Another Year Younger

When I was a little girl, I always knew exactly how old I was.  If you would ask me, I would proudly announce that I was four and a half or nine and seven eighths, or even that I would be twelve in exactly four months, nine days and three hours. 

Knowing exactly how old I was very important to me.  That’s why I didn’t  understand why my mother couldn’t seem to keep track of how old she was.  Someone would ask her and I would burst into peals of laughter as she would tell the year and tell the asker to figure it out for themselves.  She wasn’t being a smart mouth, she simply couldn’t remember.  Mom always claimed that her age constantly changed and she shouldn’t be expected to keep track of something so silly.  Poor Mom…

A few years ago, I realized that it was getting harder and harder to keep track of my age.  I had come to agree with my mother that it was a silly thing  to worry about anyways.  For a while, I just told anyone that was interested that I was twenty-nine.  It seemed like a nice number to stop aging at. That was until my girls my girls decided to stop going along with it…

So, I relied on others to let me know how old I was.  At least until Shaun decided that it would be fun to mess with me.  He would add or subtract years as the urge came to him.  (I can’t imagine that this would surprise anyone that knows my husband.) 

This year, despite all of Shaun’s sabotage, I knew with absolute certainty that  I was turning forty-six.  Then KT informed me that I was mistaken…I was really going to be forty-five.  Sigh…

So, if you ask me today, I will proudly tell you that I am forty-five and one day.  If you ask me in a month or so…well…most likely I will tell you to do the math….


I’m working on a list of things to do within the next year.  Check it out at the top under 45 Things.  I’d love more suggestions!

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