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getting older

your truth is a lie, moms and daughters, comparing yourself to your mother

It started with 3 gray hairs. I got my first one when I was 30 and I joked to the Big Guy that he was to blame. With each child, another gray hair appeared. And then one day, it was like the three gray hairs got together and decided that it was their sworn duty to populate the right side of my head. At first, for many years, I plucked my three gray hairs. I took joy in knowing that many women younger than I had many more gray hairs. Not that I took joy in their misfortune but I had to enjoy the small victories, afterall, the baby weight wasn’t going anywhere.

But now, if I try to pluck all the gray hairs, I will have a definitely noticeable bald spot because when half your head is bald…people tend to notice. F*CK! I gave in and I dyed it. No biggie. I dyed it in my 20’s all the time, you know, to make it maroon or red or highlight the hell out of it. Back when I had money for such luxuries. Those were the days, back when I got massages, manicures, pedicures and was always tanned. For many years, I gave up the nails because long nails and babies don’t mix ( same reason I gave up the dangly earrings) it was just too dangerous to chance.

I went back to manicures and pedicures but I just don’t have the time in my schedule to go get my nails filled every two weeks and I refuse to not, so I spent 3 hours removing them myself Friday night. OUCH! I love pedicures but now, I’m obsessed with flesh eating disease and I just can’t enjoy myself. It’s like eating a Big Mac, too damn risky. Then tanning, well, of course, I’ll be the freckled Mexican to get melanoma and that just scares me too much. Spray tan it is. Wait, but then someone might have to see my in a bikini because I’m not crazy for the Oompa Loompa look of the spray tan booths. So, pasty and pale it is with a side of freckles please, govner.

But back to my gray hairs.

I suppose when I get the time this summer, I will go spend the $200 to have my hair cut and dyed. I can wait. And then it happened. As I was plucking my womanstache ( because even though I’m seemingly going bald from plucking my grays on my head, the hair on my upper lip is going stronger and darker than ever) I noticed my eye brows needed sorting out after the explosive cyst debacle. That’s when I saw it…a gray hair in my eyebrow. Wait! Not one but two!!! What am I Santa? Guess where it was? The right side of my face. The left side was the swollen explosive side last week. Maybe it’s time for me to try some Womens Vitamins for Hair Loss and overall hair health.

To add insult to injury, just as my vision is now clear as a bell, I noticed the unthinkable…a white eyelash! What the? Is that even a thing? Thank God I’m hardwood down below because if I ever see a gray pubic hair, I may just die of old age on the spot!

My question to you is does the salon offer services for dying rogue gray hairs in your lash and brow area because I need that service. It took me 20 minutes to single out that one silver lash. Glad that I found Advanced Regenerative Medicine of Idaho hair loss treatment to aid in this dilemma.

You know when I was a kid, I used to say that I was half White and Half Mexican ( because I am a half breed…insert Cher song here) and I would draw an imaginary line down the center of my body. My parents are 65 and my dad only has a couple gray hairs and barely a crows foot. My mom’s family gray in their 20’s. I think I’ve finally figured out which side is which…the right side is definitely my Caucasian side and the explosive left side, is definitely my Latina side.

Don’t even get me started on my achy bones, dark spots and skin tags. Getting old sucks. Thank goodness for wisdom and alcohol. I’m looking forward to the inevitable dementia that will set in and cause me to forget all of this.

What caused your first gray hairs?

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not enough hours in the day, time, motherhood

There are not enough hours in the day. I don’t know when this happened.  When the girls were babies, I thought for sure that I was stretched as thin as I could possibly be. I was always blissfully exhausted. It was all about the babies, all the time. I was neglected. The house was neglected. My husband was even a little neglected but everyone knew and understood…I had babies. So, I got a pass of sorts. There were simply not enough hours in the day to be a good mommy and to be a crack chef with a perfectly cleaned and decorated home. I knew it, my husband knew it and anyone passing by reading the “please don’t ring the doorbell, there’s a sleeping baby in the house” sign KNEW IT!

But a strange phenomenon has happened. I had my children in my 30’s. To me, it didn’t seem old. It seemed logical and, for me, it was the right time.  I just turned 40 and I was all, embrace the change and I am. I am embracing the shit out of 40. I’m squeezing that bitch so hard that her head might pop off. I swear to God, I feel about 30 but I have gathered some wisdom and I actually feel like I am in a better place in life than I actually was at 30. Surprise.

Suddenly there is absolutely not enough hours in the day anymore.

I was just having this discussion with the Big Guy yesterday, our life used to be filled to the hilt in every nook and cranny, oozing babies. Our life revolved around our girls. It had to, how would they survive and thrive if it didn’t? I loved it. Sure, I complained about having no time and no sleep but damn it, I loved every single minute of it. And any mom who has had a child in her 30’s will tell you, they keep us young. Hell yeah, when you are chasing babies and being pregnant, you feel younger because you are at the beginning of that part of your life. Until one day, reality sneaks up on you.

Days are flying by at warp speed.The routine is packed full and many of you probably recognize it because you are living it: wake up, wake kids up, feed kids, get kids to school, have coffee, work, break for lunch, smush as many errands as possible into your lunch break, do laundry, fold laundry, never put laundry away, pick up the house, pick up the kids, do homework with the kids, cook dinner, give kids a bath,5 minutes of idle chit chat with husband, argue kids into bed, take a shower, check on kids, assure kids that if they don’t go to sleep right this instant you are taking away Halloween, remember that you forgot to call your mom back, organize the class Halloween party for both kids, email 30 parents, watch television while checking emails, brush teeth, every other Friday and Tuesday have a quickie with your husband, get interrupted by a child who has woken up,fall asleep, be woken up by your husband to finish, go to the bathroom, go to sleep for 3 hours until the other kid comes in to ask you to walk them back to bed and watch them until thy fall asleep, stumble back to your room, go pee for the 3rd time and then wake up 2 hours later when the damn alarm goes off, REPEAT!

Not enough hours in the day. Not enough years in life.

Next thing you know, you are the oldest mom in the class. Fuck! I hate when that happens. You might not look the part, oh but you feel the part. That moment when your 7-year-old knows all the lyrics and you don’t even know who the hell the artist is, that’s when it hits you. Or when you look at the other moms at pick up and think, Geez there sure are a lot of teen moms at this school. Or when you realize you don’t even know what is hip to wear anymore. You are going between yoga pants and DVF and this other mom is wearing TOMS and skinny jeans. That’s when you know. You are most definitely not in the same place in life. 40 may not be ancient but when the other mothers my age have kids in middle school and mine are in the beginning stages of elementary school. You just know. One day, someone is going to think I am my daughters’ grandma and then I am going to fall down and die…on the spot.

I am 40 years old and there are not enough hours in the day to get everything I need to do done. My life is good. I make a living doing what I love. I have two wonderful kids ( mostly except for the rare occasions everyday at bedtime when their heads spin off and they lose their minds). I’m married to a man that I not only love but honestly, LIKE. I have great friends and I’m finally at a place where I was feeling comfortable in my skin. It lasted almost a month to the day. Then last night I woke up with night sweats and then I realized I did the same thing the night before. Next thing you know, I was up at 3:45 googling night sweats and perimenopause and on the verge of tears.

It was most likely because our room was 107 degrees and one of the littles had found their way into our bed and was snuggled into me but you know, perimenopause is where my optimistic mind went at 3:45 am. There are not enough hours in the day to worry about imaginary problems.

What makes you feel like there are not enough hours in the day?

photo credit: ezra1311 via photopin cc

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