Stained Glass Secrets

by: Elexis Penner

Things I Can’t Get Myself To Care About Anymore: Part Deux (I think)

 

 

So I guess it’s come to this.

 

I was working on a blog, and as I was typing what I thought was this super-clever line, a little voice in my head said, “Wait.  Haven’t you written that before?”

 

In hopes of avoiding a search through past blogs to see if I’ve already told this story, I wondered if maybe there was an app that you could get that would notify you if you were repeating yourself.  Maybe you could upload a picture of one of your kids into it, and it could roll its eyes and you and say, “Mom.  You said that already.”   And you’d have to tap “Oh, did I?” to continue.

 

And so it begins.  Well actually it’s been beginning for a while now.

 

Three years ago I think my vision could rival that of the Six Million Dollar Man.  Now I wear progressives, and I can’t even read a soup can without my glasses.  If I make the mistake of buying a shampoo/conditioner brand where the bottles have the same shape, then when I’m in the shower I can’t tell which is which.  Putting on makeup is starting to include a little guesswork.

 

I knew I was in trouble when I gave up on trying to read the dosages on medication bottles.  Something inside me just knew it was a bad idea to go with the assumption that all medications state their dosage as ‘1-2, every four hours’.

 

On the plus side of getting older, there are some things I just can’t get myself to care about anymore.  And it’s little things.  And they may seem lame – because they are – but all the more reason to be glad to be past them.

 

Form over function.  Take hockey watching attire in the 1986:  tiny leather jacket, flimsy runners, bare hands, probably holding something cold (or lit).  Very cool.

 

Hockey watching attire in 2015:  parka with hood, Sorels, mittens (doubled-up), large coffee, 3 blankets. In a heated rink.  Cool level:  “Is that your mom?”  “No, I’ve never seen that woman before in my life.”   “But she’s waving at you.”   “No she’s not.”

 

Tanning.  I used to go to all kinds of effort to get an even tan.  Being at home with little ones, we spent a lot of time at the pool.  But more often than not it just involved making sure I rotated tank top styles while cutting the grass.

 

These days, I can’t get myself to care.  Even if I try.  Yardwork during mosquito season (March to October) involves wrist-to-ankle coverage.   The best I could do was try to wear ankle socks once in a while for biking.

 

And bestly, I just can’t get myself to care about the comparing anymore.  Well not as much, anyway.  The need to win at everything.  And I meaneverything.   The house, the vehicle, the Tupperware, the clothes, the post-baby shape, the need to be right – oh actually never mind, I still care about that one.  A bit.

 

Even the kids.  The need to compare and win at kids.  How well they behaved, slept, ate, walked, counted, teethed – you know, things I could totally take credit for. Ah yes, my little angel is already butt-scootching – she must be a genius.   Clearly I am a fabulous mother.

 

I wish I could say these changes were the result of noble and extensive self-analysis and inner work.  But it’s probably more due to the fact that we have four teenagers, and therefore can’thaveany nice things. Ha. 

 

But mostly I think maybe it’s just a  bonus of getting older.  You’re too tired to care about any nonessentialanything.

 

The list of things that I needed to win at in my twenties and thirties has dwindled down from just about everything, to a few minor issues of grammar policing and being right.  About everything. Okay fine, it is still a fairly extensive list – but it is shorter – I’m pretty sure of that!

 

One day as I left work, I ran into one of my little old (really old) granny friends and she was asking about the ages of my kids.  When I told her my oldest was 19 she gasped, “Oh!!  Butyou still look like a kid!!”  Just hold your horses, people, and keep in mind the age gap here.

 

So I pointed to my head and replied, “Well, MOST of the damage is up here…”

 

“Oh, we ALL have that…” she smiled.

 

Yeah.  We do.  Maybe that’s part of growing up, no matter what your age.  Recognizing that everyone is battling.  And nursing wounds.  And covering scars. And that my battle is not to beat anyone else out at anything. 

 

There is a quote by Plato – and I know this because I read a lot of Plato, not because I Google inspirational internet memes, ha!  Anyway, it says, “The first and best victory is to conquer self.”

 

And it turns out that a person can stay pretty busy with that.  And we might even do each other a favor by spending less time trying to cover up the scars.