My Wrinkled Christmas Blessings

Last Friday Greg and I went to his company Christmas party. As I was getting ready for the party, I looked at myself in the mirror and this is what I saw: more crows feet than I should have, age spots on my forehead, small lines starting around my lips (already!), a behind that continues to grow by the day, and a sweater that was clearly made for someone over the age of 60. Oh well, I thought. This is what I look like. At least my teeth are still white. Let’s go!

Many of the people Greg works with are our age or older. It’s a job that requires training and experience, and isn’t generally for young, immature types. There is one young man, 22, of whom Greg thinks highly. He introduced us, and my only thoughts were, “Wow! This man is just a boy. He’s so young!” When did 22 start to feel like another generation? It is another generation, at this point. I’m a whole decade older than him, but I think that the reality of being in my 30’s has just recently hit me. I know, I know. I’m not old by a long shot, but I feel old, and I believe the saying is “you’re only as old as you feel.”

Aside from my college pals, 85% of my friends are older than me. I have always felt that I had more in common with those 15 years or more my senior than with most people my own age. Someone once told me I was an “old soul.” I don’t know if she meant it as a compliment or not, but I think it was true, to a large degree. So why now am I having a mini mid-life crisis of sorts? Why do I feel so uncomfortable in this old skin?

This morning while grocery shopping and pushing a sleeping Andrew around in the cart, a woman stopped me and said, “Oh to change places with him!” “Yeah,” I said, “except for the growing up part. I wouldn’t want to do that again.” That’s the truth too. I wouldn’t want to have to grow up again. Granted, it would be nice to nap whenever I wanted, to not be burdened with the worries of bills and responsibilities, but all in all, the process of growing up is painful. I’m glad I’m already grown.

Maybe it’s the time of year, or just the changes that come with having a baby and quitting work (yes, I’m apparently still hung-up on that issue), or these dog-gone headaches that have plagued me for the last 6 months that have me feeling old. This time of year, as many people do, I think back on my family traditions and wonder where the time has gone. I always wonder , too, how things would be different if my grandmother were still living. It’s dumb to think that way - completely counter-productive and pure speculation at that, but I can’t help it. I remember the Christmas parties she used to have each year with the whole family. Even those so far removed that we no longer knew how we were related, came. One year when I was 4 or 5, I fell out of bed, cut my chin and ended up with a few stitches. I remember some of the gifts we gave and received - my sister once got a pink power wheels scooter and my aunt Kathy gave all of the girls fake Cabbage Patch dolls with really ugly noses. Once my mother gave my grandparents a very large (by today’s standards) cordless phone and answering machine combo. My grandfather said , “What do we need that for?" He's always had a way with words! (I also remember that phone clearly picked up entire conversations when the neighbors would talk on their own phone! ) My cousins and I used to make a “fort” under the basement steps and would try to scare the adults coming unknowingly along. There are so many memories, I could write forever.

After my grandmother died, my mother took on the role of hosting the Christmas parties. I have just as many good memories at our house too. One year, my aunt Carmen looked out at the tinsel pieces scattered across the lawn and said, as only Carmen could, “Oh Kris, I love what you’ve done with your lawn!” Another year, no men would agree to play Santa (those idiots!) so Carmen - all 5 feet of her, dressed up and played the part. There isn’t another soul like Carmen, and we are so blessed to have her in our lives still.

Now that I am married, the Christmas parties have been moved to our home. I’m glad to host them. It’s a tradition that I proudly take as my responsibility, as long as everyone wants me to do it. My mom, dad and aunts still do all of the menu planning and cooking, which makes it all the better for me! And it is but one of the things in my life that I can honestly look at and say without doubt, that age has improved. As I type this, Andrew is in his jumpy seat. Every time I look his way, he grins from ear to ear and jumps faster. That’s another benefit of age - having my own children, and knowing what true blessings they are.

The fact that my body no longer looks like it used to (and will continue to deteriorate!) is really a small price to pay for the accumulation of such blessings and good memories that my life has brought me and will continue to bring. I’m waiting for the time when I am completely comfortable in my own skin and I no longer feel the grief of the loss of physical youth. Does that actually happen? It must, because in many ways, I know that I am much more comfortable with myself now than I was when I was 20, despite actually looking worse! I guess this has been a long way of saying that, although in many ways I don’t feel beautiful anymore, I’m still happy about where I am in my life, and I wouldn’t change trade it for a thing….


…..except maybe a nice tight butt, thighs, stomach and some firm, solid C cup boobs (oh, wait! I never had those in the first place!)