Better With Age?

It is one of those unbelievable cool July days—the kind where you begin thinking football and crackling leaves and find yourself surprised that you still have swim towels drying on the patio chairs.  I have decided to skip impending work projects and laundry folding and make my way to the sunlit patio to begin leafing through the plethora of magazines that have spent many a week lying on my family room floor.

“I wonder if I know anyone that has been to a ‘Botox Party’?”  I innocently ask out loud as I begin reading an article on the subject.

“What’s that?” Nate replies as he walks over to the patio and pulls up a chair.

“It’s a party where women go to have Botox injections.”  Nate’s expressionless face quickly tells me that my answer means absolutely nothing to his 11-year-old mind.  “They stick a needle in your wrinkles to make them smooth,” I add.

“Yuck, who would want to do that?”

“People who want to look younger.”

“Why would you ever want to be younger than you are?”  

Isn’t looking at the world through an 11-year-old’s eyes wonderful?  At 11, you can’t imagine anyone wanting to be younger—after all, with age comes great opportunities such as being able to ride your bike one more street over in the neighborhood or going to the movies with just your friends.  We mark our calendar for those age milestones such as turning 13, 16, 21—eagerly anticipating all the great things that the new age will let us do and the great person we will be able to become.  

Something happens to us—I’m guessing somewhere in our thirties—where age stops being something we look forward to and starts becoming something we dread.  We begin to see how precious time really is and how quickly it flies when we are preoccupied with kids, work and life in general.  And then, when we hit a major milestone (for me it was 40), we find ourselves frozen in fear—fearful that we may have nothing else to accomplish or to become.  This, we think, may be as good as it gets.

I reply, “Some people believe that getting older means they aren’t as good as they used to be, so they try to keep themselves looking young.”

“Are you as good as you used to be?”  

What is with this kid today?  I wasn’t prepared for such deep, introspective questioning from the boy whose conversations usually include some type of sports’ reference or sixth-grade boy humor.   

“Well, Nate, probably not,” I reply.  “But, I’m not really sad about it—at least I’m not sad enough to have a needle put into my forehead.”

“So, you don’t wish you were younger?”

“Not really, I kind of like life right where it is—not wishing it would move forward too fast or even move backwards.”  I stop for a moment and realize that I should probably take advantage of this rare serious discussion with Nate.  “You know what, Nate?  You should like life right where it is as well—not always wanting to be a few years older just so you can ride your bike to Dairy Queen with your friends.”

“Yeah, I’ll think about doing that as I watch the other guys come back with their ice cream cones,” he replies.  “Hey, what’s under there?”

“Under where?”

Nate laughs as he runs to the front yard yelling, “I just made you say ‘underwear.’”  

It’s nice to see this serious side of Nate is no match for the funny side.  I kind of like him with a little dirt on his face, spitting sunflower seeds through a baseball dugout fence and sharing jokes with his friends about bodily functions and words deemed ‘inappropriate’ for casual conversations such as ‘underwear’ and ‘sports cups’.  

But, it’s always nice to see there is a little more to Nate than meets the eye—and with age, he will undoubtedly become better.  Don’t we all?

Going Home--Again

The moment our car drives over the line into Terre Haute, Indiana, my stomach becomes tense.  I always have mixed emotions about visiting my hometown—excited to see family and friends, but not quite prepared for the onslaught of guilt I have for leaving.  I wanted to leave the moment I was old enough to realize there was a world outside of the city limits of this semi-small Indiana town, but every time I return I secretly resent the fact that life has gone on without me. 

After college, I returned to Terre Haute—had a wonderful job, got married and even had two of my three children in the very same hospital where I was born.  I really tried to get comfortable with the idea that I might never leave, but something kept pulling me in a different direction.  Then I came across the straw that broke the camel’s back.  In the middle of a presentation to a prospective client, the VP of the company (who also happened to be a childhood friend) raised his hand and asked, “Hey, what was the name of that boy that sat in front of you in Chemistry?”  It was this question that made me realize there would always be some people in this town who would refuse to see me as an adult—they would only see me as their high school friend or the daughter of Cecil and Nancy.

We left several months after that presentation and have been gone for almost 12 years.  However, every time we return, I come face to face with the reality that it isn’t this town that refused to let me grow up, it was me.  I am the one that still sees everything—and everybody—through the eyes of an 18 year-old girl and my heart breaks just a little more each time when I realize that life has truly moved on without me.   

A few weeks ago I spent a rainy Saturday morning sitting in a Terre Haute Starbucks enjoying the anonymity that comes with visiting places outside of your regular ‘hood.  Every single person that walked through the door knew someone inside this busy little coffee shop—from the people behind the counter to the older man who sat in the back corner quietly reading the local paper.  It was truly one of those Cheers moments where “everyone knows your name.”  Except for me—I sat by the window watching the rain as I emotionally moved myself from a place of comfort to agitation.  It was as if I was sitting at a party where I wasn’t really invited.

Even the people that looked vaguely familiar to me looked right past me—not even stopping to think that perhaps we had once been friends (OK, not great friends, but in a smaller town your friend circles do tend to overlap).  There they stood with their spouses and children—obviously having moved way past the days of high school football games and parties.  They had accomplished what I had failed to do—become a real life adult in a town that holds every single piece of my childhood. 

How fun it must be to raise your kids in the same town where you grew up—attending the same schools, shopping at the same stores, knowing the same people.  My kids and I will never have this type of shared experience—which is why, when we make our trips to Terre Haute, I spend countless hours taking them down unmarked roads and past homes that no longer house the families I once knew.  And just when I think the cause is lost….

“Mom, can we get ice cream from Green Acres and go see the ‘Spooky Tree’?’” my son asks from the backseat. 

“Of course,” I reply with a smile—happy to know that there will always be a little Indiana in all of us.

 

Who Needs Downtime? I Do!

“I can’t believe how busy I am,” I overheard a woman say as I sat perusing magazines at a local bookstore.  “Between getting four kids to camp, my part-time job at the doctor’s office and evening baseball games and dance rehearsals, I barely have time to volunteer at church and workout every other day.  I wish I had just a little more time so I could finally take that cooking class I’ve been wanting to take.”

Wow.  While this woman was busy trying to get in a cooking class, I was using my one free weekday evening to buy as many magazines as possible so I could sit in my pajamas and catch up with everything that has been going on in the lives of Brad and Angelina, Jon and Kate and of course—most recently—the Jackson family. 

I am always impressed with the endless amount of energy and motivation that some women seem to possess, but truth be known, I enjoy my downtime—matter of fact, I need downtime in order to function on a day to day basis.   And this summer—with all of its activities and events—I am craving downtime more than ever.  So much so, that every spare moment between camps, baseball games, family visits and work projects has been spent trying to find a life with a little less action (and a lot more magazine reading—oh, and a nice glass of wine).   

Unfortunately, my blog has suffered from the “Great Search for Downtime of 2009” and I have not been updating it on a regular basis.  I know you are all just sitting on the edge of your seat waiting for the next great Minglin Family Adventure and I wanted to let you know that you will once again be treated to weekly updates of our crazy, yet joyful (OK, maybe ‘joyful’ is a little strong) suburban life. 

Thank you for being patient—I so enjoy sharing my stories with all of you and absolutely love your feedback and comments.  Hope you are all enjoying a summer of mingling on your own patios—can’t wait to bring “Patio Mingling” back to you!