Truths: The Bermuda Triangle

So, in the last few days I have found myself in what I believe I should call, “the Bermuda triangle of age.”

Too old for one thing – too young for another.

Last weekend my step-daughter and grandson came to visit. It was going to be the bachelorette party and the bridal shower – so Lindsey came into town and we got to watch Oliver. We were very excited.

I guess it all started Friday night when we took Oliver to dinner… Lindsey was already gone. I was walking Oliver around the restaurant when one of the waitresses said, “Oh, mom’s got you now, huh?”

It continued the next morning when Abby and I took Oliver to the farmer’s market and three people proceeded to tell me what a beautiful son I had… When I said he was my grandson – their faces said the rest. Even a lady I am in Garden Club with fumbled for the words when she saw us, “Becky, I didn’t know you had another child?”

Its refreshing of course to hear that you are too young to have a grandchild – to constantly be mistaken as the mom and not the grandma…especially when you are 40 and age seems to be a factor in all that you do…

And just when I was boasting about being young… Saturday night hit – to make me start to question where I stood on the timeline of life.

It was the bachelorette party… The moms were all invited for a champagne toast and to go to dinner with the “girls.”

To me it was merely 8 years ago when my friends and I were sitting in the same place in Lake Geneva celebrating our friend’s bachelorette party – boating in the afternoon, partying in the bars… 8 years ago is a hardly enough to make you feel like you don’t belong right there again.

I happily took my beer from Lindsey and pondered the situation.

We walked our way to dinner where we enjoyed a great meal, more drinks and I got to know Kristin’s friends a little more. Sure they are younger than me by 10 years – but we laughed and told stories of their youth and how they party… and one of their friends was already pretty drunk so she acted as such and we giggled at her expense.

All through the night I couldn’t help but keep weighing what my next step would be… do I leave and act like a responsible adult – the stepmom of the bride, whom I am supposed to be? Or do I just act on my natural instinct and party until 2am with girls I can actually see myself hanging out with.

Sigh…

I guess Oliver was the determining factor. I knew that I would be the one waking up with him the next morning and coming home at 3am – probably wouldn’t cut it. And so, Judy, the groom’s mom, and I graciously said our goodbyes and the whole drive home I second guessed my actions.

Sunday hit and that was the bridal shower. Abby and I arrived late – because I am not used to getting a baby ready and myself… and when we got there the tables were full-up and it appeared the only opening was with some older ladies – which would have been okay and I am sure we would have found something to talk about but when I caught a glimpse of some seats with Kristin’s friends I think I sprinted to the table.

I wanted to re-capture what they had… I wanted to remember what it was like to be hungover at your friend’s bridal shower – I wanted to hear what I missed out on the night before – even if the truth was they didn’t remember much of it.

And then just when I was in the midst of questioning where the Hell I belonged – yesterday came…

Reality basically hit me upside the head as I was standing outside the dressing rooms at Hollister. If you have never been there – first you are lucky – but let me describe what you are missing…

On the outside of the store – there is no name – instead you walk onto a porch that looks like it should be in Key West, you pass surfboards and California photographs until you find yourself standing in the dark, adjusting your eyes and wishing they would turn down the damn music.

Just when your eyes adjust, your pre-teen daughter demands that you follow her around – even though anytime you offer your opinion she rolls her eyes and walks away… That is until she screams your name from a dark corner and expects you to offer another opinion which she will immediately ignore.

Once in a great while she actually says, “Oh, you think so – you like it – I guess I could try it on.”

And that is when you make your way to the small space they call a dressing room identified by the CA signs that read, “Clothing optional beyond this point.” How cute.

You can only take 5 items into the dressing room probably because the lights are so dim – it would be easy to shoplift a few. And since the rooms are too small for more than one person to be in – I get to stand outside under the clothing optional sign waiting.

There are no seats to relax in – the music still blaring and my eyes still hazy from being in the dark…No I just stand and wait.

And then it happens – another mom and her preteen daughter enter into the zone and she finds herself in my same position… holding the unallowed 6th and 7th items, standing and waiting.

We both stood there and many times I was about to say something like, “What is wrong with this place? Don’t they know that its us parents who are buying the clothes – can’t they afford better lighting – don’t they think the music is too loud for anyone to think?”

But, I couldn’t say it – I just couldn’t allow myself to actually speak the words – because as I played them in my head all I really heard was, “You are old, you are old, you are old.”

Forget the many cherished moments of the weekend where I was reminded I still have “it.” It doesn’t matter that I could still have my own 10 month old son…

No, the reality is that I am the real 40… The irritated mother of a preteen girl, the middle aged woman who needs both light and quiet to think about what I want to buy and who could really use a chair to sit in as she waits for her emotionally unbalanced daughter to walk out of the dressing room rolling her eyes at my mere existence.

It’s a Bermuda triangle I say… a place where time exists only in the words and actions which surround you… One minute too young to be old and the other too old to be young.

And like the tales of the triangle – once you go in – you never come out.