Gray is My Grandma’s Look

By | 2015-06-03T08:59:48+00:00 June 3, 2015|Parenting|

I found a gray hair.

The other day, looking in the mirror, I saw something shiny and discovered a very thick, very obviously gray hair! Gray hair is the look my grandma is going for, not me. I know, I know, there are people who start finding gray in their 20s already. But let’s face it, gray hair is symbol of growing old and I don’t like it.

And it’s not just that. 

The other day I was bent over pulled weeds in the garden for no more than an hour, only to discover that when I stood up, I resembled the Hunchback of Notre Dame. It took me another hour just to unkink my aching back. I wake up at 5am to go to the bathroom, I turn into a pumpkin by 8:00 at night and my idea of cutting loose on a Friday night is to watch AFV with the boys while eating a bowl of ice cream. 

Smacking me in the face

But the reality of my advancing age smacks me in the face each time I look at my children and see how quickly they are growing. Every year at about this time, I stop and look at the boys and wonder, how in the world that another school year has gone by? Where did the time go?  

In September, Owen was 5, just starting his first year of full time school and falling asleep each afternoon on the bus ride home. Now he’s a seasoned school kid who just today chose to take the bus home, rather than the offered ride with mom because he wants to hang out with his friends. 

In September, Aiden was 9, and still in the middle of his elementary school years. Now he’s hit the double digits and about to enter his last year at the elementary school.  Didn’t I just put him in Nancy Humphries kindergarten class? 

In September, Drew was 12, a typical, active boy who spent his break with his buddies, playing sports and coming home with grass stains on his knees. Now he’s a teen, about to enter high school. His friendship group has expanded to include the opposite gender and suddenly he is concerned with his hair and his clothes.

In September, Caleb was 16. He was cautiously learning to drive the country roads and was only half way through his high school career. Now he’s driving his younger brothers to school and on the cusp of his grade 12 year, with some big decisions to make about the future.


This morning, as I stood at the window for the first time and watched the four of them drive off together, I was rather dumbfounded at the passing of time. I felt a bit melancholy. It was a mixture of fear, as they pealed out of the driveway with the radio blaring, pride, about the young men they are becoming, and sadness, as I see them growing up and I’m powerless to slow it down at all.

Until I felt a little hand reach up to grasp mine. Levi, hair tousled, eyes blurry from sleep, looking up at me and smiling.

I’ll be twenty again

In September, Levi was 3, and he loved nothing more than playing with his toys and helping mom bake cookies. Now, Levi is 4, and he loves nothing more than playing with his toys and helping mom bake cookies. Oh, he, too, is growing. He’s in preschool; he writes his name and would fill every moment of our day with crafting and educational opportunities, if he could.

But he keeps me young. He reminds me that, though aging is unavoidable, I’m not old yet. By the time he’s pealing out of the driveway with the radio blaring, my gray will be well hidden under a semi-permanent colour, my nightly trips to the bathroom will be so routine I won’t even wake up, and since my boys will all be out of the house, I’ll have the renewed energy of 20-year-old!! 

Maybe this aging thing isn’t so bad. 

Bring on the gray!



  Notify me of responses  
Notify of