Last Saturday, Erika and I went to see one of my favorite bands, Erasure, perform in concert. For those of you who aren't familiar, they are an 80's synth pop duo who were the soundtrack of my high school years. Because Erasure hadn't released anything fairly new until recently, the crowd was primarily 30 to 40-something year olds. The concert didn't disappoint. They sang every song I could think of; even a few I had forgotten about. The venue was general admission and standing room only and Erika and I had a ball! By around 11:30pm, Erasure was still going strong, but I was tired. I looked around and saw a few other people, around my age, yawning. That's when I realized that despite the fact that I was having a BALL, I was getting too old for this.

For the concert, I wore my favorite pair of jeans, which oddly enough fit me a bit snug...around the knees. What's THAT about?? I mean, I realize that as I get older, my body will AND has changed, but my knees???!?!?

According to this article, the average american will gain approximately 20 pounds during adulthood, without feeling it, which will inevitably lead to an increase in potential health risks.

The biggest consequence of being overweight may be a greater risk for several cancers, especially colon cancer and breast cancer. A gain of more than 45 pounds during adulthood doubles the risk of post-menopausal breast cancer, while smaller weight gains can raise the risk by 20 percent. For breast cancer survivors, weight gain lifts the risk of cancer recurrence and death from 35 percent for small increases to 64 percent for larger gains (about 17 pounds).

The federal Dietary Guidelines for Americans stresses the importance of preventing weight gain. For years, the American Institute for Cancer Research has recommended that adults gain no more than 11 pounds after reaching adulthood.

So, I'm trying to stay active and fit. Hell, I'm even training for a 1/2 marathon, which Erika was kind enough to say, "You know, you might die.  People DIE in marathons." Nice. My boyfriend said, "Don't die during training, because THAT'S embarrassing. If you're going to die, die during the run."  

SO supportive, dontcha think?

So, am I middle-aged? Just this week, I got an email from classmates.com, informing me that my 20 year high school reunion was coming up. 20 YEARS!!! I get nostalgic when I think of 1987...big hair, neon clothes, bad make-up, parachute pants, footless tights with ruffled socks worn with pumps...THE FASHION!! YIKES! According to my two 13-year-old nieces, the 80's are "coming back." They showed me several items they bought in a store that specialized in 80's fashion. I was confused. Nothing said 80's to me. So, I told them and they said, "How would YOU know??" I said, "Well, for one thing, I WAS THERE!!" Then, I got the look...you know the one!  It's the same disbelieving look I gave my sister who's 15 years older, when she mocked my 60's clothing and told me the story of how she wanted SO BADLY to go to Woodstock, then showed me old polaroids of herself, wearing the coolest and tackiest 60's clothing, the bell bottoms, the suede jackets with fringe...

So, exactly what is considered middle-aged? If you ask 5 people, you'll get 5 different answers. Even if you ask the United States Census Bureau you get two different answers. The first is 35-44, the second is 45 to 54. On a good day, I don't feel middle-aged. But, I gotta tell ya, LATELY... I've been feeling pretty old.  

How would you feel if your teenager got a tattoo?

What if your teenager got dozens of tattoos?

Like many of us here at MotherTalkers, I like to think I am a progressive, open-minded and tolerant person and mother. I won't freak out if my kid goes emo or dyes her hair pink or shaves her head. It's all part of figuring out who they are, right?

But this Newsweek column gave me pause. In it, a mother details her journey toward acceptance after her son develops a serious taste for tattoos and covers his right arm, from shoulder to wrist, in ink over a period of two years:

It started with the left wrist when he was 19—a tattoo of Tibetan Sanskrit wrapped around his lower, inner arm and finally peeking out just below his pinkie. By Christmas, three months later, his right shoulder was encircled with a large golden sun that hovers over a symphony of blues, reds and greens. Now Alec is known in our small New Jersey town as the guy with the tats.

And I'm unhinged. While I pride myself on being a rocker, baby-boomer mom (open-minded and astute like no other mom before me), I'm confounded by the rash, youth-driven choice that Alec has made—not just once, but repeatedly—and the permanency of it all.

After threats and pleas and bribes fail to deter her son, this mom spends sleepless nights wondering if her son will be forced to join the circus, or if he'll even have a job at all.

Worst of all, she questions her choices as a mother:

Was I wrong to have drilled into him the importance of being true to himself, relentlessly nudging him to be who he is, to rise above his inhibitions and face the world with aplomb?...

But, oh, the agony of hindsight; the woe of the "if I only knew then what I know now." What breaks my heart is the inevitability that Alec will suffer for this. Whether it's the pain of tattoo removal or, worse yet, the anguish of regret, he will suffer.

I have one small, hidden tattoo, seen only by myself and the privileged few who get to see me naked. :-) It's that way by design; I didn't want it to be visible. My tattoo isn't a statement I want to make to the world; it's more of a private feeling that I wanted to make indelible.

If my children choose to make their statements public, I hope I find a way to handle it gracefully, much like this mom:

But I love my son. And I am proud of his individualism. So, therefore, I've decided to stop asking, "Don't you need a coat?" every time he leaves the house. I've started making a point to no longer stare at the pavement whenever we walk together. I dare any passerby to look at my son and judge him.

What do you think, ladies? How would you react, and what (if anything) would you say, if your barely legal kids decided to get tattooed? Take the poll...