Throughout last year when my girl was a fifth grader, she would continually whine: “Mom, you’re the oldest mother in my class!”  ‘Oh no she didn’t!!!’  She went on to say: ‘Sydney’s mother is 30; Maddie’s mother is 35 and  you’re… no offense, but…older!’  (The names, incidentally are fictional.)  After I picked her up off the floor…just kidding folks,  my retort to my precious one who was conceived from love and was the product of exhaustive hours of labor was:   “They may be in their thirties, but I can still drop it like its hot!”  That remark to her was even more embarrassing than my actual age! 

Funny.  For years, I convinced my daughter that I was twenty-nine.   It actually worked for awhile, especially when she was much younger, but then she got smart enough to realize that my age hadn’t changed in what, five years?  I had no problem with that but apparently confusion emerged.   To offset it, I assigned myself another age.  Thirty-nine.  I figured, if it worked for Jack Benny, then it was good enough for me.  Unfortunately, my daughter got slicker and I had to come correct or face the wrath of irritation for years to come. 

Isn’t age just a number anyway?  If its been accepted that forty is the new thirty; sixty’s the new fifty and eighty is the new…well, you get my point; then what’s the big deal?

Just yesterday, while walking the streets of New York City, I came across a store that put everything in perspective.  No, not Bloomingdale’s.  Forever 21.  What divine intervention for age validation.

So, the next time my daughter feels humiliated by my “old” age, I’ll simply say: “My darling.  I’m forever twenty-one and that will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. 

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“Every working mom needs a little ‘me’ time!":  Music to my ears.  

Let mothers across the country who are reading this column shout from the rafters: YESSSS!!! EVERY working mom needs a little “me” time!.  Unequivocally, this is music to my ears because sister, you are preaching to the choir! 

I’m the mother of a 10-year old who “shipped” my daughter off to spend most of summer vacation with her maternal grandparents.  Now don’t get it twisted:  It’s not as though Amber is a Fed-Ex package waiting for a signature from Nana and Pop Pop!   My intent was to bridge the bond between grandchild/grandparents qualitatively, so that all parties would get to know and love each other better.  In my own “Roots” inspired way, I wanted my daughter to soak up as much history and familial information from her immediate ancestors who often get replaced by Will and Carlton in repeat episodes of “Fresh Prince of Bel Air.”  Now granted, my daughter’s visit with my folks stretched to nearly a month and a half without her parental appendage…ME,  but remember, we African Americans come from a culture where our parents typically sent us “down south” to stay with our kin folk.  So you do the math: Forty-five days without face-to-face interaction translates to this workingmom needs a little ‘me’ time without:  

--Waking up the neighborhood with cries of:  ITS 10 O’CLOCK: GO TO BED!’ 

--Pleading with “Sleeping Beauty” first thing in the morning to:  GET UP!      

--Convincing my daughter to:  FINISH YOUR HOMEWORK!                 

--Begging her to handle her hygienic duties responsibly and to clean her room  

--Insisting on eating a well balanced breakfast since studies…errr…Moms say:

       ‘Breakfast is the most important meal of the day’      

--Ensuring that her pre-5^th grade academic requirements are completed before the
        first day of school

--Taxiing her from one recreational activity to another  

--Approving all play dates and sleepovers with mothers of her friends

Having said this: Do I feel any sense of guilt or irresponsibility about abdicating my role as her mother?   Let’s put it this way:  NO!  I haven’t grocery shopped or cooked a single meal (breakfast, lunch or dinner) since my daughter’s been away.  Instead, I’ve been managing quite nicely eating popcorn or Popeye’s whenever I’m hungry.  I am even down to a size 4; Go figure!   It is not as though food has become a dietary inconsequence, it’s just that I’ve come to realize that my hunger habits revolve around Amber’s.   

Also, I’ve tuned out discussions about the sequel to “High School Musical” and the hottest Webkinz craze which has sent me over the edge with incessant computer addiction!  Funny, I’ve even managed to save gas money without the constant chauffeuring around with soccer practices, guitar lessons, math and science tutorials and/or church obligations.  Furthermore, I’ve marveled over the cleanliness of the house without picking up miscellaneous items that are inadvertently deposited on the floor.

During this respite: I’ve exercised more regularly; socialized with friends whom I hadn’t seen in ages; plowed through a stack of magazines, booked a few mani/pedis and other pampering services, answered emails, attended cultural events and slept late.  Yep, it sure feels good for this working mom to have a little “me” time. 

But truth be told:  I can’t wait to board Jet Blue next week to pick up Amber, bring her back home and begin the cyclical, maniacal and whirlwind routine all over again.  For me, it will be business as usual…until next summer.

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HOLIDAY MEAL:  FORGET THE DIET