When Life Hands You Lemons

A couple of Advents ago, my older little asked me THE QUESTION:

"Mommy, is Santa Claus real?"

At the moment he asked this, I was in the throes of my harried Christmas preparations and was tempted to respond, "Yes. I AM SANTA! I make your Christmas happen! I make YOUR LIFE HAPPEN! If it weren't for me, you'd be eating a TV dinner on Christmas Eve with a nothing more than a Nike sock hanging on the mantle!"

I didn't say that, but I wanted to. I get kind of stressed out during Advent. The blessed season when I am supposed to be reflecting on the Coming, I am more focused on figuring out what I'm going to get everyone, what we going to eat, and managing everyone's dizzying social calendar. Somehow it all seems to come together, but by Christmas Eve, I'm spent. Every January, I vow I'm going to do better, but I never seem to manage a low-stress holiday season.

I think part of this is due to lack of organization. I am a somewhat naturally organized person, but since I had the small people, I've lost my way. Anyone who knows anything about small people knows you don't get chunks of time to do things. So for the past eight years, I've just been stuffing things in closets and drawers to reduce clutter, but the result of that has been... more clutter.

The littler little started preschool last year, so I have tackled a few closets, but there is still plenty more to be done, and some of my 'organized' spaces are not so organized anymore. This means my system was not good, so I have decided to branch out on the blog to chronicle my home organizational projects. I'll still talk about exercise from time to time, but I'm kind of done with talking about food, and I think you are all kind of done with me talking about food, too.

When life hands you lemons...

... and limes... and an orange...

I've decided to do a modified version of the 14-week Home Organization 101 challenge that is outlined on the very orderly blog called A Bowl Full of Lemons. The Lemon Lady has also recently published a book, which you can find here, but I think I'm going to forgo the book because I am really trying to reduce the amount of stuff in our house. I'm also being super cheap these days. (December was a very expensive month.)

A Bowl Full of Lemons is a very pretty blog, with very pretty pictures of a very pretty house. My house will never look like that. I think I will have to go off the lemon grove to some extent, because I will never be storing my books by color. Seriously, she does that. She has a Paula Deen cookbook next to a Harry Potter book because they're both orange. I mean, it's pretty, but not super practical.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa, and I am he.

In addition to having a lower-stress December, I also realized that the Santa question brought up a real truth that scares me a little. I DO make it all happen in my family. My darling husband earns the paycheck, does the taxes and handles car and many household repairs, but I keep pretty much everything else humming. In fact, I even file the car paperwork, organize the taxes and pay all the bills. I'm also the one who does all the shopping, the cooking, the cleaning, and anything that pertains to the children, including medical stuff. Since we have a child with disabilities, that stuff can get very complicated.

I'm not saying all that to sound like a martyr, or make my husband sound like he isn't involved (because he is), only to point out that I keep all the plates spinning, and I have a lot of information in my head. What if something happened to me? If I died (!) or were incapacitated, life would be hard for my family.

So, with that long-winded pre-ramble, my goals over the next 14 weeks are not just to organize, but to label everything so other people know where the spare batteries or extra laundry detergent is hiding. Also, I'm planning to make up a binder with pertinent information, especially regarding all of the little little's medical stuff. Yes, my husband or others could dig around and find what they'd need to know, but wouldn't it be nice to have it all in one place?

Lastly, I'm going to try to do all of this without buying anything, or at least, not buying very much. I might even do a nice spicy rant on my love/hate relationship with The Container Store! Goody!

I might not be able to do all of this in 14 weeks, but I'll try. What's more important to me is developing systems that work. Let me know if you want to join in on the 'fun'!

My First Trip to Lulu

Last Christmas, I received a lululemon gift card. (I can't believe blogger doesn't recognize that as a word. Yes, there is a red, squiggly line under it.) Of course, I said thank you very much to the giver, but I received it with mixed feelings. I know many, many women who *LOVE* lulu. I see it's little trademark all over the other women at barres all over town, but I've never gotten into it.

