Okay, it doesn't really feel like the end of all things, as in "Its's good to have you with me Sam, here at the end of all things," but it does feel like the end of several things.
Today is my last MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) meeting. Ever. For those of you who have never heard of this indispensible organization, it is a fellowship ministry for mothers of young children, to help us get through those difficult early years without jumping off a cliff. I have made the best friendships of my life at MOPS and hope that we will be able to keep in touch as our children scatter off to Kindergarten.
Some of my friends have been able to reproduce again, which has the added goal of not only bringing a new person into the world but also to maintain membership in MOPS. I have not been able to do that and since I have reached the decrepit age of 36 (my eggs are ageing every second, I can just feel them wrinkling in there), I have started giving away all those little clothes I so painstakingly saved for the next child. As well as that stash of brightly colored summer maternity garments I ordered from JC Penny. So this is the end of my childbearing years as well.
My husband and I are on a diet. This is truly the end! The end of feeling young and calorically invincible. The end of cinnamon rolls on Sunday mornings and lovely golden fries at McDonald's and Friday-night pizza. Perhaps I've been reading too many "Agatha Raisin" books but I feel distinctly middle-aged. I suppose I'll feel better when I drop a couple of sizes but right now I just feel frustrated and hungry.
What is the definition of middle-age anyway? I mean, if you assume a person will live about eighty years then the first third of that would be 0-27, then 28-54 would be the middle and 55+ would be in the last tier. Ew. I don't like that definition at all, but it does explain the concept of "55 and older" communities. As in, "If you move here you are on the downward slope of the hill so we're going to keep young people away so as not to remind you." Forgive me, friends, who feel that I am making you old before your time... I'm being mathematical here.
At least we're leaving for the Berkshires tomorrow. Like I had any idea what "the Berkshires" were before this vacation was handed to us. It sounds cool though, like "The Hamptons" or "The Outer Banks". It's someplace in the mountains in Massachussetts, on the border of New York. We won a weekend at a time-share in a drawing. I hope they're not too upset when they realize we have no intention of purchasing one.
So, now it's time to get ready for MOPS. I need to have some more coffee. Try not to think about the preschool graduation yesterday *sniff*, pack up the dog and all his things to stay with a friend, don't wear mascara because it's just going to run when I say good bye to all my friends at MOPS. Think about the summer and the beach and long hours of writing about "The Golden Gryphon." And stop reading Agatha Raisin, as much as I love the dear grouchy detective.