Being Old

And believe me, I am. Old, I mean.

It turns out I really shouldn't sling a baby under my arm and run after two toddlers, because that shoulder they destroyed during my heart surgery takes exception to being used like that and now I look like the hunchback of Notre Dame.

It's not that I'm vain, what with that grand red hair I acquired and the fact that I am inclined to bundle my hair up into an untidy bun and just get on with the day, and the fact that I dress a lot like Ma on Little House on the Prairie (but without a discernible waist) no one could accuse me of being vain.

The hair is really Jimmy's fault. He wasn't there when I bought the hair color, on account of he was in New York, and it turns out that Matthew doesn't go crazy being in the hair color aisle, and since he was the one who was with me at the time, you might think I couldn't blame Jimmy but you would be wrong.

And the boys, too, it's also their fault.

Years of shopping with the menfolk has taught me a few things. A man who has hurt his back and therefore must hurry through grocery shopping so fast that he could qualify for the three minute mile can still, ten minutes later, meander through Cabela's looking at animal mounts and fishing equipment long enough to grow a beard.

That doesn't hurt his back, it's just grocery shopping that hurts his back. You might ask why I didn't send him to Cabela's and go grocery shopping alone. That's what any woman would do. But this is men, and they "never get to help pick out the food" and therefore cannot exist on marshmallow cookies and coffee for the next two weeks.

There's a good reason not to let Jimmy shop for groceries. We have always had a grocery budget. When properly planned, a person can feed five children and two adults on a modest amount of money, provided one plans meals, snacks and treats in advance and only buys what is on one's carefully crafted list.

Jimmy, on the other hand, has the breadwinner approach to grocery shopping, as in, "I earned the money so why can't I spend it?" I'll tell you why. Because if we let you run the budget we would be homeless and starving, that's why. And that would be on account of the man has not bought so much as a loaf of bread since 1972 and refuses to accept that the price has risen a little since he last went shopping.

So, at the grocery store as I attempt to concentrate on my list and the job at hand, I have a 52 year old toddler with me who can't understand why we can't just buy cookies and donuts, and also why seven gallons of whole milk is both unnecessary and a really bad idea. He also has trouble with the concept that not everyone wants to live on Polish sausage and Port Wine Cheese.

And, incidentally, he's not a good person to take to Wal-mart either. There again I use a budget plan. I know how much shampoo, conditioner, dog food, laundry soap, cat litter and so forth that it takes to get through two weeks and that's what I want to buy.

I use a calculator so I am not tempted to make impulse purchases that screw up my budget. Mr. fixit won't use a calculator because, well, I don't know why but he won't. He also won't stick to the list and he tends to go into long soliloquies on the price of bath soap at the drop of a hat.

The rest of us all know what soap costs, we almost never feel the need to expound upon it at length in the soap aisle at Wal-mart. And he hates the hair color aisle. Not because of the money in that case, I'm not sure what goes wrong with him in the hair color aisle, I only know if it takes longer than ten seconds to find the color you want he breaks out in hives and goes into a seizure.

So that's why I hurried over the hair color and got this lovely hair I have now, and blessed if I will waste another ten dollars to change it before my next scheduled shopping trip. I could, but it would cut into my book budget and frankly, I might die without more books. If I don't like the hair I'll just avoid mirrors for two weeks.

Anyway, as it happens Matthew doesn't have seizures over hair color and he doesn't even mind helping you pick a shade. He's a swell guy, that Matthew, I'm glad Ashley is marrying him.

So, anyway, Jimmy and shopping. He thinks of things he needs, like a saw blade for a saw he hasn't picked up since 1995, because he's sure he's going to build me an oak fireplace for Christmas, even though everybody but him knows that his last seven gajillion projects are still unfinished and gathering dust in the garage.

But it would hurt his feelings to be made to face that, so you buy him the saw blade which he takes home and promptly loses forever while looking for his saw. And then he gets tired of looking and goes to have coffee with Ida, and you're good until the next time he goes to Wal-mart and thinks of some other thing he needs for a really good idea he had.

He has made me some lovely things, but he forgets that he made them when his ankle was broken and he had unlimited time to mess around with them.

So, anyway I hurried over the haircolor, ended up with Bozo the Clown's hair, and am now extending the lives of others by giving them a good laugh. Laughter is very healing, you know. And Saint Francis said, well, something about humility and not taking one's self too seriously.

So, I never do. Not because I'm good like Francis, just because I am so extremely lazy and it would be too much work to care about that.

So, refuse to take life seriously. Keep life in it's place. Third from the left, that's life's place.