My Darling Cousin gave me a lululemon shirt a few years ago for Christmas. She gushed effusively about it's wonderfulness, so the following Christmas I set foot for the first time into a shop with the intention of buying her a gift. I took one look at the $58 price tag on a plain t-shirt and walked out. Lulu is just too rich for my blood. I was afraid if I tried anything on I'd fall in love with it and then I'd go broke. With Physique 57 and Bar Method, I really don't need another expensive obsession. And really, how good could lululemon be?? Is it really better than all the other purveyors of high-end fitness wear? You know, the ones that are also expensive, but at least run decent sales? It just seemed highly over-rated.

But lulu devotees swear by the lusciousness of their clothes. I've been promised they'll make my bottom look irresistibly cute. I've been told they will last for years and years. A dear friend was hit by a car last year while she was out running. A horrible accident that left her in the hospital and a rehab facility for weeks. Once we got over the 'oh my, thank God you're alive!' part of the story, she said, 'yeah, they had to cut off my running tights. I was pissed. They were lululemon!'

And yet still, even with that most remarkable testimonial, I resisted. The little gift card sat in my wallet for exactly 380 days. Today I finally decided to do something with it.

I walked into the shop and was immediately accosted by loud music. This gave me a sickening feeling of being far too old.... like this was the workout-wear equivalent of Abercrombie & Fitch and I should only be shopping here with a sullen teenager in tow. But the gift card kept whispering, 'spend me.' I reminded myself that there were plenty of women my age at the barre wearing lulu, and so, I persevered.

I wouldn't mind something that would make my bottom look irresistibly cute, so I headed over to the pants. There were nice, firm plastic mannequins wearing all the different styles, which were stacked according to size--lots of 2s, 4s and 6s, a few 8s and only a handful of 10s and 12s. (It seems, like Abercrombie, they don't want anyone bigger than that wearing their clothes.)

A friendly saleswoman helped me pick out a few styles suitable for my workout of choice, then led me to the very cramped fitting room. She introduced me to the girl working that part of the floor. "This is Stephanie. She does barre."

I tried on a few pairs, and meh.... for $128, these did not light me up. They were just regular workout pants. For that price, I need something to sing to me. So I dropped them off with fitting room girl and told her none of them worked for me. She said, "Is it the style? The fabric? The fit??" I replied, "Honestly, they're just really expensive and I didn't think they were anything special."

Well, she asked. (Actually, I read an article in the Wall Street Journal a few years ago that said,

"Lulu also trains its workers to eavesdrop, placing the clothes-folding tables on the sales floor near the fitting rooms rather than in a back room so that workers can overhear complaints." 

So really, by being straight with her I was able to save her the subterfuge.

After the pants fail, I perused the workout tops, t-shirts and hoodies. I liked one of the hoodies, but not for $128. They like that number, 128. They also like the number 58, which was the price of the t-shirts and workout tanks.

Finally, I saw a scarf I liked. It's actually quite versatile! It has snaps and you can wear it a number of different ways, including all the way open, like a blanket. The other friendly saleswoman said, "A lot of people like this option. You can use it like a blanket on a plane!" Well, this was a nice selling feature, since jetBlue now charges you for blankets. So I settled on the scarf.

I still had $27 left on my gift card, so with a little kick in from my wallet (because nothing is only $27!) I bought over-the-knee grippy-soled socks. Apparently they'll keep me warm during savasana. And now I can look like Jane Fonda. See?

And with that, I departed lululemon. I like my scarf. And my legwarmers, but I won't be rushing back. In fact, if I never go back, that will be just fine. Don't get me wrong--I'm thankful for my gift card. I fully intend to enjoy my purchases.

But I stand by my original suspicion--to me, lululemon is highly over-rated. And for that I am glad. My wallet, and my children's college funds, are safe. At least, for now.

Sometimes We Eat Frankenfoods, and Live to Tell the Tale

There is Gatorade in my fridge.

See?

A couple of years ago I ranted about how gross Gatorade is, and now I have it in my fridge.

