It’s funny how time changes so many things in our lives. How we wish for time to fly until we hit about 40-45 years old and then not so much. How going out on a Saturday night began, not ended at 10:00pm. How easy it was to get out the door at 18 years old. Loaded with ‘mad money’ in your shoe, a tampon in your sock (I’ll explain later) and your driver’s license in your favorite jeans pocket. No phone, no iPod no nonsense.
Then children come along and you can’t just run out for 5 minutes. You need a war chest packed in a diaper bag. And let me tell you I was having none of that pastel-crapola with bows and bunnies on it. I had a Coach diaper bag, thank you Amy. I also never worn a maternity shirt with the arrow and BABY pointed down at your belly, as if anyone could miss that. You had to bring extra clothes, 2 binkies, crackers, bottles, diapers, bibs, toys and the emergency first aid kit including ipecac syrup in case the child broke free from the baby carrier, crawled into some space and swallowed a random poison that may be lying around.
Now, menopause has hampered my ability to get out the door. I have terribly unruly, Roseanne Roseannadanna/Chaka Khan Hair BUT I flat iron the beejeezus out of it. Therefore, I am like a mad woman until the last possible second out the door. So, about half way down the driveway, I think, “did I turn off the flat iron?” I have called my poor mother a thousand times to run over and check so I do not burn the house down.
I leave with the wrong keys, or both sets of keys; I love to Zumba in the car when I drive, I forget the iPod. I forget to go to the bank and when the kids are in trouble or grounded, I leave with the xBox, iPod and cellphones in the back of my car….but I forget they are there and panic when they all call thinking we have been robbed because every electronic gadget and toy in the house is missing.
So my purse has gotten bigger, I no longer need a tampon in my sock and although I was proofed at Ruby Tuesdays after the Zumba party, I no longer need ID. It was a ‘mercy proof’.
I fear being a grandmother. My mind wanders to what would be in my out-the-door-bag then: one of those pill holders with the days of the week on it, oh yea, I have that now; Depends, dentu-cream, my AARP Card for free coffee at McDonald’s? Will there be room for my grand baby’s stuff?
Or, maybe the nice people at the home will just wheel me out front to sit in the sun…..and I will haunt my children for all eternity.