Guest blogger Michelle Kemper Brownlow: When I had my first real job, I was newly married. I was a high school art teacher, and my students thought I was the hottest thing that walked the planet. I heard a giddy group of pubescent boys react when they realized I was a "Mrs." To them, this was proof beyond a doubt that I was having sex. And apparently, that was hot.
I guess I have carried this with me into motherhood. I don't have an inherent need to be hot, but I don't want to be OLD! I have three kids, and they each play into this notion without even knowing it. I have a 13-year-old son who keeps me up on all the teen-boy crushes and fascinations. I have an 11-year-old daughter who loves to take me along on all her shopping trips. I also have a 5-year-old who keeps me in touch with the younger moms in my development. I think the combination of these three things had me convinced I was still young and really "with it!"
Until the seventh-grade field trip, that is ....
I watched the kids file onto the bus, and I didn't feel frumpy. I had on skinny jeans and UGGs, and they all said "Hey" and smiled, seemingly thrilled to have the young Mrs. B on board their bus.
As we drove into Washington D.C., I began hearing their comments about the people outside. After three hours on the highway, they were thrilled to see civilization and they were totally intent on what they were seeing. I wasn't really paying attention, until one comment was followed by a gaggle of squeals: "Ewwwwwwww, look at the old guy with no shirt!!! Yuck! That is so sick!"
I looked out the window to see a man not more than five years older than me. Yeah, he was wearing short shorts, but he was running. He wasn't so old that he had been advised against exercise or should be taking his teeth out when he sleeps. He was 45, max!
You can always count on a busload of prepubescent girls to give you a reality check!