We don't consume Gatorade with any regularity. I stand by my rant that as a casual beverage, it's yucky, but the pediatrician told me to give it to one of the littles because he was very, very sick and they were worried about his electrolytes. I know I provided links in my Gatorade-is-gross rant for homemade electrolyte-replacement drinks, but when your precious small person is sick and you're worried and exhausted, the last thing you want to do is whip up a batch of anything, so I gave him the Gatorade.

Does this make me a hypocrite? Am I poisoning my small person? Am I losing any sleep over any of this? I'm going to go with 'no,' 'no' and 'no.'

Here's the thing--I really believe it's what we do MOST of the time that matters, not what we do SOME of the time. Yes, Gatorade is full of sugar and artificial stuff, but if we only have it once in a while, I think we're going to be ok.

I also had some Diet Coke when we went to see Star Wars last week. Is Diet Coke yucky? Yes. Yes, it is. I think there are a lot of problems with soda in general and diet soda in particular, but somehow slurping down half of the Darling Husband's monster cup felt sort of festive. (And he didn't mind. No. Not at all.) A Star Wars movie only comes out once every few years, at most, so I think I'll be ok.

There are all kinds of crappy stuff out there. Lots of things rob our bodies of precious nutrients. But you know what? So does exercise, and pretty much no one tells you to stop doing that. But even exercise needs to be accompanied by moderation.

I just wanted to tell you all about the Gatorade. I know I write about healthy stuff, but I hope I never come across as perfectionist-y about food, or exercise, or anything else. I fear that I might have from time to time, and I'm sorry if I've done anything to promote the perfect-health dogma that exists in stark contrast to the SAD (Standard American Diet.)

What really gets my knickers in a twist is when these highly processed, frankenfoods are marketed as health foods. I think the frankenfoods can be fine from time to time, but let's not pass them off as healthy while we demonize real, whole foods like butter or red meat. Let's face it: the frankenfoods are convenient, and dare I say, some are even yummy!

Life happens. Little people get sick. Best laid plans go awry. A new Star Wars movie comes out. You drink a Gatorade, eat at McDonalds or schnarf down a couple of handfuls of toxic cinema popcorn.

And it's OK. It's what we do MOST of the time that matters.

What Christmas is All About, and It's NOT SHOES

enjoystyles.com

One of our local radio stations is playing non-stop Christmas music. You know, the pop-y kind. The small people absolutely love it, so I've relaxed my commercial radio ban for the duration of Advent.

Today we were driving to school and on came possibly the stupidest Christmas song EVER. It's called 'Christmas Shoes.' It tells a schmaltzy story of a ragged little boy trying to fork over pennies to buy shoes for his dying mother, because he wants her to look pretty because.... wait for it.... she's DYING. She might 'meet Jesus tonight.' It's sung in this croony country singer-type voice, a la 'Butterfly Kisses.'

I know the concept of dirty, threadbare child buying a present for his dying mother is supposed to tug at my heartstrings, but it doesn't. Sweetheart, if you mommy is dying, please go be with her!!! She doesn't need shoes! I'm guessing if she might die tonight, she's not even walking around. Seriously, no need for shoes.

So I start ranting in the car a little bit.

(Just a little.)

Me: Cuteface, are you listening to the words of this song?

CF: No, not really.

Me: It's about this boy whose mommy is really not well and might go to heaven, and the little boy is spending all his money on new shoes for her. I want you to know that if I get really sick the last thing I want is new shoes. I want you to come be with me. I want you to read to me or play Uno with me. None of this spending time at shops buying me stuff I don't need, ok?

CF: Yeah, that's dumb. It's not like she can use them anyway. We're all going to be running around barefoot in heaven.

Ha! Take that, Country Crooner!

I think the reason this song set me off is this horrible American Christmas notion that we make people happy through stuff. That buying stuff is what Christmas is all about. NO. It's about God Incarnate. It's about being with our people. It's not about leaving dying mother's bedside to buy her SHOES.

