Chasing Chickens, My Tail, and My Youth

So you know when you are 38 but you swear you are still 35 but feel like 70?  It's a confusing state of mind.  The reality is bitter sweet.  No, you aren't 35 but you aren't 80 either, yet.  My achy joints and lack of memory weigh on the side of 80.  My lack of memory again weighs on the side of 35.  Only in reality is the number 38.  This concept was ever so present the other day.
Chasing My Youth: My cousin and her two lovely children were here from NYC.  While having a family lunch it hit me like a truck full of Depends Diapers that I am getting old.  I've realized this truth over and over but not like this.  Instead of talking about the latest swimsuit fashion, summer plans, and celebrity juice I found myself trying on my cousin's reader glasses.  People, my visual world changed instantly.  There I was having lunch discussing the power of reader glasses while saying to myself, "you know you are old when...".  Suddenly, I was giddy at the thought of just how many reader glasses I can have, how available they are at almost any store and gas station (for reals).  They are like an accessory that come in endless colors and patterns, some with jewels.  Readers are cool.  Except for the part that while trying on the readers, I was taken back to my childhood days when I would pretend I was an old granny by wearing a pair of readers.  As soon as I put them on I transformed in to a 90 year old "Gladys".  I would giggle as I imitated a granny voice and lowered my readers up and down to adjust what I was looking at or who I was talking to while shaking my bony finger.  Later that night my cousin surprised me with a few fashionable readers she picked up at the Dollar Store (I told you they were available just about anywhere).  Looks like I will have sunglasses and readers on my head as I frantically look for my car keys or cell phone.  And while I am wearing them I will only respond to the name "Gladys".

If Kate Spade makes readers, I'm in! Kate Spade Readers

Chasing My Tail: After a beautiful day spent having lunch, discovering readers and counting tadpoles at a park it was time to step back into reality and assume the rest of the day's chores and errands.  I drove home to grab a carton of eggs I needed to deliver.  I only  had a few minutes before I needed to pick up the kids from school so I was flustered looking to and fro for the dozen eggs.  Where were they?  In the fridge?  Nope.  In the freezer (because yes, I've been known to put milk in the cabinet)? Nope.  Check the fridge again.  Nope.  Huff, puff, sigh, put hands on hip and swear to myself, "you are losing your mind" came over me like a hot flash.  Did the eggs grow legs and walk away?  My dad swears this phenomenon can actually happen.    Countless Bic pens went missing by growing legs and walking right out of our house when I was growing up. But eggs growing legs? No. Not possible.  And then the classic light bulb flickered.  Friends, I had already delivered the blasted eggs earlier that day!  This revelation was much like the, "wait, no.  I'm not 35.  I'm 38? Really, 38?  Not 35?" revelation I have on a weekly basis.  

Chasing Chickens: My Farm Girl instinct told me I'd better check the chicken yard before I dashed to get the kids.  My bladder was begging for mercy but I had to check the yard first.  Priorities people, priorities.  Sure enough, a baby chick had escaped and was facing a death match against two K-9's with sharp teeth and drool.  Getting the dogs off the chick was like breaking up a  fight between two felines clawing over a can of sardines.  Chasing a chicken while trying to keep it from the jaws of death is no easy feat.  Pull one dog off, another gets a grip.  Pull that dog off, the chicken runs away.  It was windy and I had on a flowy top which was up over my head.  I may as well have been blind-folded.  Again, where was the camera crew?  As soon as I got my hands on the chicken the, "Oh No You Didn't!" happened.  Not a lot.  Hold your tongue.  Just a little. The "just a little" you experience after having kids and no cough or sneeze is pee-proof safe.  Yeah.  Not my finest moment with my shirt up over my head, chicken in hand, and wet pants.  No time to fuss, I still had to get the kids.  On second thought, maybe Depends aren't a bad idea after all.  I mean, I'm already into readers.  

A few friends think it would be hysterical to see me chasing chickens in these chicken feet heels.

By the end of the day I had two new readers to accessorize with, all my eggs in a basket and a chicken safe and sound.  Oh, and dry pants.  I'm still looking for my mind and deciding which age I truly am.