It’s Mother’s Day, and what better day to reflect upon how OLD I’m getting. No sweet mushy gushy Mom blog here about my blessings and all the joy and the tears and the love. Nope. Talking ’bout getting OLD.
For instance, I’ve gone from “Mommy” to “Mooooooom.” Sweet little voices dripping with adorableness to my moniker vacillating between a four second drone of three phonemes to a staccato-ed punctuation of “MOM” and dripping with disgust and ticked-off-ed-ness is what you get if you live long enough. Just nothing but a blessing.
I’m getting old. I now spend money on hair growth products and eyelash serums. Yes, Virginia, your hair does thin as you approach the halfway to 80 mark. And the cruel irony of it is that every time you lose a hair on your head, it grows back somewhere it DOES NOT BELONG. It’s so very savage. (And I am using ‘savage’ in not the cool kid way, but as a very grown up adult. Ugh.) I get targeted ads for Hair Regrowth vitamins and tweezers and bleach in my social media feeds. I’m not okay with any of this. I will tell you, however…that eyelash serum is the bees knees. Grow those eyelashes long, bat them like you’re fanning the devil and people won’t notice the bald spot on your head or the woman beard that looks like a pre-pubescent, testosterone laden lad that’s sprouting as we speak because you’ve oscillated a hair follicle off your head with all that lash flapping. Aside from using them as a deterrent from these markers of old age, these eyelashes come in handy, too. My most recent eye check resulted in my eye doc suggesting I try cheater frames. I asked him if he kissed his mama with that mouth of his as I was squinting to read the bottom row of letters. I can’t read them cause duh, my lashes are in the way. I’m not buying any cheaters…yet.
I’m getting old. I’ll be happy to get rid of wearing face masks the correct way. But once they are completely no longer necessary, I’ll sort of miss the chin sling that hides my second and third one. It’s a good cover up until I can get a face lift. Also, it saves on lipstick and makeup. Saving money is a very grown up thing. Also known as “what old people do.” Sign me up, AA(can’t Retire yet)P.
I’m getting old. I eat Bran Buds every morning. And I like it. WHAT IS HAPPENING? I really enjoy the taste and predictability they bring. If you’d have told 16 year old me that I’d be texting my one day husband to not forget the Buds on the way home because we were down to just the sawdust (if you know, you know), I’d have rolled my eyes with non-performance enhanced lashes at you and squinted while biting my honeybun and googled “irregularity” because it sounded like something a MawMaw would say.
I can see 40 Mother’s Days from now, sitting in my rocking chair, talking to one of my grandchildren…”I lived through the pandemic of 2020,” I’ll say, as I’m tugging on my beard in a reminiscing sort of way. “That’s why I wear this facemask under my chin, honey, to commemorate the terrible times we were in and so I never forget. Now go be a sweetheart and get MawMaw some of her Buds I like so much, and when you get back I’ll give you a butterfly kiss with these eyelashes of mine…”
Happy Mother’s Day, y’all. And may it be just nothing but a blessing to hear your name called out no matter the style. Sweet as an angel’s voice like a baby, sour and uncertain like a pre-teen, “good-bye-ish ’cause I’m using the wings you gave me” like a graduating senior, loving and slightly apologetically like a 20something who finally ‘gets it,’ or feeble and cracky like an almost, but not quite, 40 year old…
And if you need any tips on eyelash serum as you wipe those tears of motherhood off your face with that facemask parked under your chin, I’m your old lady. You can find me on the cereal aisle reaching for my bran.
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