I drop off the small people and pull into my driveway. Guess what's playing now? Mariah Carey--'All I want for Christmas is YOU-OOO-Baby!'

I never thought I'd say it, but Mariah Carey hit the nail on the head.

A Guide to 'the Holidays'

Recently I participated in a discussion on 'how not to go overboard on holiday indulgences.' Lots of 'tips' were bandied about, as well as differing opinions on how to regard these strange times in which we live. By 'strange' I mean we live in an age of unprecedented culinary abundance, and from late November through early January we are caught in a swoon of even more abundance. It can be a bit overwhelming, to say the least.

One of the littles when he was very little, building a gingerbread train

My little contribution to the discussion was to point out that 'the holidays' are actually not six weeks of non-stop party. There are actually relatively few 'holidays' within that time frame. I think we get into trouble (and by 'trouble' I mean having absolutely nothing that fits by January 7th) when we frolic about as if we were living in Charlie and Chocolate Factory for forty days. So, as a public service, I would like to recap what actually constitutes a 'holiday' this time of year in the good old U.S. of A.

Thanksgiving: fourth Thursday of November and YES!! Bingo! This is a holiday, people! Totally bona fide. A harvest festival. All about it. Eat, drink, and give thanks. We had a great feast yesterday. I didn't even need dinner last night. YUM!

Black Friday: NO. This is not a holiday. I know it's hard to believe it, since it is heralded with more fanfare than Thanksgiving, but it's true. It's a Madison Avenue manufactured event. It annoys me that it even has a name. I know you may feel like you deserve a treat because you did battle for that Darth Vader Pez dispenser and had to wait in line for an hour at Kohl's, but it's still not a holiday. You're probably hungry and tired, though, so just have leftovers from yesterday.

Cyber Monday: Lord, have mercy. This is even less of a holiday than Black Friday. And you don't deserve any treats because you didn't even have to walk around to do your shopping. You planted your bottom on a chair and pressed buttons. No treats. Sorry.

December 1st. Well, this is the first day of Advent. This is a beautiful time of reflection and thinking about Jesus being the reason for the season, etc. If it helps you to think about Jesus, then go ahead and have a square of chocolate everyday for the next twenty-four days. If it becomes a little too habit-forming, don't worry. Lent is right around the corner!

December 6th: This is the feast of St. Nicholas, aka 'Santa Claus.'If you grew up calling your grandfather 'Opa' then this is a big deal for you. Enjoy that orange in your shoe!

December 8th: Nope. No holiday. It's just Tuesday. Put down the cookie.

December 6th-14th: This is Hanukkah. I'm not Jewish so I'm not really clear on how much treats factor into Hanukkah, except for the gelt, which is chocolate shaped into coins with gold foil wrappers. Personally, I have never had chocolate coins that were worth eating. They are never made from good quality chocolate, so I'd give it a pass. I mean, if you're going to have treats, have the good stuff, right?

December 14th: I'm going to rant for a second:

THIS IS NOT THE FIRST DAY OF CHRISTMAS! OH MY GOOD GRIEF. Every year some marketer tries to sell us stuff--literally--for the twelve days preceding Christmas day. DON'T BUY IT. I mean, seriously--don't buy it.

Lord knows I love America as much as the next daughter of a veteran, but I really, really despise how American marketers will try to make a buying opportunity out of every cotton pickin' thing they can. In this case, it is SIMPLY WRONG. The Twelve Days of Christmas start on CHRISTMAS. They end on Twelfth Night--January 5th. I'll get to that later, but please, do not think that the 14th is a holiday because it ISN'T. It's just marketing. Grrr!

Moving on...

December 24th: Ding ding ding! Yes! Holiday fer shur!! Bottoms up!

December 25th: WHOA! HOLIDAY!!! Holy-day! Which is where the word 'holiday' comes from, you know. Eat, drink, be merry, etc.

December 26th: Boxing Day. If you're from a commonwealth nation, yay! Totally qualifies as a holiday. For the rest of us it means going out to buy wrapping paper at 50% off.

