Read Family Squeeze for Free Online

eighth grade science fair for our research on firecrackers.
    The German word for midlife crisis,
Torschlusspanik
, literally means “the panic of closing doors.” (The Russian word is
Vuttzadealwithmyhairs-cavich.)
Somewhere between the ages of thirty-eight and fifty-three, most of us enter a life stage where our children begin staying up late after tucking us into bed. Who knows what they’re doing? They could be writing their names on the back of our expensive knickknacks.
    The following questions may help you determine whether or not you are in the midst of such a crisis. Then again, these questions may not help at all. But I hope they’ll be good for a smile or two.
The Midlife Quiz
When I stand in front of the mirror, I:
Thank God for His awesome handiwork.
Close my eyes and grind my teeth.
Can see my rear end without turning around.
My hair is:
A wavy, natural blond.
Hair? Yes, I remember hair.
Like a struggling oil company. Good production, poor distribution.
I believe we could solve this global warming thing:
If all of us would just drive Smart Cars with seating capacity for three people who, combined, weigh as much as a Rice Krispy square.
If my kids would just keep the refrigerator door closed.
If we could find a way to harness my hot flashes.
When I look at my teenager, I think:
This child is a delight!
Who swapped the baskets in the hospital nursery room?
For this I have stretch marks?
    Twenty-Eight Fabulous Facts About Getting Older
(There were more, but we misplaced them.)
Life insurance salesmen don’t call.
You can work up an appetite filling the bird feeder.
No more hair on your pillow.
All the heartburn makes it easier to diet.
You’re old enough to die of natural causes.
You can’t hear your spouse snore.
You’ve finally paid off your college tuition.
No more hang-gliding accidents.
Your plaid pants are back in style.
You get mail every day: bills.
No more midlife crisis.
You have more bridgework than all of Venice.
Tuck in your shirt or leave it out. Who cares?
You have a new lease on life because the doctor has given you three years to live.
Your parents don’t tell you what to do anymore.
You’re off the Army Reserve list.
You can withdraw from your IRA without penalty.
You’ll never go through puberty again.
No more high school exams.
Others offer to carry your luggage. And you let them.
Your skateboarding grandson wants your old tweed jacket because it’s cool.
You learn new vocabulary words like “macular degeneration.”
Stay up as late as you want. Sometimes until 8 p.m.
Entertain neighbor kids with your false teeth.
Dinner at 3 p.m.
Senior discounts.
The police used to warn you to slow down, now it’s the doctor.
Your kids don’t ask for money. They just want it in the will.
The following statement best describes me:
I am happy in my workplace, content with my body, perky, fresh as a spring morning.
It’s a miracle that I’m not out on a ledge somewhere.
I am so confused I dropped my mother off at soccer and my daughter at the gerontologist.
When it comes to my job:
I get goose bumps knowing what a blessing I am to have around.
Job? I ended my last one the way I began it—I was fired with enthusiasm.
I didn’t have to work until I was four. It’s been nonstop since.
After a visit to the doctor, I:
Am seeing the benefits of eating well and rising at six each day for my nine-mile jog.
Comfort myself knowing that my memory may be going, but at least I can retain water.
Begin considering acupuncture. I mean, when was the last time you saw a sick porcupine?
When I think of finances, I:
Know I am right on track due to wise fiscal planning that started when I was twelve.
Am wondering how to reconcile my net income with my gross habits.
Know that I have all the money I’ll ever need if I die by 2 p.m. today.
The following best describes my view of aging:
Thanks to antiaging books and natural herbs, I will be in peak physical condition well past a hundred.
I don’t plan to grow old