Aging

I was planning on aging gracefully, and my motto has been "Go gray with dignity". Translated, that meant that I thought I was not going to give in and color my hair to hide the fact that I was getting older. It's not that I don't like the color gray; it just doesn't happen to be my color. Even so, I think I could have still done it if not for one thing: The grays are too darn friendly! If they could just lie low like the rest of the hair, then I wouldn't mind them so much, but they don't do that. Instead, they stand up and wave to everyone who walks by! What is UP with that? Okay, so I'm getting older, we all do that, but to make a big production out of it-- well, I ask you! So then I started considering it, but it wasn't until I found out that the prophet colors is hair, that I finally started thinking seriously about it. I mean, if he does it, it can't be too bad, or at least not immoral, and it doesn't seem to be shortening his life any, so why not? When I mentioned to my husband that I was thinking about coloring my hair (thinking he'd have something to say about the cost) he said, "Good. I'd rather you do that than go bald plucking them all out" (apparently, he doesn't know how much it costs). So while he was out of town one week, I went and got it done. I don't recall that I planned that timing on purpose, though it is possible, my memory being what it is, and all. He didn't even notice until I told him a couple of weeks later. Funny thing is, one of my teenage sons noticed right off. I've come to the conclusion that it's okay if dh doesn't notice those kinds of things, though, because at least it means he doesn't dislike it. So I was okay with the fact that he didn't notice, plus the fact that the checking account was able to get reloaded by the time he found out about it. :) I did have it pretty much done as close to the natural root beer color as I could, so it was understandable that he might not notice. The second time was when we were visiting my parents in another state, and I ended up going to the daughter-in-law of the woman who has been doing my mom's hair for the last several decades. No root beer coloring this time. She told me it was called "highlighting with a foil weave" and my husband did notice that one. It's actually kind of fun I've decided, with the downside that I'm going to have to do this for the rest of my life, or until I finally give in and just let the grays have their party. Time will tell who wins this little battle.

So the closer I get to turning 50, and realizing that it's about time for my midlife crisis, the more pondering I do on the subject of getting older. I've decided that we all need to do everything we can to make each other feel better about it. I'm thinking that if we don't give in to the temptation to feel old, gray hair and aches and pains notwithstanding, that maybe we can postpone it as long as possible. This afternoon I went to a friend's house to pick up my daughters who had been playing there all day, and after a cup of tea and 20 minutes of chatting, I finally remembered what I had gone there for. My friend's sister-in-law came in and, after being introduced, she asked me how many children I had. I told her 8, and that two of them were on missions and that the rest were still at home. She immediately said, "You don't look like you'd be old enough to have two children on missions." Okay, I have a mirror, and even though I know the looks of age are starting to creep up on me, I have to admit that I did feel a slight endorphin rush when she said that. I believe that endorphins might just be the countereffect to aging, and that if we get a boost every so often, we might be able to slow this down. So let's all go around telling each other how fabulous we look and see what happens. I think laughter releases those hormones, too, so let's do a lot of that while we're at it.

I was in the checkout line at the grocery store yesterday, when I noticed a women's magazine touting an anti-aging formula in the headlines. I used to buy that magazine all the time, until I realized that every single week it had a new diet advertised on the front cover, and I couldn't keep up with all of them. I bought this one (just for the crossword puzzle on page 46), but as I left the store riding the cart like a scooter all the way to my car, I realized that maybe I didn't need an anti-aging formula. I guess as long as I still feel like I'm 10 years old, maybe I don't need to fret about it. Like the song says: Don't worry; Be Happy! (It keeps them wondering what you're up to.)