December 26th-January 1st: This is Kwanzaa. I actually didn't realize this was a multi-day event. I also didn't realize it was invented in 1966. Kind of makes me wonder, how many people actually grew up celebrating Kwanzaa? I don't know, is this is a holiday? If you are of African decent, please write and tell me what you eat. I thought Kwanzaa might have involved jumping over brooms, which sounds like a nice activity after all the eating at Christmas, but apparently that's just at weddings.

December 31st: New Year's Eve. Holiday. I'll be tucked in by 9.30 in my fuzzy blue robe, but if you're a fan, this definitely qualifies.

January 1st: New Year's Day. Win!! Enjoy a nice brunch rich in vitamin G.

January 5th: As previously mentioned, this is Twelfth Night. You can party it up. Definitely. Especially if you managed to find a yule log that actually burned for twelve days.

January 6th: The Feast of Epiphany, or Three Kings Day. This is a holiday, especially if you call your grandfather 'abuelo,' Spanish kids actually get their presents on January 6th. The Three Kings bring them. There is a traditional cake for Epiphany made in France called a 'galette des rois.' It's yummy flaky pastry with an almond paste filling. If you can find one, enjoy!

After that, the party's over. Yes, there are a lot of holidays in this brief period, but really--unless you're a Jewish Scandinavian Christian Spanish African, you're probably not hitting everything on this list. Then again, maybe you are? In which case, you are indeed an American! Just don't call December 14th the first day of Christmas, ok?

College is a SCAM

I haven't written in a long time, for various reasons. I'll spare you all my whining and instead treat you to the spicy rantings for which I am not famous.

One of the crazy things going around the internet these days is an interview by journalist Neil Cavuto of a young woman who is agitating for this mysterious '1%' to fund college for all AND forgive student loans. This poor benighted soul believes she and her friends should be given a free ride. Honestly, the whole thing is painful to watch, because this poor girl (womyn?) comes across looking like a complete idiot. She should either, a.) not be in college at all or b.) spend a whole lot more time there to learn to develop a cogent argument.

I really feel quite sorry for her. Just like the poor fool at Yale, who is presumably reasonably smart because she got into Yale in the first place, but has absolutely no sense or emotional control. She screamed at one of her professors about Halloween costumes. Yes. Halloween costumes. I would love for her to go attend one of the groups at the little darlings' school that helps the littles determine what is a 'big problem' and what is a 'little problem.'

These events make me even more thankful that I am old enough to have done the vast majority of my young stupid stuff before the internet. These women's actions will live in perpetuity, just a click away. Lord help them!

Anyway, the point of this post is to share my deep thoughts about college. For the record, I went to college, but I'm here to say:

I think college for the masses is a scam.

Before everyone gets their knickers in a twist, I'm not suggesting college should only be for the economic elite. Certainly, there are plenty of people from working and middle class families who have gifts and motivation to pursue career fields that require college and maybe graduate degrees. And they should go! College should be more affordable so people of all walks of life, whose gift mix suits them to professions that require that type of training, are able to pursue it.

However, not everyone fits that criteria. In fact, most don't. Plenty of kids in America today are graduating from mediocre public high schools with mediocre grades and absolutely no clue what they want to do for a living. So what do they do? They borrow pots of cash and go to college.

Some go to college and spend time taking REMEDIAL classes. Yes, people. Remedial. They're staying at the dorm, partying and screwing around, taking basic math, reading and writing. Stuff they should have learned in high school, but didn't. I don't know why they didn't learn it in the FREE and COMPULSORY k-12 American system, but they didn't and now they are PAYING through-the-nose to learn it in college. This is insane. Why are they even being accepted into college if they can't do college work? Why are the colleges not saying, 'hey, God knows we need your cash, but you're really not quite up to snuff here, so why don't you brush up on a few things and come back next year? We'll hold a place for you!' It strikes me as totally insane. And wrong.

