When I grow older losing my hair, many years from now...

That's a song I used to love in my youth. It's fun to sing songs about growing old when you're young. Not so fun now that I'm growing older. Also not fun is realizing that your jokes are not translating the way you want to the younger, hipper crowd. (Also not hip: using vocabulary like "hip.") For example, I decided recently that I wanted to resurrect some one-liners from television and movies that I thought were great during their heyday. One such quote is, "Have mercy." Perhaps I don't have John Stamos' delivery, but I just don't seem to be getting the gut-busting, side-splitting response that I had anticipated. Another sign of my progressing age: I go to neighborhood watch meetings and plot to catch loitering cars parked with teenagers in them. I hang out with 50 year-olds in my classes and talk about horticulture. The other day I said to my husband, "I could spend all day at the [plant] nursery." I love to go on and on about all the cool options my minivan has. Yesterday I had fun reminiscing with a man I was sitting next to about 8-tracks, and the funny thing is that I was born in the cassette tape era. My idea of luxury is hanging out at a Korean bath house and getting my butt scrubbed. Lately, I have, more often than not, looked around and found myself in a room or venue full of old Jewish people. Who am I?

I made a pact with myself starting this past year that I would embrace every year as I'm living it. I will not long for the past nor will I dread the future. Even when my kids go around bragging that their parents are the most weird and uncool adults on earth, I hereby promise not to: wear ultra mini-skirts (unless my husband requests me to wear them), shop at Forever 21 (or any other store that contains greater than 50% Lycra), text incessantly in secret languages for no apparent reason, pimp my ride to get attention at preschool drop-off/pick-up, borrow from my daughters' wardrobes (unless it looks better on me than them), and take a knife or needle to my face or body. Check back in with me in another decade or so and see how I'm doing with these. And feel free to remind me anytime you see me backsliding. Just a gentle tug on the back of my Lycra/spandex/viscose miniskirt will do.