When I Stopped Counting

When I was in first grade, the second graders terrified me. Every day they strolled into the cafeteria just as we 6 year olds were leaving, and they looked gigantic. (Very scary)
When I was in 4th grade, I couldn’t imagine how I would survive crossing the street over to the middle school the following year for 5th grade. (Too risky)
When I was 14, I was surprised a 16 year old boy liked me. (So old)
When I was a freshman in college I went to a party in my hometown on winter break and was shocked to see a 26 year old at the same party.  (What was he thinking?)
When I was in in my late 20’s, married with a baby, I was invited to a friend’s birthday bash, having no idea he was turning 34. (Yikes!)
When I was 35, I moved to the town where my kids grew up. The couple who sold us the house were in their 60’s. (Ancient)
When I was 42, my mother turned 70 which sounded elderly to me… but she didn’t look the least bit elderly. (Huh?)
When I was 48, my 85 year old aunt still enjoyed cross country skiing in the winter in Maine. (Hmm…)
When I turned 50, I no longer measured other people’s ages against mine, and decided to stop counting my own years.
Now I celebrate the changing of the seasons, the only milestone that keeps me grounded as the earth continues to spin and spin and spin…

(Happy Summer)