Ain't No Mountain High enough

Monday morning I am up early, with a film of sweat and panic. There is usually no matching socks for the girls, the shoes haven't been cleaned, again, and I am busy wafting damp (but clean) knickers in the breeze. I look around the house and it is more 'ish' than the accepted other part of the word 'tidy' and I wonder what has happened to my weekend routines.

I'll tell what has happened. I have gotten myself a new hobby. This my observational spider sense tells me, is an epidemic amongst the 35+. For years we sat on our backsides thinking wistfully. Making plans for when we were grown up and had somewhat of an ideal situation. Now we are a hive of activity. It is almost slightly unhinged as we throw ourselves into marathons and mountain climbing, art exhibitions, gardening and sewing; anything that keeps us achingly occupied.

The painful truth: this, as they say, is it. With it comes the realisation there is no prince charming, no lottery win, and no fairy godmother. We are approximately half way through our forsaken lives and as my mother would say 'The dinner does not make itself'. Although for me at least, it would have been better to start some of my ambitions earlier, there is nothing like the wisdom of mid life and the fear of death to get you motivated. Besides I might even get an age defying bod and a few homegrown veggies whilst I am at it.