Getting Older? Me?! Nooooo... OK, Fine!

As I was driving to work in my sensible car, the local classic-rock station started playing songs that were popular when I was in high school. U2 is now classic rock. Not even early-career U2, mid-career U2. I cursed out the radio -- probably drowning out Bono crooning "in the name of love" or something equally inappropriate to have cursing as accompaniment.

Ah, but that was just one of the rude awakenings that have arrived at my doorstep in more frequent numbers these days. Or, if not rude, they're just not terribly polite nor invited awakenings to my advancing age.

I kept finding long blonde hair here and there in the house. I accused the dog of having an affair. Then I realized they weren't blonde. They were gray. And mine. Alas. And why is it that my gray hair comes in completely straight while my brown hair remains characteristically corkscrewy?

Perfectionism: The New Way

I went to an event last week where they handed out candy canes with words attached to them. The words, individual to each person, served as the night's conversation topic. My word was perfectionism. My first reaction was just that I was no longer a perfectionist. Too easy.

Once upon a time, I was a perfectionist. Or, better stated, I was someone who strove to be perfect. I hadn't actually perfected perfectionism.

If I couldn't be perfect, I could try to make everything I did perfect. For example, I worked as a magazine editor. I developed a high set of production standards and a microscopic eye for detail. If there was an error, whether typo, scratched film, misaligned color plate, or some other ant's-eye-view thing, I'd find it. Would anyone else notice? Maybe 1 in 500 people. Would that person care? Maybe a 1 in 500 chance. But it gave me a sense of control where life didn't allow it. It gave me something I could fix and a change I could see.

Fire(man) on the Mountain

Admittedly, I'm pretty lousy at this whole dating thing. I was pretty clueless in my 20s and now that I'm single again at "somewhere beyond 40," I'm still in the fog. I'm not used to getting "hit on," probably because it didn't happen in my earlier life. Or if it did, I didn't notice because I was shy and pretty sure anyone interested in me was outta their damn gourd. 

Somewhere along the way I escaped that way of thinking and evolved into my current goofy, relatively outgoing, more social self. I ain't bucking for Julie McCoy's job on the The Love Boat, but ain't hiding behind plants, furniture, taller people, posts... I'm just me and I'm cool with who me is.

But I just don't always pick up on those pick-up cues. I'll be in the middle of a conversation and realize, "Oh, you're hitting on me. Now I get it."

Victim or Victor? It's a Choice

I've never been one to do things the easy way. It's not that I come to an Robert Frost-ian intersection with the options of a smooth highway and a dirt path covered with rocks, snakes, and who-knows-what-else and think "Oooh, that looks fun!" But somehow or other, I often end up on the more challenging path.

True, when it comes to recreation, I'm more likely to take the dirt path and experience all of the scenery along the way. Four-lane highways get you from Point A to Point B, but life is more often in the journey, which makes two-lane back roads much more fun. Perhaps that's why I like Jeeps. I want to be prepared for the road ahead. Or I think I look bad-ass driving a bright yellow Jeep in a tank top and my hair going all medusa in the wind. I digress...

Little Man with Big Questions

At dinner it was all about the olives.

Do these olives taste different? 
Does this olive look like a hat?
Are the green olives bigger because they have the red thing in the middle?

Before dinner @ had asked for the key to a cabinet. When I asked why, he said he wanted to see his brother's ashes. I hesitated, but I had to separate my own reaction from his request. There wasn't a reason to deny his request. It was unexpected but simple, attainable.

Dressed for Success (or Mini Trump Goes to Camp)

One of my newest monikers is "the mom of the kid with the tie." Because I am indeed, the mom of the kid with the tie.

Friday was free dress for @'s school. Although it's a public school, they have a uniform of navy pants and white, blue, or green polo shirts. Whereas most of the other kids took the opportunity to dress down in jeans or sweats and t-shirts, @ dressed up in a button-down shirt and clip-on tie. (A little girl in his class also opted to buck the trend and wore a nice dress. Perhaps they're soulmates...)

After school it was time to head over the hill and off to the woods for a mother-son camp adventure at the YMCA's Camp Campbell.

Better Fund-Raising through Cleavage

Once upon a time in history, I went to my first black-tie fund-raising dinner. The food was great. But I was more amazed at the dresses the women were wearing. It wasn't only the money that went into the dresses, it was the "enhancements" (so to speak) that also went into those expensive dresses.

At the time, X and I made light of things with new tag lines like "Better Fund-Raising through Cleavage" and "Boobs for Babies." Apparently the black-tie dinner demographic is shapely.

@ and The Magic of Christmas Giving

It was getting close to Christmas. All of the houses in the neighborhood had bright colorful lights along the rooflines and pretty decorated trees in the front windows. @ and his friends decided it would be really neat to go visit the North Pole. They made sure they had their warmest jackets, gloves, boots, and hats and they all went to the train station.

When they got there, they found their friend Engineer Doggie, who told them he knew the secret to finding Santa. Then the boarded the train. Once they were on the train, Engineer Doggie told them all to get in a circle and hold hands. Some of them giggled about holding hands, but Engineer Doggie told them it was an important part of the secret.

Engineer Doggie told them to close their eyes and dream of their own special snowman.

Junk Mail Prevention

It's October. Don't ask me how that happened. I've decked the halls of my porch with spiderwebbing and orange squash things. @ was so excited to decorate the porch. Gotta love the dollar store for decorations -- he got to go hog wild and buy all sorts of nutty stuff for under ten bucks. At least I don't go broke