Happy New Year to Me

This Sunday, I embark upon the next year of my life. Although many people mistake me for a person younger than I am, there are some who take pleasure in pointing out to others my real age. Not that I mind if people know, it’s just the way they find out about it.

I know that in their Sunday school classes, my children will tell their teachers that it is Mommy’s birthday and each of the respective teachers will regale me with whatever other personal information those children have shared about me. There are no family secrets when it comes to Sunday school teachers. I know. I have experienced this from both sides of the fence.

There’s the SIL, who delights in mentioning that I am the “eldest of the siblings in the McKeever clan.” What will she come up with next? Here are some suggestions for you, S, so you don’t have to think too hard: the first chick to hatch, the sis who barely missed being a baby-boomer, the one who’s over halfway though her life expectancy, the one who could have died if she had lived in Egypt at the time of the Exodus…

Of course, taking a look into my cabinet might reveal a lot, too. The glucosamine-chondroitin and the arthritis rub suggest a person closer to her dotage. The boxes of hair color are vain attempts to keep my hair as close to it’s natural shade as possible. (I’ve had gray hairs since I was in college so they cannot be blamed upon the aforementioned children.)

Other beauty products include things labeled “radiance boosting” and “enhanced radiance.” I told my mom about the “radiance” thing. She advised me not to mention that to my youngest sister because “radiant” was one of those words that Charlotte spun in her web over Wilbur and she didn’t think I would want to be associated with “some pig.”

Ahh, middle age.