Tuesday, June 2, 2009


Sunday afternoon after church, Kenny called out for me from the living room:

“Mom! Mom! You’re going to be 40 this year.”
“Yep. Are you throwing me a party?”
“Mom! When you turn 40 you lose your pizzazz!”

Thanks a lot Kenny. I don’t know what my “pizzazz” is but apparently it’s not long for this world.

Early this morning I sat down and filled out new patient forms for Josh’s first appointment with the ophthalmologist later in the day. I hate filling out these forms for kids. Questions about marital status, illegal drug use, anxiety, and depression seem a little absurd when the patient is 3 years old. And they always make me feel a little more, I don’t know, mortal. Do you have glaucoma, cataracts, macular degeneration? Retinal detachment, colorblindness, amblyopia? Perhaps a history of cancer, diabetes, heart disease, or high blood pressure? Good grief, enough already. Maybe I am going to lose my pizzazz.

Later in the morning I attended the funeral of Curt Colvin, the father of my dear friend Kerrilynn Robinson. There’s nothing like a funeral to focus your thoughts on how short our life here really is. On how much time we may have already wasted. It was the kick in the pants I needed to quit wasting time feeling old and potentially decrepit. It’s not easy though. We spend so much of our lives essentially defining ourselves in terms of our youth that it can be a little bewildering when we begin to realize we’re moving on to the next stage. Or maybe already have.

Later at the ophthalmologist’s office we had an extra long wait because Dr. Karen decided to dilate Josh’s eyes (oh the humanity!). As we were leaving, Michael Jr. told me an idea had come to him while he was waiting for us. An invention. The green transportation of the future. Something about thrust and propulsion and turbines. I said I thought that was great. Sierra told him, “Mom just wants you to get rich so you can take care of her and buy her golden diapers!” They probably wouldn’t be surprised if I put Depends in the shopping cart next time we’re at Wal-Mart! Dear Lord, grant me the patience to endure my blessings . . .

I think getting older will probably come with its own blessings but I’m not there yet. Isn’t 50 the new 30?
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