REALITY

Reality: n the fact or condition of being real; an actual fact or thing; truth

And the truth is...I'm old. Reality hit today when I had to explain to my ten-year-old son how to open a coke bottle with a real bottle opener; I'm surprised we even had one. I guess that Gerald had an attack of nostalgia last night while shopping for pop to have with our tacos (Monday is our official "taco night"), and he bought those little glass bottles with Santa on them. Must have a special memory attached to those things. After explaining the complicated task of taking off the cap, Jake then asked how the glass didn't break when the vending machine dropped the bottle; therefore, I proceeded to tell him about the stand-up pop machine with the little glass door where the pop moved around a little conveyor belt. Then I told him about the REALLY old, huge vending contraption that we had in our church kitchen for years that looked like the deep freezer we have in our garage. I told him that when our church moved into the modern age and bought an upright version, everyone was mad because the price of a pop went from $.10 to $.25! Of course, the next explanation was the built-in bottle openers and that some people collected bottle caps--no, not the candy. Standing in the kitchen, explaining all this, I had another moment of realization of my age when Jake said, "So, that's the weird machine daddy's cousin has in his basement", and I instantly had a picture in my mind of my kids last Christmas all standing around an old, upright pop machine and trying to figure out what is was and how it worked; touching it, studying it with puzzled looks on their faces and wondering why it had pop stickers all over it? Oh, to be a fly on the wall and hear the conversations going back and forth. That would make a good T.V. show. Putting kids in a room with old machines and listening to their conversations.

Being "older" now, I have learned that age, much like beauty, is a personal call and that you truly are ONLY as old as you feel. I vividly remember throwing my dad a surprise 40th and thinking he was halfway on his journey to meet the Grim Reaper; I remember crying because I thought he'd be "passed on" by the time I had kids. Funny! My dad's only 20 years older than I am. Now that I'm looking "40" almost straight in the face, it doesn't look so bad. Honestly, neither does "50."

Becoming older, and realizing your older, are definitely two different things and reality takes a little getting used. I remember puckering up, blubbering and being uttlerly devastated the first time I looked really close in the mirror and realized that I was developing a thin spot, and I don't mean in my waistline. I seriously thought I'd be bald in a week and had keys in hand ready to go buy some Rogaine for Women before anyone else noticed my obvious "bald spot." I've learned to live with it and how to cover it. Resourceful in my old age, huh? My husband was complaining that the stylist left his hair a little long on top the other day and I said maybe she's trying to help you cover something up. lol. He, of course, gave me that look and so, my role being "the supporter," I made him feel better about himself by stating that I have to ask my stylist to work around my thin spot b/c if they cut it wrong, it's really obvious. "It's just part of aging so you might as well get used to it like you got used to that extra weight ." Helping someone become aware of their reality is sometimes fun. That's part of our job as wives, introducing our husbands to reality. They fight it worse than we do, hence trying to play ball with 20 somethings and refusing to buy bigger pants.

So, my hair is thinning, it's out now. Everyone knows. Reality. Might as well know that I have trouble with sausage, too. Yeah, sausage and me make a little brew that scientists define as Gastrointestinal Gas produced by hydrogen sulfide gas and mercaptans. My family would like to publicly thank Beano at this point in the blog because even though it's just hilarious when a kid "toots", it's just as equally not hilarious if an adult does, especially when it's Mom. Sometimes, I liked them better when they were little and oblivious to everything.

Night blindness. I have this..a little; in reality, probably more than I would like to admit. Hair..shall we go there? Hair is like a stealth bomber, it silently arrives at places its not supposed to be and then one day, BOOM, the bomb is dropped and you discover the hair. You gasp for air and then start dry heaving while you frantically look for your tweezers and Veet, lest anyone discovers your secret atrocity. Worse yet, it conjures up images of the "fat, hairy guy" that used to swim in a speedo at the public pool. While you're searching frantically, you realize you cannot see, your back is hurting for no reason and you're having a hot flash like you're standing on the surface of the sun.

Could it get any worse? Time will tell. I do not like getting older, who does? But, I definitely would not want to be young again. Being young is tougher than getting old; being older, you already have experience with life and you've learned to deal with most things. You just wish things would slow down.

Oh yeah, one more sign of getting old: when you have a blog titled, "Remember When..."