Thoughts from the Treadmill: Isn’t it nice when you wake up in the morning and feel good? And isn’t it great that for a change, you got a good night sleep and your 40-something hormones took a vacation with the Endorphins overnight and you didn’t wake up drenched as if you went skinny-dipping in your pool overnight? But isn’t it odd when you go the bathroom, look in the mirror, and something appears different? And isn’t it disturbing that you notice some new wrinkles and how the skin just below your eyebrows has now decided to drop and make a permanent resident on the top of your eyelids? And don’t you realize that your hormones have come back from their vacation with the Endorphins when you begin to get emotional after seeing your newly discovered parachute eyes? But aren’t you grateful that the Wildboys are still sleeping and can’t see their mother begin to cry because she suddenly feels like the Saggy Baggy Elephant and might get shipped off for a circus act? But doesn’t it cheer you up when you remember that just the other day you got a compliment from a blind person who said you didn’t look your age? And isn’t it also comforting when you remember that when you went to the orthodontist the other morning, the doctor said laughingly, “At least your teeth don’t look your age anymore!” But doesn’t that all go away when your oldest Hawtism finally wakes up for school and begins his typical morning marathon talking session with, “Mom, how come your eyes are so red and bloodshot? And by the way, how come you are STILL the oldest mother in the school? Why didn’t you get married younger and have us younger because most of the mothers at school are younger and in their 20s and 30s and so are the teachers and they can’t believe how old you are…and…” and don’t you reach your limit of guilt and cut-him off by saying “good questions…how about some chocolate cake for breakfast?” because you want him to forget everything he just reminded you of…again? But isn’t it distracting when you wake up your youngest Hawtism and as usual he starts yelling at you and saying you are ruining his life for making him go to school every day and…blah blah blah…? And isn’t it weird how all of a sudden out of nowhere your left knee begins to hurt? And doesn’t it suddenly dawn on you that you helped your husband rearrange your oldest Hawtism’s room over the weekend and move MILLI’s (Mother-in-law-living-inside’s) bed out of her granny cave in the basement and into your son’s room upstairs and perhaps this is what messed up your leg? And although you are in sudden pain, aren’t you still feeling a huge sense of relief because you are reminded that “she” is gone…moved out…it’s real and now you can go down to your basement without being ambushed about Jesus and bad parenting? But doesn’t your sudden bliss get sidelined, after you decide to walk out of your youngest Hawtism’s room so you don’t have to keep listening to his continuous rants and accusations that are the result of him being the worst morning person on the planet EVER, because you swear your son’s G.I. Joe arrow has somehow gotten lodged in your knee? But isn’t it a relief when all your Hawtism gets on the bus and goes to school as they are arguing about whether or not Mom will be alive when they have kids because she is a fossil and falling apart? And doesn’t it suck that for an entire week following the arrival of your defiant knee, you can’t run on your treadmill or exercise on your stair-stepper because it hurts and you fear that if you DO work-out, you will have permanent elderly mother damage for the rest of your life and this just might prove to your kids that you are, in fact, a walking sea hag? And doesn’t it make you feel even worse when you go back to the bathroom, happen to look into the mirror, and just for kicks you ask it, “mirror-mirror-on the wall…” and suddenly a light-bulb above the mirror burns out by coincidence…or was it…and that’s when you notice a few more gray hairs on your head, and another on your chin that you’ve never seen before until today and what makes it worse is that you’ve lost your tweezers to pull it out? And don’t you abruptly feel completely depressed because you also realize that tomorrow is your 48th birthday and the next time you ARE able to get back on the treadmill you will have to move the “age” indicator up one more number? And don’t you really feel sorry for yourself, wish you had a bottle of wine to drink to get some liquid courage, become desperate for an unconditional friend, and that’s when you decide that your newly found chin-hair is actually your soul-mate-patch? But are you NOT surprised when you get a phone call from the school principal as you are putting Ben Gay on your knee and shoveling vitamins A,C,K, E, Beta-Carotene, Omega-3s, green tea, and Selenium, down your throat because they are suppose to help you look younger? And because the rest of you is ancient, aren’t you ironically hoping that your hearing is going too at this point because you are expecting to listen to something more painful than your knee at the moment? But don’t you think you are dreaming when the principal says, “Nathan wants to talk to you because he is feeling really sad” he gets on the phone and says, “Mom, for some reason, I am really missing you at school today and will you help me feel better…I love you?” And after you hang up the phone, and pinch yourself to the point of bruises to prove that you aren’t a walking corpse, don’t you think to yourself, “I may be older than most Moms in a lot of ways, but after that phone call, I now know that my heart is still young.”
Posted on: Mon, 26 Aug 2013 21:30:23 +0000
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