Age to age and flashbacks.

There have been so many things of late that remind me how fleeting our days are - how our lives pass in seasons or "ages." I don't mean just age as in the number of years old you may be. But the season or periods of our lives that are wrapped around or designed for development or growth or a rite of passage. It is not always evident that we have slipped mysteriously from one age to another either - until a new event or moment unearths the discovery.

For a decade, I was a young 20-something, graduating from college, finding my niche in the work-a-day world and developing a career, meeting my beau who would become my husband and father of my children. I was set and on my way. Next came the late 20s and early 30s and starting a family. My career was a little more established and I was feeling pretty good about my place in life. I LOVED having infants and toddlers. It was exhausting and eye-opening, but life was fresh and new and so many opportunities lie ahead. I liked being a young mother. Then somehow my babies turned into grade school children and we entered a whole new "age" and life existence. New "friends" (parents of kids in our kids' classes), teachers and principals, organized athletics and activities, programs and concerts, practices and games. Whew! It was an adjustment. Not sure I have it well managed yet. And I was still exhausted.

Now our kids are all in grade school (my baby is in 2nd) and middle school, preparing for high school. The tide has shifed again. We are starting to think about insuring them to drive and what vehicle we will intrust to them. Do we like their friends and should we let them go on out-of-town trips without us? What college will they attend and why? Will there be enough money to support their endeavours? Each age brings a whole new mindset and all new questions and answers. We become different people as we move through these ages of time, continually adapting and changing to fit our new position or place. (And there's that exhaustion thing again.)

A co-worker of mine just had a baby last week. I saw pictures for the first time last night! Boy, there is nothing like pictures of a first-week newborn to take you back to a different age in time! It really was not that long ago when I was the late 20-something having my first baby. I can still smell the sweet smells (along with the not-so-sweet), feel the soft skin and tiny fingernails of both my baby boys. The flashbacks make me weepy. Now I have passed the baton to a "new" first-time mom. She is the one who is craddling and swaddling the precious new babe and learning to anticipate and distinguish each and every whimper and cry. It's a truly precious time. But she is also the one up two, three, four times during the wee hours for nightly feedings. And mixing formula. And changing diapers. Figuring out how the carrier fits into the base of the car seat. Packing up the whole house just to run to the grocery store for a few little necessities.

Okay. So maybe we painstakingly "earn" our way out of each age. And maybe we wouldn't trade going back for anything in the world. It was fun and time well spent - but better to push on to the next exciting age around the next bend in the road. I'm ready to grab the baton.

Reality check.

Are women allowed to have a midlife crisis? I've been wondering that a lot this last year. I suffered through a 20-year, high-school reunion in October. It wasn't that bad as it turned out, I guess. There were plenty of gals and guys who aged a lot less gracefully than myself. But then there were those Barbie dolls who are even more of a Barbie than 20 years ago who make you feel really inferior and, well, old. I swear that one of my gal pals from back then is even more attractive than she was before. And not only does she look like a marathon athlete, tanned, blonde and gorgeous - she IS a marathoner. As well as a successful doctor. With three beautiful children, including a set of twins - boy and girl. Ugh. If I didn't like her so much, I would have thrown up on her right then and there. But worse than feeling uptight about my own aging, I felt more than a little anxiety for the boys who had turned into men (not the BOYS we said goodbye to in '86) by shooting up a couple more inches, growing shoulders and filling out in a few more places than just the pecs. There were more than a few beer-belly paunches and bald heads. I recognized ALL the girls, but there were several guys I would not have recognized if I'd literally bumped into them at the mall in their old letter jackets. At least it was reassuring to know that my peers had aged right along with me.

I now have a daughter in middle school who decided to go out for volleyball this year. Of course, I had to prove my old state volleyball team status by "helping her practice." Oh, yeah. I was the clutch server and backrow digger back in 86. If the coach wanted to target weak defense on the opposite side of the net, I was recruited to expertly smash her face in with a strategically placed, lethal overhand serve. We had a few all-state players on my team, and we competed for the state title my senior year (see the pic - guess which is me). It's not just men who think they are invincible and still have the athlete's ego they did in their glory days. For weeks, I was out in the sideyard volleyball "court" my husband set up for our daughter to practice, serving to her for hours at a time. I can only remember being really sore one day the first week. But I STILL HAD IT! And I was getting a lot of joy in showing my girl that ol' mom was better than her at something since all teenagers think their parents are the biggest idiots that ever walked the planet. Well, later that month, I reached behind my back to hand my youngest son some silly little thing he thought he needed in the car. And WHAM, BAM%$#*&$%!!! My third-decade glory days were over. Something popped, pulled and sent a sharp stabbing pain from my shoulder clear down my arm. I literally doubled over in pain. It was a good thing I wasn't actually driving or we would have been bouncing off the curb or in a ditch off the interstate. Well, here it is 6 months later and I'm still in physical therapy. I have tendonitis and "frozen shoulder," meaning I have really limited range of motion in that arm - and can't even reach behind me to hook a bra strap, let alone overhand serve a volleyball.

On top of all this, I have to wear "granny" magnifying glasses about 50 percent of the time at the agency, where I do a lot of proofing and copy editing. My new physical therapist just happens to have turned 40 this year herself. I told her that I just don't understand why I shouldn't be able to do the same stunts I did 20 - now 21 - years ago. How did this happen? She wondered the same thing when she did an overhand stroke in the pool last summer and felt that same pop and pull. Well, at least I'm not in that pool by myself. And don't think I'll be running out to buy myself a little red Corvette to prove that I've still got it either. It's obvious I've already lost it. Because that's the other thing that's getting a little rusty - my memory.

What am I doing???

So this is my first blogging attempt. Creating one, that is. Can you believe that? I grew up in the 70s and I feel too old for this. But my 20-something co-workers who are almost young enough to be my kids - or is that I'm really almost old enough to be their parent? - are making me feel inferior and out of touch. And I haven't even reached 40 (I have 8 more months, thank you very much)! So this is my feeble attempt to try something new. And to try and stay somewhat in the ever-changing digital age of today.

When I started out in the publishing and ad game, of course I was the newbie that made everyone else in the biz feel old. I did my share of time in the old wax paste-up days. Now those new kids joining us don't have a clue what hot wax is used for - other than cleaning up a bikini line. Please tell me that someone remembers the not-so-pleasant hot wax aroma wafting through the production room and how you had to wait the proper amount of time so you wouldn't burn your fingertips? Several years ago, I had a few interns that were amazed by my tales of typing term papers on an electric typewriter and counting lines up from the bottom of a portrait sheet to determine how many footnotes we could squeeze in. I found one of those old papers and brought it in for their amusement. What a hoot. It was like they'd discovered something to take to the Antique Roadshow for evaluation!

Okay, so I hope I'll get better at this. And that I learn something about blogging that I can share with my clients. And hopefully they are enough older than me that this "new" (lol) medium will make me look like the young kid with new technology and tricks to share.