Time goes on...

Last weekend was Mother's Day. Not that we've ever been huge celebrants of these non-Big-3 holidays, but this year...I dunno. It was significant for me.

Mom and I are coming off of a great year. Perhaps it's because of the few conflicts that we've had, and addressed, I feel like we're closer than ever. I was very happy to be home spending time with her in the kitchen.

Growing up in the United Methodist Church, I remember on these parent holidays being forced to pass out little gifts to the respective celebrated parent. For instance, one year we gave the dads little fir trees. In the middle of the service, they'd have all the children pass these gifts out. It was always very difficult to determine as a child which adults were actually fathers and which were men without children. Deciphering this was made more difficult by the fact that all the children were passing these gifts out, rather than sitting by their fathers.

Now, flash forward from my childhood to last Sunday, Mother's Day 2008. As is typical when I stay at home, I arrived at church by myself (later than Mom and Dad). As I walked in, I saw small children with baskets of something, obviously for the mothers. One small girl shyly said to me, "Happy Mother's Day" and extended her basket. I smiled and said, "No thanks, I'm good."

Around the next corner, before entering the sanctuary, I met two fathers of friends of mine. In the midst of our brief conversation, another small girl approached me. "Happy Mother's Day," she said, struggling to hold up the heavy-laden basket.
Because my friends were standing there, I knew that I had to have a response. "Oh, honey," I said as smoothly as I could, "I don't need one because I'm not a mother."
The guys laughed and one muttered, "Not yet," under his breath. I shot him a Lana Look of Death.

Thinking she'd understand and walk away, I was surprised to see her stand her ground.
"But my grandmother said," she pointed into the next room, "that all the older ladies, even if they're NOT mothers are supposed to get a cookie."

I gawked.

Older lady. Even though I'm not one to care much about age and the aging process, being labeled as an older lady at twenty-five is quite disturbing. I remember a story by a fifty-something woman I worked with at a public library. She could recount the precise time when she was first called "ma'am". It crushed her. She cried. Her whole perception of herself was shattered. At the time of her story, I thought her reaction a bit much. HOWEVER, after Sunday's little interaction, I'm beginning to grasp the significance of these moments.

Part of my issue is that the comment by this little girl came in the same week that a few of my friends commented on a couple of pictures hanging on my fridge. These photos were snapped during my senior year, only three short years ago. Yet, Danny mentioned that I looked so young.

"What, do I look old now?" I asked him. He withheld a response.

When explaining all this to Scott, he looked at me, shrugged and said, "Well, Lana. You are half-way to fifty." Thank you for that, dear friend!

I guess I was set up for disaster because for about six or seven years, I looked exactly the same. When I went to college, my grandmother changed out my senior picture for the one from my freshman year of high school. We all understood that for all intents and purposes, I had not changed.

Maybe I hit a wall at twenty-five. Maybe it's all downhill from here. Maybe I was just shocked to find out that even though this has been the most fun and exciting year of my life, lack of sleep and time in general are taking a toll on me. Who knows.

Welcome to the Older Lady side of life.