Old = Death

I turn 35 next week. It feels old to me. 35 is practically 40. This means all those oil of olay commercials really are marketing to me. (and it works! I have oiled of olayed my skin to death this week in prep for the upcoming birthday. Because, you know, my skin really knows to sprout wrinkles as a way of saying happy birthday to me.)

Anyway, I have a point and a child related anecdote for all this, of course. So, Aidan was asking me about my birthday as I put him to bed last night.

Aidan: "How old are you going to be Mom?"

Me: Big dramatic sigh, "I am going to be very, very old Aidan."

Aidan looks at me with concern in his eyes and asks "You are?" A pause. And then, "Are you going to die?"

Well, that will teach me to be self indulgent with my complaints of age and birthdays won't it?