So this middle aged thing...

A couple of weeks ago, as I was helping the kids get ready for bed, I suddenly caught a glimpse of my hand and thought, "Whose hand is that?" Actually, it was more like, "Good frick! Whose old lady hand is that?!" It was wrinkly and veiny and...old. I had a momentary freakout. And when I say freakout, I mean there was a loud display of shock and dismay and just general irrational freakoutedness. My family laughed at me, but I was having a seriously intense moment of middle age crisis. Sydney came down for a drink of water later that night, and as she hugged me goodnight again she said, "I'm sorry your hands got old."

Every 4th of July, my brother and sister-in-law throw a huge Independence Day bash for Nate's side of the family. There's a different theme every year. Last year was the Amazing Race. This year it was Minute to Win It, based on a television game show where contestants have a minute to perform various random tasks. I did surprisingly well, making it into the final round of competition (there were just four of the original forty left). The final task was called paper dragon (follow the link for a video demonstration), in which each player had to un-spool two large rolls of party streamers with a continuous windmill motion of the arms. I made a valiant effort, but in the end was outdone by a 15 and 10 year old. The next morning, I could not move my shoulders without excruciating pain. The pain settled into a throbbing ache by the end of day two, and by day four I was able to wield my hair dryer without wanting to cry. I kept thinking I was just too old for this stuff.

While we were visiting with family this past week I had the lovely opportunity to see the latest Twilight movie with six of my sisters-in-law and two teenage nieces. I've decided that these movies must be seen in groups, but if you're bringing teenagers along be prepared to duck and cover when the screaming starts. After the movie, there was the obligatory discussion of who was hotter---a discussion I always have a difficult time participating in because these are young men. Like, young men. And we've already established that I am no longer a young woman. I think I brought up the cougar factor, which led to a discussion of what constitutes a cougar. Some in our group thought you would have to be at least 40 to be granted cougar status, but I said if I'm old enough to be their mother then that did it for me. I am thoroughly creeped out by the idea of someone my age finding my teenage son sexually attractive. Thoroughly.

So now I find myself thinking, if I put any stock in that old you're only as old as you feel bit, I am royally screwed.