Feeling your age.

So, as you may be aware from my sadness on Twitter or Facebook, I had a horrible interaction at work. 

I can't explain to you the punch to the gut that conversation was, and I'm generally a pretty self-involved, I AM SUPER AWESOME type person.

Luckily, the husband was understanding.

So I'll be doing some shopping.  And that guy? Out of my rotation.

We are every child's parent

Last night I had water aerobics, as I do several times a week. It's a fun class, a good workout, and I like the camaraderie of the women. I especially like being in the water after a long day at work.

Before heading into the restricted area, the first few minutes of the class is spent in the main part of the pool, where we stretch and are surrounded by families enjoying the water. I was bending and stretching and felt someone bump past me. This isn't unusual, and I half turned and looked to make sure I wasn't going to kick someone when I pulled my leg up.

The next two or three seconds were both a blur and an eternity, each moment startling in its clarity.

I looked back and saw a young boy, maybe seven or eight, floating on his back, his eyes closed. Standing next to him was his younger brother [?], maybe six or seven. The water wasn't deep there, up to the younger boy's shoulders.

I heard over my shoulder, "Is he o.k.? He needs to stop that," and looked to see a life guard squatting at the edge of the pool. 

I looked back as the younger boy said, "He's just faking. He's faking," and moved to pull him away.

Again, I heard over my shoulder the life guard calling, "Is he o.k.? He needs to stop that. Is he o.k.?"

The younger boy kept saying, kind of laughing, "He's faking, he's just faking."

I got a sick feeling in my stomach, looking at the floating boy's pale skin, his eyelids blue-ish, his small chest breaking the surface of the water, and I reached for him.

"Sweetie," I said, grabbing his arm, pulling his body toward me, "are you pretending? You need to stop that."  Pulling his unmoving body toward me, saying, "Sweetie, you have to stop this. Wake up. You have to stop pretending."

He wasn't moving. His eyes weren't opening in mischief. I drew him toward me and turned to the life guard and said, "I don't know what to do. He's not faking."

She dropped into the water. I moved to her, holding the boy up under his shoulders and handed him over, relieved that someone knew what to do, cursing myself for not having taken a CPR or First Aid class in over 10 years.

The life guards moved quickly, clearing the pool, and administering CPR.  The boy was taken to the emergency room, an oxygen mask over his face. I'm not sure what happened to him to cause him to be unresponsive, and I'm hoping that there will be no lasting effects.

But as I stood in the public shower stall later, crying and trying to pull myself together, I realized that just because my kid wasn't in the pool doesn't me that I shouldn't be vigilant. The life guard did her job, and I don't know that I could have done any more for that boy, but I don't like that sickening, helpless feeling. I didn't like that I was standing right next to an emergency and barely noticed.

And I certainly didn't like that horrible woman who, when the head life guard came out after the young boy had been taken to the ER and said it would be at least 20 more minutes before the life guards would be calm enough to open the pool, said, "I can't believe I paid $18 and I can't swim." Even I don't have the swears this person deserves.

Please take a look at the article in Slate to recognize what a drowning child looks like. I know I'm going to pay more attention when I'm in the water, whether my kid is there or not. Even though she's 16 and a good swimmer. Because it's not just her I'm worried about, it's all the kids - we are every child's parents.

Parenting Styles

I am truly the best parent ever.  We all know that.  However, even I know that times are changing, and with those times, my mothering must change, too, in order to remain effective. 

I came to that conclusion the other day, after studying some stellar mothering techniques on the television [actually, on the Netflix and DVD player].  It was a parental epiphany, if you will.

As my daughter is growing, I know that I can't mother her the same way I did when she was a tiny thing, sitting on my lap and reading stories.  No, those days are long gone, and I need to move forward.  I need to look beyond my former role models in parenting and forge ahead into a brave new world of being an older mom.

Once I distilled my mothering style, I texted my decision so the girl would have fair warning and the husband would know what was coming:

 This? Is why I love my kid.

Missing Time

Hey, friends.

Sorry I've been among the disappeared lately [have you even noticed?]. 

I've been ugh. Sad. Despairing. Despondent.

I've struggled with anxiety and depression for years, and recently had a very hard patch.

I've gotten better about discussing anxiety and my weird need-for-clean OCD tendencies. I can even talk about - in a facile way - my PPD.  But depression? Is hard to discuss, because there is still some part of me that feels like if I name it, if I talk about it, I invite it in. If I act like depression was limited to PPD, then everything now is fine. Just fine.  No mention, no invitation, no entry.

Well, it came in and kicked my ass anyway.

I had a really bad spell where it took all of my energy to do the bare minimum of work and home, where showering was exhausting, where brushing and flossing my teeth seemed insurmountable.  And where I cried at work and at home and in the car.  And where I thought about how miserable every single part of my life was.  All of it.  Worthless.

If you've struggled, you know what it's like - the exhaustion and misery.  If you haven't, please do me a favor.  That person who you think is snotty and won't engage? May just be trying to hold it together and not collapse into a heap of tears or nothingness.

Let's be nicer to each other.  And be nicer to ourselves.

Fractions suck.

Today I found out that a guy I think is cute is literally, truly, half my age. 

I am old enough to be his mother.  And not his babies-having-babies mother.  His yeah-it's-totally-normal-to-have-a-child-at-that-age mother.

I'm not sure how I feel about this.

I mean, skeeved, obvs, but also . . . nope, just skeeved.

I mentioned this dilemma to the husband, who advised me to get over it and "Just Cougar it up," and I'm trying, but . . . man.  Half. My. Age.

I'd hate to think that my errand running has been reduced to fantasies of surprise double coupons rather than the "Carry your bags to your car, ma'am?" bowchickabowwow vignettes that used to rule my thoughts, but I can't seem to get past this. 

Advice? Thoughts? Secret crushes that have rocked your world?