Generation Exhausted

Vanity, thy name is...me.

It warms the cockles of my heart (I said cockles, people. LLLLSSSS. Relax.) that Kim saw the news of yesterday's local fire/explosion/toxic smoke/evacuation and thought to check on me. How can my family consider these people who live on the Internet to be my IMAGINARY friends?! Of course, if she were really REALLY worried, she would have called. But still.

Alas, it being a largish city, we were not affected by the fire/evacuation, although we do know someone who knows someone. Oddly enough, even though the fire was a mere ten blocks to the north and five blocks to the east, I couldn't even see the "ominous cloud of smoke" that the radio alluded to all day long.

I went bathing suit shopping last night. Swim season is upon us, and my last bathing suit was purchased in 2000. I loved that bathing suit, but last summer's trip to the water park revealed that continuing to wear it might get me arrested. In short, it was wearing out.

The shopping was not as fraught with anxiety as I expected, but it did give me a glimpse into my inner insecurities. I'm a tiny girl, with no butt and very little in the way of padding on the front of my torso, if you know what I mean. I'm not afraid to wear a two-piece, although I insist on boy-leg bottoms. But as I tried on bathing suits, the top was giving me issues.

See, I've had three kids. And if you've had three kids and managed to avoid stretch marks, well, good for you. I didn't. And my stretch marks tended to be in the torso area. Follow? So I was concerned that the bikini tops weren't leaving as much to the imagination as I would have liked.

I ultimately made a decision, but I may end up wearing a t-shirt over my bathing suit all summer. We'll see. And hey, it cost me less than $20.

All is well. Sorry about the rain - we had a baseball game scheduled this afternoon, ergo, it must rain. What a perfect excuse to get some work done on my novel.

Pondering

Now that the Province of Ontario has declared that Oldest has sufficient skill to operate a motor vehicle without me sitting in the seat beside her, exactly how long will it be before I stop clutching the door handle and gritting my teeth?

And it doesn't mean I have to let her take the car, does it? Because I'm nervous enough when I'm WITH her - can you imagine what a basket case I'll be when she's on the road on her own?

My baby's got a driver's licence. Hold me.

Tuesdays just won't be the same

"Are you made of STONE?"

That was my question to hubby last night as he shook his head in amused disbelief at the sight of myself, Middle and Youngest snuffling and weeping our way through the last 20 minutes of the Gilmore Girls series finale last night. I doled out Kleenex(tm) and we continued let our tears flow, unashamed.

Rory hit the road, Luke and Lorelai kissed, and another favourite TV show rolled credits for the last time. It's always hard to say goodbye.

"You know they're not real, right mom?" Oldest asked with mild disdain when I watched the ending with her - and wept through it - again - a couple of hours later. "It's just a SHOW."

Yep, it's just a show. And shows end and life goes on-  after all, Cheers ended eons ago, and the world didn't stop spinning. But thinking about it, I realize that the tears weren't just about leaving Stars Hollow.

In last night''s final episode, there's a moment where Lorelai realizes that Emily's badgering isn't about wanting to run her life, or about a mother disagreeing with a daughter's choices. You can see the understanding dawn - Emily just wants to know that Lorelai's going to keep on showing up for Friday night dinner.

Every Tuesday night for the last several years, my girls and I have gathered together in the living room to watch Gilmore Girls. My girls and I. There aren't very many things that a thirty-something, two teens and a ten-year-old have in common. But come Tuesday, we'd find a way to make sure everyone had a comfy seat in the living room, and for 60 minutes, it was just the girls, watching Gilmore Girls. No phone calls with friends, no Instant Messaging, no homework. Just us - the girls and The Girls.

Oh sure, there'd be bickering once in a while, as we'd argue about leaving the light on or off, or whether or not someone was (or wasn't) sharing the potato chips. And sometimes, due to conflicting schedules, we'd end up watching GG in shifts in smaller groups. (God bless satellite TV!) But most of the time, we'd end up in front of the TV together. There'd be a collective exasperated sigh as Luke and Lore messed it up yet again, or a shared cheer when they finally seemed to be getting it right. We agonized together through the season of Lorelai and Rory's disconnect, and wept as a group when they finally reunited. We discussed endlessly whether Logan was really Rory's lobster, and who we'd rather see her end up with, Dean or Jess. We chuckled at witty banter and smiled together whenever Paris pontificated.

My girls and I.

Oldest is on the cusp of adulthood, ready to take control of her own life as university beckons. Middle's not far behind. And Youngest is looking around, wondering what her own teen years will be like in the shadow of the sisters that came before her. My nest is far from empty - but the day my chicks fly on their own is drawing closer with each passing year. They're finding their own paths, forming their own lives, and more and more there are parts that don't include each other.

Saying goodbye to Lorelai et al feels like saying goodbye to the closeness and cameraderie, the "we" time that was a virtual guarantee every week. I don't know about my daughters, but I think that my tears were as much about that as anything else. Now that the Girls are gone, when will MY girls and I come together? Will we find something else to replace Tuesday nights?

I suppose we could always start our own Friday Night Dinners.

Age-defying

My Avon order arrived tonight, and the children were teasing me because it included some "age-defying" sunscreen. "Age-defying, mom?" they said. "Really? How sad."

As I'm trying to instill responsible spending habits in the girls, I didn't want to admit that my original reason for the choice was the nifty gift-with-purchase: a funky beach tote-type bag.

So I pointed out my secondary reason. A few weeks ago, I saw a TV commercial that mentioned "microscopic fine lines" and offered a product to make them go away. "Pshaw," I thought. (yes, I really though "pshaw." I have such a broad vocabulary.) "It will be years before I have to worry about that," my thoughts continued.

But then I wondered, and my mind wandered, and I went to the mirror to have a look.  And there, beside my eyes, I saw them. You know how when you smile, your eyes crinkle at the corners? Mine no longer un-crinkle completely. There are fine lines.

I'd like to think they're all laugh lines, and that their presence indicates that my life until now has been pretty hilarious. But there are worry lines too. So today I pointed them out to the children.

"This one is called Oldest. And this one is Middle and this one is Youngest."

They did not appreciate my humor, and wanted to know if they could have the tote bag.

Lessons Learned On A Girl Guide Field Trip

1. A dozen pre-teen girls, when gathered together for a 30-hour excursion to Toronto, do not necessarily have the capacity to "shape up and sing as a group." Nor can they form a straight line.

2. This generation is accustomed to McDonalds being delivered through the window of the family minivan. This is the only explanation I can fathom to account for how flummoxed many of them were when faced with the prospect of standing in line and ordering their own food.

3. Children truly believe that Fruitopia and Pringles - preferably from a vending machine - meet the requirements of Canada's Guide To Healthy Eating.

4. The fifth child to ask "What time is it?' in a ten minute period is the unfortunate recipient of the chaperone's exasperation.

5. When you tell twelve kids "Stand here," three of them will follow the instruction immediately. Four of them will ask "Why?' Two more will say, "Do we need to bring our bags with us?", two will say "Where are we going?", and one will say "She's standing in my spot."

6. TTC bus drivers don't necessarily consider it their mission in life to help visitors navigate their way around the city.

7. Subway lottery kiosk operators have an interesting way of giving directions. "Go down those stairs, turn left, and then ask someone else."

8. Thirty-five years old is NOT too old to enjoy being silly in the photo booth. Particularly if you're making funny faces at the camera alongside your ten-year-old.

9. Thirty-five may however be a little too old to sleep on the floor and still be able to walk a few miles the next day.

10. Watching a Pepsi and Mentos explosion is still funny, even if you've seen it a million times before.