Could it be that after my love affair with the darkness and the rain and the cold weather, I am ready for it all to end?
Could it be that although I celebrate and relish in all of the new accomplishments and the way he answered his taekwondo instructor in a deeper than usual voice, that I am afraid of my baby growing up?
Could it be that I haven't kicked as much hiney on my diet as I had hoped to by this time?
Could it be that I find it almost painful to watch my kids become more independent?
Could it be that I am not adjusting very well to daylight savings time and staying up way too late, not getting enough laundry folded and put away and leaving a stray dirty dish, or twelve, in the sink?
Could it be that I haven't dusted the tops of my very tall furniture in so long that I can't remember when the last time was and could it be that I desperately need to pull that washing machine that I have to persuade not to get unbalanced with each load out from it's position and clean the filth that lies behind it?
Could it be that I need to have my eyebrows waxed? And, um, other parts too?
Could it be that I need to drink more water?
Could it be that I try as hard as I can to remember to bring my re-usable bags with me to the grocery store and only end up remembering them half the time?
And speaking of shopping bags . . .
Could it be that I try not to judge people who leave their very small children with me as I am watching my own child practice taekwondo while entertaining my other two as those said people leave the building for more than 20 minutes and return with shopping bags and without ever saying a word to me?
Could it be that I am doing an awful job of getting my daughter to bed on time and last night she woke up in the middle of the night with a stuffed up nose and I mistakenly let her watch a little bit of "Dirty Dancing" with me and now she's asking me about all those men with their shirts off? I told her they were "hot." As in, warm.
Katie asked me how old I was yesterday. "34," I answered her. "Oh, then you're MY age," she said, "I'm 4 and you're 34 so we're the same!"
"Mommy, how old will you be after 34?"
"I'll be 35."
"And then how old will you be?"
"I'll be older than dirt."
Could it be that I am dreading my 35th birthday next month?