So, a few weeks back, I was talking to my children. Which is a thing that happens with some regularity in my house. Quinn looked at me, and told me that I was, "almost old". Um, almost?
"I'm 36!" I told him.
"Yeah," he replied, with that look on his face that showed nothing but disdain for my slow comprehension, "but then, 37, 38, 39,....40."
The number 40 was said with such pity, it took me a minute to think of a response. "Um, you know your dad is 46, right?"
"Yeah, Mom, Dad is really old."
Some days, they should really be grateful that, as a species, we don't eat our young.
So, I held on to those last weeks as tight as I could. But, like days do, they slipped through my fingers and my birthday arrived, just like it always does. And now, I am officially 37. I am seriously almost old. Allegedly.
Sometimes, I don't think I've really aged. I think the kids are just catching up to me, and not slowly. No, they are rapidly racing me to my middle-age. I mean, this is the last school year that all of my children will be children, living in my house. Reagan is going to be a Senior this year. I'm not sure how that is even possible!
But hey, if I can't slow the time down, I'm hoping I can grab it with both hands, and suck every moment of joy from it, that I can. I'm going to kick 37's ass. Even if it is, "almost old".