Okay, so I'm not actually a "soccer mom," in that my boys don't play the sport. But I am a woman who stays at home, whose time is primarily devoted to domestic life. My place in this world has been the object of much consideration since electing to stay home with the boys eight years ago. And lately my place, in terms of my age, has drawn a good bit of my attention.
I'm 38, and 40 is looming large as I celebrate this milestone with my best friend and my sister this year. Many other things have sharply brought this reality to me. One is the reflection in the mirror -- when did I get those lines beside my eyes (do I really have to call them wrinkles!)? When did Miss Clairol become an intimate acquaintence? And how many lotions and creams are required in just daily maintenance?!
Pop culture dates me as well. I remember when the previous three Indiana Jones movies debuted. I remember Jimmer Rogers wearing a fedora to class in homage to Indy. I remember when Michael Jackson's Thriller was #1 for 37 weeks straight, and boys wore zippered jackets like MJ wore in the "Beat It" video. I remember when Tom Cruise slid across the floor in "Risky Business" and serenaded Kelly McGillis in "Top Gun."
I feel like this was all yesterday, and it's impossible to wrap my mind around the fact that Tom Cruise has been making movies for 25 years, Indiana Jones (i.e. Harrison Ford) is a 60+-year-old man, and Thriller is 25 years old and Michael Jackson is ... well, what can I say there? Wow, all of the cliches are true -- time marches on, time flies, time is of the essence...
But even as the reality of all of this sinks in, I marvel at the goodness of today, the blessings of my life, the mystery of growing up (a continual process), and the fun in being a child of the 80s. Another cliche rings true: There's no time like the present. Indy's on yet another adventure, Tom is still making movies, and I'm learning to age -- sometimes grudingly, sometimes glumly, and sometimes (smile) gracefully.