license back he chuckled.  "O, I accidentally entered your birth year as 1919."
EXCUSE ME???

Better get to work on No. 29.

And this brings me to something else.

The "for your age" statement.

As in "You look great  for your age."  Or as someone posted on Facebook after I put this tale online "I think you look really great for 94."

People.
This is when you need to learn to stop while you are ahead.
"You look great".
No qualifiers or modifiers needed.

Off my soap box.













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