"It's okay, she's old"

Emeline puts a placemat down instead of the rugs.

Ethne gathers all the pillows and blankets to make a cozy place on the couch.

What’s it like being parents of preschoolers when your 50 years old? Here are two examples.
1. Craig comes home. He plops down. The overstuffed chair has more energy than he has. And, after a day of playing young mom, I’m breathing, but barely responsive.
Emeline scampers up next to me on the sofa and begins to sing, “Happy Day, To you,” over and over.
In between stanzas she laughs joyfully.
We look at her and our mouths inch upward.
“Isn’t she darling?”
Craig nods.
“This would make a great movie.”
He nods again.
“Or even a picture.”
We both glance across the room to the camera but don’t budge. It might as well be locked in a safe and buried under 50 feet of snow, on top of Mt. Everest. I can’t prove it, but boy was she cute, honest.

2. Around eight o’clock that same night, as we were headed off to bed, Craig asks, “What did you do to your hair?”
“Nothing.” And I mean nothing.
He considers this in silence born of experience of being married over 30 years.
I explain, “I did wash it this morning and put stuff in it, but then that’s all, because I got busy.” That day I had managed to take care of the girls, drive to the airport, drop donations off at GoodWill and go to the grocery store but not brush my hair.
I figure that the best part of being old with preschoolers is that my hair is gray and so, when I forget to brush it, people simply click their tongues and whisper, “It’s okay, she’s old.”