This child is going to push me into my grave. I take that back. To get away from her and her attitude issues I may just jump in myself. I'll even dig the damn hole. Second thought, I want to be cremated. I'll jump into an active volcano and save the associated expense.
Not long ago she was the sweet daughter who kept telling me I looked so young, who, when I'd complain about a wrinkle here or a grey hair there, would say, "I don't see anything! You're nuts!" Now, this same child has begun insisting women older than I am look younger. When I stopped the car at a pedestrian crossing, to let a woman with her shopping cart walk across, my daughter made some comment about her looking, "like, 20 or something." The woman was at least a decade older, but my daughter declared, "Well, she looks younger."
She's started making age jokes, rolling her eyes at me for even noticing any sort of fashion that's "too young for me." She even said, last weekend when I bought her a dress for her dance (a nice – READ: expensive – dress for her upcoming dance this Saturday), that I probably don't have any jewelry for her to borrow "that kids her age would wear…"
Jewelry. Jewelry? It's not like I wear clip on earrings or something (apologies to you if you do). I don't have a bejeweled "necklace" to hold my glasses around my neck. Unlike the queen of England, I don't have matching hats for all my sensible dresses. Hats with those little nets, and maybe a flower in a complimentary color. Now my jewelry's too old for her?
Oh, did I mention? My fine jewelry's still okay. Anything with a diamond or other precious stone passes the age test. In fact, I've lost track of pretty much everything but my wedding ring and 10-year anniversary ring. Hmm. Wonder where it's gone.
At least my boys will never make age digs. They have such a dread of me aging and eventually dying they won't say a word about anything pertaining to looks, or changes thereof. But my memory and attention span? That's fair game.
I was putting the dishes in the dishwasher early this morning, talking to my son while making coffee and mentally figuring out how on earth I'd be able to do all I needed to do and still shower and get to work - cognitive multi-tasking, we'll call it. During my musings I apparently absent-mindedly took out the dishwasher soap and put it on the counter above the dishwasher. Then I opened the cabinet door again, declaring, "Don't tell me we're out of dishwasher soap!"
Middle child replied, "Umm, Mom. You just put that on the counter."
That is pretty sad. Frightening, and sad.
My youngest looks at it from more of a "how can I profit from this?" angle. This morning he was telling me about a kid in his class whose mom put a dog treat in his lunch, presumably for a joke. After I laughed and said that was pretty funny, he said, "I'll tell you again in six weeks, when you've forgotten, and see how you react then."
Fifteen minutes or so later, in the car, I handed him money for lunch. Two minutes later he asked, "Mom, are you going to give me that money for lunch?"
"That," I told him, I REMEMBER."
I probably don't help my own cause. There's a TV commercial on lately about a man who realizes his elderly wife is getting absent-minded. The commercial's for an Alzheimer's drug. When the man muses his wife's only getting worse, I like to complete the thought with, "It's time to have her put down…"
I can't help my maudlin sense of humor, even if it occasionally backfires on me. That's what they call a blessing and a curse. Or sheer stupidity. I get those two mixed up. But there is one thing I can do. One thing capable of striking fear in all three of my kids. It's called "revising my will." And you don't know me if you think I won't use that one as a bargaining chip.
Next time one of them makes a crack about grey hair, or my having a "senior moment," I'll lay it on them. I can hear my youngest now, "Mom, in a year you won't even remember you said that…"
The scary thing is, he's probably right.
Mental note: Stop and pick up more dishwasher detergent.