When I turned 50 three years ago, I was in a state of shock. Where had the years gone? It was just yesterday that I had my then 23 year old daughter and 19 year old son. Now my daughter was finishing up her first post college job with the non-profit group City Year and my son was away at Kent State. I would look in the mirror and see a still young looking woman looking back at me a little sadly.
Oh yes, let's not forget menopause. I had officially become a card carrying member of that group the previous year. "You're a little young, but it does happen," my doctor said consolingly. I could hardly wait for the coming onslaught of hot flashes and even more mood swings to add to my deepening all around crappy feeling.
A year later, my bright and lovely daughter had not found her second post college job and my son had boomeranged back home from college after his love relationship had blown up in his face and living with this person became too painful. At first my mom instincts kicked in and I all too gladly offered consolation and comfort. But the realities of having two unemployed 20 somethings living at home was becoming less appealing. I offered too many suggestions, they bristled and we would argue.
Me to my daughter: "It's October. This would be a good time to hit some stores and fill out some applications for holiday work."
My daughter to me: "Will you get off my back! You told me this last week! Why would I want to work retail with a college degree?"
Back and forth it went. If it wasn't with my daughter, it was with my son and sometimes both.
Did I mention that I was miserable at my job and that my marriage had become a joyless slog? Thanks to Oprah.com, thoughts of a one weekend a month marriage with me living serenely in my own apartment began to occupy more of thoughts at work and home.
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