Other things that make you feel old as a white-bearded Shaman
We are scheduled to take the oldest hoodlum to his second college campus visit this week. This is so weird to me since I also have been looking at colleges recently.
And by recently I mean in 1995.
It oddly doesn't sound recent when I say it that way but I swear to you it seems like not that long ago. I still wear my hair in Pippi Longstocking braids for the love of Pete, I can't be that old.
I wear funky shoes and jeans with an appropriate amount of holes. I'm young.
Until someone who is ACTUALLY young calls me ma'am.
Then I'm dirt. Because I died.
Okay, I'm not dead. BUT I'M NOT A MA'AM EITHER YOU OVER-SIZED TODDLER - YOU CAN JUST STOP THAT SILLY NONSENSE, THANK YOU!
Oddly enough, even though I am well aware of my age, this new phase confuses me. I wear baseball caps and Pippi braids because its quick and gets me out the door. I wear tennis shoes with chunky heels because I'm obsessed with shoes and do not put enough stock in my appearance to warrant needing actual heels. I love walking around college campuses because I find them beautiful... and there she is. The old person rearing her head in this story.
I find campuses beautiful. I'm not there to check out if there are a multitude of hot guys (as perhaps was on my checklist in '95.) I like to hear about the history of the buildings and the changes and the new additions. I adore walking around and touring with a certain 17-year old. And he's my son.
Therein lies the shocking side. When you get to be the parent who has college-bound children, you realize somewhere between your own college life and raising this almost-college student - you did little more than take a couple camping trips and click your heels three times like Dorothy.
That's how fast it went.
Click, click, click - you're not in Kansas anymore. You're not 17 anymore. Hell, you're not even 27 anymore.
You've got a kid heading to college. Maybe more behind that one.
So much has changed.
Except that financial aid talk. No matter how old I get, that session still bores me to tears. Thank goodness for financial-minded husbands who are willing to listen intently.
I'll just be sitting here covertly playing tic tac toe on the back of the sheet with the 17-year old.
Don't tell me to act my age.