The other day I was chatting with my neighbor, Kate.
Kate was super excited, because she had just met our newest neighbors. They had just moved in to the house next to Kate's "And the best part," Kate gushed "She's 25! Someone who's FINALLY my age. Well closer anyway."
Admittedly, Kate's still not old enough to legally drink, so it's kind of like asking Alex how old he think someone is. Everyone is either; 1) younger than him. 2) his age. 3) The crypt keeper.
Okay, not really. He doesn't know anything about the crypt keeper. Now that I think about it, he probably doesn't know what a crypt is.
The point is, I don't appreciate being thought of as "old". I have been SEVENTEEN for years. Years, people!
Most people believe me without question.
I remember when Alex was a baby. Strangers would approach me in the grocery store and ask if it was hard being in high school with a baby. I would be aghast that they would dare to make such an assumption, and quick to let them know that I was in fact, NOT a high school student. I really can't pinpoint when, or even why, but at one point I figured I should just embrace it.
And that's when I became seventeen indefinitely.
(Me and my mom. Taken in May. My youthful looks come honestly!)
In the last year I've been asked if I was the boys' babysitter (and what my rates were). And my personal favorite, while ALONE at the hospital I asked for directions to the allergy clinic, the person behind the desk refused to give me directions for anything other than the pediatric clinic.
Unfortunately, as Alex gets older it makes it harder for me to tell people that I'm seventeen. He'll gasp and yell "MAMA!"
When an older child calls you "mama", people have a harder time believing you're not old enough to drink.
Sometimes kids ruin a good thing.
I can only assume that when Kate did the math (8 year old + 2 year old + sews(?!) + makes cheesy 90's references), she came up with the only logical explanation….
I'm 84 years old.