Eat Ish!

I was watching TV with my son this weekend.  My wonderful son.  My wonderful son with the sweet, sweet hazel eyes.

And he turns to me and asks,  "How old is Aunt Tracy?"

Being a former teacher, I responded to his question with a math problem.  It's my nature.

"She's 10 years older than me."

(and also to see if he actually knows how old I am)

"So she's 54," said my son with the sweet sweet hazel eyes and the old soul that can see all the way through me to my back collar button.

"Nooooooo," said I.

And then just because I like to mess with him and watch him get all twirly and stuff, I followed with,

"Do I look 54?"

But, he's a pretty smart kid, my son with the old soul, and he knew right away that I joshin'.

"No, but you said she's 10 years older than you.  So she must be 54."

This drew one of four conclusions:

A.  My math lesson worked.  My son can subtract, and conversely, add.
B.  My son has no idea how old I am.
C.  Both A & B
D.  C

"That would mean I'm 44.  I'm not.  I'm 42."

(okay...so, he has a vague idea how old I am...whatever...)

And then, just because I still wasn't done messing with him, and I was still waiting for him to get all twirly like I like, I said,

"Do I look 42?"

The truth is, though, I really don't care.  I don't think of myself in terms of my age unless it's to use it as a point to reinforce my complete and total gagging response to something.

As in,

I am 42 years old and I don't have to eat spinach if I don't want to.

Or,

I am 43 years old and I shouldn't have to sleep on the couch because you snore when you eat late night snacks.

("You're not 43.  You're 42.")
("Whatever...dude...okay...don't eat pizza at 11:00 at night! is what I'm saying....")

I think you get my point.

But, then my son with the sweet sweet hazel eyes and the old soul that can see all the way through me to my back collar button and the loopy smile that slays me every time said,

"Yeah, you look 42...ish."

And then I ran to the bathroom, washed my face and smothered it in Pore Refiner and Advanced Night Repair and Daywear BB Cream and when I got back he said,

"I was just messin' with you, Mom."

Ish sucks.