It can't be. It just can't be

The View from my house Holy cow. Some sort of time warp has taken place. A couple of years ago I was in college, planning a life for myself. Next thing you know (I think it was about a year and a half ago) I gave birth to a squalling baby boy. That boy was followed by another, the house became a mess, the boys went off to college, and all of a sudden I have gotten a great deal older than I used to be. I got an inkling this time warp had occurred when I received notice that my high school class was having a 30-year reunion. I found this slightly preposterous for two reasons. First of all, how could I have possibly graduated three decades ago? That would mean I'm in my late 40s! Ridiculous. Secondly, I actually graduated from high school 31 years ago. My class, in typical fashion, couldn't get it together last year (we were never burdened with an overabundance of class spirit or, apparently, organizational skills), and so we had it a year late. I don't remember being bothered when I hit the 25-year mark, but then, no pesky class reunion invitations showed up, (I told you we weren't burdened with too much class spirit) so I probably didn't realize it had been that long. Regardless, it was a little disorienting to discover that I'm so much older than I am. (At heart, I'm somewhere between 9 and 12 — young enough to secretly believe in fairy tales and old enough to know that should be a secret.) Worse yet, I went to this reunion, where I discovered I went to high school with a bunch of middle-aged people. Yipes. What happened to their hair? No, I'm not talking about the bald guys (although there were few of them). Back in the ‘70s everyone, boys and girls alike, had really long hair. For 31 years I have remembered these folks with their 17-year old faces surrounded by yards of hair. They are no longer 17, and not a one of them kept that long hair. Of course, it's not like I have room to talk, what with my post-chemo one-inch hairdo, but I'm used to seeing myself that way. Okay. So, there was this time warp of 31 years, but I'm perfectly willing to go into denial about any number of things, and getting old certainly is one of them. So I was happily involved in mentally rejecting my chronological age when my son announced he was getting married. Married? He was born only a year and half ago! (Oops, maybe it was closer to 23 years ago). One thing I know for sure is that someone who is the "mother of the groom" is almost always deeply entrenched in middle age. (Unless she is Loretta Lynn, who was a grandmother at 28 — a great idea if you want to be the best-looking grandparent in the country). Anyway, I'm not yet dealing with the concept of being someone's mother-in-law because I'm busy mourning my youth. Next week, I'll no doubt have a few things to say about that. In the meantime, if you happen to see Captain Kirk or Mr. Spock, would you alert them to the dilemma of the time warp? I need help.