And it's not just America. I earned my master's degree at a British university. They loved non-EU students because they could charge us more. I met a sweet Korean guy who COULD NOT SPEAK ENGLISH. Seriously, I could hardly even have a conversation with him, his English was terrible. I managed to get out of him that the University had required him to complete a six-week English immersion program in Newcastle before he started, but he still couldn't hold a conversation with an easy-to-understand American (his words, not mine.) Let alone read 16th century texts on the British Reformation... I ran into him a few months later and things were 'very bad,' he said. The whole situation made me crazy. It was WRONG to take this guy's money. Wrong.

According to this article from Time magazine, part of the reason students are graduating (if they're graduating at all) with so much debt is because it's taking them longer than the traditional four years to finish. This is partly due to the remedial courses they need, and partly because THEY DON'T KNOW WHY THEY'RE THERE. They don't know what they want to study. They don't know what they want to be when they grow up. So they switch majors and need to take additional classes, or can't get into the ones they need.

I'm sorry, do students not get advisers anymore? When I was in college, I had an adviser who... you guessed it... ADVISED me. She told me what courses I needed and made sure I was on track. I had to get my course sheet signed by her. My college was pretty hands-off, but they still made me go through an adviser. Is this no longer required? Seriously, I'm asking.

We have to stop convincing people that they absolutely need college or they will live a life of misery. Yes, college graduates tend to earn more than non-graduates, but I'm betting if we teased out those statistics, we'd find the very super high earners and the minimum-wage earners probably skew the results. There are plenty of people who don't go to college and do just fine. Managers of restaurants, retail, plumbers, electricians and others who learn a valuable trade. They don't necessarily NEED college. If they want to go, great! But need? Maybe not.

We also have to get over this whole college-as-rite-of-passage thing. A friend of mine is Canadian. She's married to an American and she almost had a fit when her husband said he'd be happy to pay for room and board for their kids to go to a local school, so they could have 'the college experience.' My Canadian friend thought it absolute madness that they should pay thousands for their kids to basically drink, party and hook-up when they could live at home for free.

And sadly, I think that's what college boils down to for many. I'm not saying college shouldn't be an option for anyone who really wants to go and has the ABILITY to GET ACCEPTED, DO THE WORK, GRADUATE and GET A JOB. But we need to stop making it a requirement--be it an employment requirement or a social one--when it isn't really required.

I totally agree that the cost of college is insane. It just gets more insane by the year. Many of my friends are doing the college visit thing with their high school children. The stories I hear of the luxury and opulence at some of these places is unbelievable. I hear tell of 24-hour sushi bars in student centers, dorm rooms with private baths, student gyms with amenities rivaling any posh Manhattan sweat spot. The dorms are like hotels! It's crazy. And for what it's worth, the really good schools don't tend to do this stuff. They don't need to. Yale has enough screamers clawing at their doors, they don't need to fluff up their facilities.

So I think we need to ask our kids, do you really need to go to college? Is there a profession you really want to go into? What interests you? Do you even like school? Or are we just looking at college because that's what's expected? Are we willing to value work--ALL WORK that is good and honest and decent? If a high school kid really loves Snap Circuits and really wants to be an electrician rather than an electrical engineer, can't we be ok with that? Electricians can do very well. Believe me. We've had our house rewired. We know, you know?

Sigh... there's so much more I could say, but I need to empty the dishwasher, which is also good, honest work, by the way.

This Chick and her Eggs: More Thoughts on Aging

Recently I was talking with a friend about my injuries. I have my torn rotator cuff, which I've mentioned before, but I also have something going on with my hip. I think it's to do with my psoas. It's annoying, and both force me to modify my life more than I would like. I joked with her that it's my 'mid-life crisis.'

And it's true. I'm realizing my injuries have really brought on a mid-life crisis of sorts for me. They're forcing me to recognize that my body is changing. My hair is graying, my skin is thinner. I've put on a few pounds that reasonable effort will not remove. I get a little stiff and creaky. I can no longer do some of the high-intensity exercise I enjoy, or at least, not as often. And my cycles have changed--a lot. I'm pretty certain there will be no more little darlings pattering about the house.

