Smile Like You Mean It

It's the day before my birthday. I'm suffering from the same "becoming elderlier" malaise that has plagued me on this day for the past several years. I'm glum. Why? Because I don't like getting older.

It's not a looks thing. I've dealt with having an appearance that has oodles of, um, "character," for most of my life. Seeing my body sag and drag is not worrisome. It's just more character, right?

What irks me is the idea that I'm running out of time to actualize my dreams. I think back to an idealistic college grad who was certain that by 30 she'd have a job as an actor or artist. I put my eggs in two baskets thinking if one falls, well, I have the other.

PRESENT ME TALKING TO YOUTHFUL ME: "Hey, Miss Ebulliant! Double checked the durability of those baskets! They're not those fancy baskets woven by hand in Nantucket. They're the plastic ones sold around Easter in CVS...cheap rubbish. One of those baskets should have more than just eggs. It should have skills and a career plan!"

I told you I was glum.

And when I'm that way, I put on a good face for my kid. That's what mommies do. They smile like they mean it. They make lunches that spell out their affection.



If you really mean it, say it with alphabet cinnamon cookies from Trader Joe's.



I do really mean it. And when my boy saw the plate and said, "That's for me! That says COOPER!" I didn't have to fake a smile. It happened quite naturally.