Age is Just a Number

My age and I have never been in sync.

I’ve always acted older than I was.  But, I always looked younger, mostly because I’m short.  I was handed a kid’s menu on my family road trip to drop me off to college.  I was mortified.

But now, I feel that my age – the number, plus the way I look and the way I act, are in sync.  I’m an adult now.  I’m the mom, and the little people look to me to make decisions.  Scary.

As my daughter and son have gotten older, I’ve learned of so many references they don’t get.  For instance…

I’m old enough to remember when Geoffrey the Giraffe from Toys R Us had parents.

I’m old enough to remember pressing a tape recorder to the radio to tape a song.

I’m old enough to remember 35mm, 110, and Kodak Disc film.

I’m old enough to remember pegging my jeans, and as a petite woman, I kind of wish that trend would return.

I’m old enough to remember when there was ONE computer for the entire school to share.

I’m old enough to remember sitting with my corded phone pressed to my face, talking to my friends.

I’m old enough to remember a time before VCRs and answering machines.

I’m old enough to remember when Bill Gates’ dream of a computer in every home was just a dream.

I’m old enough to remember thinking we should be flying on hovercrafts by now.

I’m old enough to remember arms full of neon bracelets, bought at the local flea market.

I’m old enough to remember when movie theaters were all in malls.

I’m old enough to remember when malls were all one level.

I’m old enough to remember thinking it was a great idea to use Sun-In on my hair.

I’m old enough to remember reading Teen Magazine (of course, I was like 11.  No teen actually read Teen).

I’m old enough to remember wearing braids in my wet hair to wake up with curly hair.  Curly hair was IN back then.

I’m old enough to remember wearing an acid washed jean jacket with a Duran Duran pin on it.

I’m old enough to remember the awful smell of a perm, and how you couldn’t wash your hair for days.

I’m young enough to sometimes think this all happened YESTERDAY.  Then I look at these little people, and think “I’m their mommy?  That frizzy-haired girl with the pink glasses, the Coca-Cola rugby, and the acid washed jean jacket is responsible for these people?”.

PS:  I wasn’t kidding