Some of these changes are fine. I have no particular longings for more darlings. The two I have occupy my time and affections quite thoroughly. I don't even mind the aesthetic changes... at least, not too much. And my darling husband loves me just as I am... he's a true Mark Darcy in all the best ways, and for that, I am thankful.

I do miss the workouts. I miss the daily lala fix. I don't like being stiff and creaky, and I struggle with what to do with it in my mind. Is this the 'new normal?' Or can I get back some of that youthful vitality with lifestyle changes? If it's the former, then that's fine. I could make my peace with it, but I struggle. Not knowing if improvement is even possible makes me long for it.

But a funny thing happens when I discuss it with others. When I point out to people the obvious: that I am no longer a 'young woman,' that I am firmly within the stage of 'middle age,' they often react very strongly. "You're still young! You're not middle aged!"

Seriously, I've had people say that to me. Um, yes, I am a middle-aged woman. I am no longer young. I may be 'younger than' plenty of people, but if life expectancy has me living into my eighties, then my mid-forties puts me firmly in the middle of life.

Yet as a culture, we seem to be terribly uncomfortable with that truth. A young woman is vital, sexy, full of life and fecundity. A middle-aged woman... even the sound of it conjures an image of a frumpy woman past her 'prime.' We worship youth, we pursue it at great cost. The anti-aging industry is enormously profitable, and they have made it such at we deny the fact that youth is fleeting. The simple fact that we reject the reality that youth has passed reveals our ambivalence about it.

*********************

Years ago I stumbled across a very interesting and entertaining blog called A Chick and Eggs. It was written by a woman who was trying to conceive using donor eggs. (I found it because I was facing up to the fact that at thirty-eight, I had been diagnosed with 'diminished ovarian reserves.' In short, I was running out of eggs. The doctor told me the best he could do for me was IVF with donor eggs. We were not interested in that, and happily I found out a few weeks later that I was already pregnant with Darling Son #2.)

Anyway, this blogger wrote a somewhat controversial post speculating about reproductive technologies used by celebrities. She had no inside knowledge as to how these stars had conceived their children, but based on their ages and other circumstances, she guessed who might have used donor eggs. Realistically, a 45-year-old woman bearing a child has almost certainly not used her own eggs. By our mid-forties, our chances of conceiving on our own are pretty slim. (Maybe you know someone who did, but that's not the norm.)

Many of the comments criticized the blogger for digging into these people's personal lives, that they were entitled to some measure of privacy. While that's true, the blogger held her ground. She pointed out that many celebrities have nearly unlimited funds to pursue the latest in assisted reproductive technologies, plastic surgeries and other enhancements. They live in a world where failing to avail themselves of these opportunities means career suicide, but in doing so, they promote the myth of eternal bloom and fertility. She felt they had a moral obligation to own up to the extreme measures they took to extend their youth and fecundity well past the age when it would naturally be gone.

We live in an age of possibility, and particularly for us Americans, we tend toward relentless optimism. We're told with hard work and hard cash we can extend pert freshness indefinitely. But when we try to tap into all these possibilities, we lose something... that quiet contentment that can come from just... accepting. We're all aging. Time is moving on, and with it's passing we gain some things, and lose others.

Over the last few months, I've been grieving these changes I see in myself. And I'll be honest, all the assurances I get from people that I'm still young! do not help me. The more we deny this reality, the more we entomb the idea that middle-age is this terrible, terrible thing. One that must be denied and battled and beaten into submission. It reminds me of a commercial I saw for face cream years ago. The woman said, 'People talk about aging gracefully. Not me! I'm going to fight it every step of the way!' Good grief. Does this strike anyone else as silly?

I can't help but think I have more important things to do than deny reality and fight the inevitable. Even though I struggle, I must say, for all the vim and vigor I had in my younger days, I realize I wouldn't go back for all the world. I was a neurotic mess at twenty-five! No, thank you. I'll keep my wit and wisdom, and leave the fast-paced burpees to the young.