Going Gray

I am aging.  It is a fact of life.  However recently there have been some pretty significant reminders that I am getting older.  That my outside self is starting to show some wear and tear.  First of all, I have gray hairs.  Can I get a shocked gasp and a proclamation of "NO! You are WAY too young for gray hair!"? No...oh well, a girl can fish right?!  I haven't colored my hair since before my latest pregnancy and this time around some white coarse friends have sprouted at the front of my hairline.  They wave to me in the morning and remind me that yes, I am old enough for gray hair.  I refuse to pluck them, I have very little hair and need to keep what I have no matter the color.  But I will cover them up as soon as I start generating my own disposable income.
I have recently invested in some rather expensive face cream.  At the risk of sounding like a spokesperson, I do feel a difference in the texture of my skin but I still have those thin lines that are deepening around my eyes and mouth.  Maybe in a couple weeks I will look like the "after" picture.   I may never inject toxin into my face, but it sure does get tempting.  My logical brain is proud of my smile lines.  It means that I have smiled easily and often in my life.  I am not so proud of my frown lines that have come from years of habitually crinkling my brow while studying and in the most recent years from scolding my children by giving them "the look".  You know "the look", the one that gives mommy wrinkles!   
Not so long ago at a company party, I was approached by a man.  In previous years this man has told me how beautiful I am and that I should model.  I haven't suggested an eye exam to him, I only look forward to this annual boost to my ego.  However, this year it was my haircut.  As I primped when he approached awaiting the gushing compliments I was sure to come, I tried not to appear deflated when he talked about my chic wedge bob.  The haircut that I and all of my other mom friends have in our effort to have a quick morning routine and still be able to look hot.  Oh goodness, I have some work to do!
The other day I was wrestling with my little man.  He is three and loves that rough play that boys need to release their energy.  Plus all the parenting articles state that boys show and receive affection better through physical interaction.  Hence, I was wrestling and I was LOSING!  I was losing to my three year old.  I was transported back in time to the days I would fight with my brother.  I started recruiting some of my long dormant defensive maneuvers to keep Jack from hurting me.  I felt every inch of this thirty something year old body and got totally dominated by a preschooler.  He actually stopped and asked me to quit putting my hands up in front of my face.  I obliged and proceeded directly to being tackled.
I am old enough to have three children.  Three!  I have brought three beautiful humans into the world.  My body is worse for the wear, but when I think back on the last six years of being either pregnant or nursing I am floored at the awesomeness of this achievement.  It is a gift that I do not take for granted.  Many days I wonder whether it is really me who is living this life or am I in a Freaky Friday situation.  Am I dreaming or do I really have a great husband who loves me and three rug rats who make me laugh and want to pull out my hair all in a matter of minutes.  I am getting older and I am pleased beyond words that this is my life!
I will likely hold on to many things that make me feel young.  You may call them guilty indulgences.  I do realize that when I am dancing in Zumba I am no longer the cute girl with some great moves,  I am the mom trying to shake off some of these birthing hips.  I don't keep up the way that I used to and I think if I attempted a high kick I may end up on crutches.  Reality is a tough pill to swallow.  I fry my brain with mindless reality television.  I have not missed an episode of the Bachelor, ever, since it started.  Yes, I mean since the very first episode when I was a college student piled on a sectional sofa with my sorority sisters laughing and making catty comments about twenty five women vying for the attention of one man.  Add that to the Twilight series and dance shows and you could say my interests are on par with any teenager immersed in pop culture. 
Inside my mind I am still young and spry.  I feel like I could step onto a soccer field and still be able to compete.  I can imagine dancing on stage and executing a perfect pirouette.   I feel put together and then I glimpse this frumpy woman in the mirror and realize that I still have some baby weight to work off.   Tonight I am jamming to some Justin Beiber.  His song is blasting from the toothbrush my five year old is using to brush her teeth.  Today I was responsible for the livelihood of three little people, one of whom relies on me for her nourishment and every need.  Today I worked for my family and also started a new job.  Today I probably got another gray hair.  I am all grown up.  I have a family.  I have the life I always dreamed of.  Tomorrow I will wake up another day older, wiser, more experienced.  I am meshing my internal self with my external one.  I will cherish every kiss from my children, every new experience because I know how fleeting these moments are.  My age doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, it is how I feel.  I feel young and I feel thankful. I am a Mommy and I think that gray hairs are all part of the deal.

Backsliding

I am tired of washing sheets and pants with pee on them.  No matter how carefully I fold the sheets and mattress pad together, I always manage to put my hand right on the pee spot as I am loading it into the washing machine.  Just now, as I got my little buddy undressed and ready for a midday bath I stepped back onto the pee soaked jeans he just napped in.  Awesome.  Kind of like the puddle of pee I discovered on the floor yesterday in the guest bathroom after I sat down on a very wet seat.  Lesson learned, natural light is not enough next time I will turn on the light.  I am beginning to smell wafts of piss in the air, like a sixth sense of mommyhood.
Our little man is backsliding in a big way in the potty department.  It started after Christmas and has snowballed since then.  He is sporadic with the gifts in the pull up in the morning and no bribe has been convincing enough to return to regular deposits in the potty.  He is peeing his pants again. The most common occurrence is while he is playing.  He just doesn't want to stop to take the potty break.  So you know, it is cool to pee your pants and just keep running.  He gets quite a bit more play time in the backyard before one of us notices that the front of his pants are soaked.  
The frustrating part is that he just doesn't care.  Ball of poop on his hiney, no biggie.  Wet pants in 60 degree weather while he is running outside, not a care.  If his shoe is squishy that gets his attention.  But he just asks for new shoes, not new pants.  Accident while napping, score a mid day bathtub party.  I wish I knew the key to this little boy's motivation.  He is the sweetest and most loving little person who is striving to keep some control in his little world.  I just wish bodily functions were not the way he has decided to retaliate against us, his parents. 
We brought home a new baby who has taken his place in Mommy's arms.  Poop in the pants for that one.  A new home in a new city, take that mom I'm peeing in my pants.  New school and having to make new friends, order up some pee on the floor for those strikes. 
One day Jack will read this and be mortified that I put out a narrative of his backsliding of potty training.  I deal daily in the business of poop and pee and as long as it is happening regularly, I am a happy mommy.  However, I want it regularly happening in the place it belongs.