Tag: Botox

The Woman in the Mirror

charleneaross2 Comments

The woman in the mirror does not reflect the girl inside my soul.
That girl is 40 or 32 or sometimes 22.
Not 60.

I do not feel old except for the days when my hamstring hurts when I drive 20 miles, 10 miles, or even 2 miles to Trader Joe’s for this week’s groceries.
Or days when I can’t remember a conversation with my husband that he swears we had.
Or a task I completed at work. (I don’t even remember reading that email, much less answering it. Why can’t I remember doing that?)
On those days, the days when my body and my mind are failing me I feel it. Every year, every month, every day, every minute, every second of my many years.

The wrinkles on my un-botoxed face show my age, which is terrible, but I try to reframe as wonderful as they capture the life I’ve lived.
Those marionette lines, formed by a lifetime of happy ear-to-ear smiles and boisterous laughter.
The elevens between my eyes formed by frustrations and disappointments too numerous to count.
The crinkles outside my eyes formed by the joy and wonder of motherhood.
A whole lifetime of emotion displayed as a map on my face.

Some days I will look in the mirror and think where has the time gone.
I will remember it’s already been two years since my niece died, three years since stepfather died, five years since my father died, sixteen years since my sister-in-law died, 20 years since my grandmother died and it feels like forever and yesterday at the same time.
Amanda. Bill. Dad. Tammy. Grandma.
How are we all just carrying on without you?

Life is so precious, yet so easy to take for granted. 
I must remind myself to appreciate it, marvel at it.
All of it.
The bitter coffee with too much cream savoured on quiet mornings, gulped down on chaotic ones.
The dream vacations, long planned, finally taken, over too soon.
The daily dog walks with familiar sights and friendly neighbors.
Texts and memes sent by friends as a way to say I love you.
Time spent with my wonderful adult children.
The mundane and the sublime.

The woman in the mirror does not reflect the girl inside this old face. This old body.
That girl still feels so young.
But maybe it does reflect the woman that girl has become.

The #1 Reason Getting Old Sucks

charleneaross11 Comments

Yes, in case you were not aware – this thing we call aging (you know, getting old) it sucks. Big time! Yeah, in France older women may be sexy, but they have something in their water that allows them to eat wine and cheese and chocolate everyday (not to mention bread) and still be skinny. (The French women will tell you that it has to do with all the walking and this weird thing called moderation – but I don’t believe them. I think they practice some sort of sell-your-soul-to-the-devil French voodoo over there.)

But I’m getting off topic. (I know – so unusual for me, right?)

Back to getting old. And it sucking.

Sure I can probably think of 5,422 reasons why getting old sucks off the top of my head.

Crows feet anyone? Sorry Botox – you’re just not for me.

My aching back. And my aching feet, my aching neck, my aching shoulders…

The fact that I can’t eat onions anymore without taking an antacid. Really?! 

The inelasticity of my aging skin. Anti-aging lotion does not work people. It. Does. Not. Work.

The size of my pores. Let’s just say if my pores were a colander a lot of .

And I’m not even going to mention the hot flashes, pimples (pimples!), and mood swings (What the F did you say?!) that a certain mid-life-change-that-will-not-be-named (shhh, it’s menopause) brings to the getting old table. Nope, this blog is not about that.

This blog is about the #1 reason getting old sucks. And to illustrate I will tell you a little story. (Because why say something in a few words when you can say the same thing in many? Do not answer that!)

Last week my friend Jennifer and I went out for sushi. And because of the weight gain that can often follow ingesting 1,000,000 milligrams of soy sauce salt (not to mention the fat in the crunchy, creamy cut rolls) we decided (or rather Jennifer forced me) to walk the two and a half miles from Jennifer’s house to the sushi bar. (So yes, that means we’d also have to walk the two and a half miles back.) I gave up looking fashionable (it’s hard to look fashionable in tennis shoes) and good hair (there is a moist marine wind by Jennifer’s house -even though she lives 30 miles from the beach- that makes my hair frizzy) so we could walk five miles and not get fat gain weight after enjoying a nice meal.

It was actually a pretty good plan.

And do you know what happened the next day when I got on the scale? Do you?

I gained two pounds. TWO POUNDS! After walking five miles. FIVE MILES! 

I got my recommended daily 10,000 steps in, but they did not help me. Not one little bit.

And do you know why? Because I’m getting old. And getting old sucks.

Although… I will admit… back pain, pimples, crater-sized pores and all, this aging thing – it sure beats the alternative.