You know, just when I think I'm OK at dealing with turning fourty, count on the kids to throw a monkey wrench into my year. Count on my three-year old daughter saying "Hey Old Man!" when trying to get my attention. Yes, she's just parroting my wife and I. While neither of us think we're old, we've been together long enough to qualify. So the kids pick it up, just like they do everything else.
It doesn't really bother me, until I start to do the math. When she's thirteen, I'll be 50. When she's eighteen, I'll be 55! Man!
I need to start hitting the earlier mentioned road bike, so I'll be in shape to keep up with her as we both get older.
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