I just had a birthday. It was kind of a big age…one that tends to bother lots of people. Not me. I’ve never really been bothered by my age. I feel like a Spring chicken…so what if my body aches more than it used to, or the lines are creeping up on my face? Nope…still young!

Celebrating my birthday reminded me of an ‘incident’ that happened recently.

I was dropping my daughter off at preschool, and got to talking with her teacher. We never realized that we were from the same town. Then, she dropped a bomb on me…

“I can’t believe you lived there – you must know my parents!” Are you kidding me? Her parents? Turns out, she graduated from high school with my younger brother, who is 9 years younger than me. So, I am a bit older than she is. But, her parents’ age? Not even close. Do I look old? Do I act like a grandma? I never thought so.

Sure, there are things I can’t or shouldn’t do any more. I don’t wear belly shirts. I don’t try to show my girls the cool gymnastics tricks I used to be able to do. I don’t go to clubs. I can’t wear a bikini and don’t try to. The list is endless. However, I AM NOT OLD!

If you are old enough to teach my 4 year old, I am not old enough to be your mother. I am reminded every day that I am not a kid, a teenager, a 20-something or even in my early 30s – I don’t need YOU, preschool teacher, to remind me, too! Don’t get me started on my punk cousin who laughed and said “You wish” when I joked “(Insert my age here) is the new 21!”