Who Turned on the Tears?

Nobody told me that upon turning 40 a never-ending faucet of tears would occur.  
At any given moment.  Often, for no apparent reason.

It's not that I've been crying about the fact that I am older but rather anything and everything else. Tears can fall for something heartfelt or ridiculous without my ability to control.

I've always been a crier but in my pre-40 days it was typically when I was angry.  This, of course, made me angrier, as it is hard to appear strong and mad when you're a blubbering mess.

The combination of tears hasn't boded well with my effort to wear more make-up in this decade either.  I splurged recently and purchased a few new things, when it dawned on me I hadn't replaced any of my cosmetics two jobs ago.  Yikes!  Remembering my cosmetologist friend's warnings and her wrinkle-free face, I decided it was time to be a grown-up and take better care of my skin.  Irony would see a giant blemish appear on my chin the week of my birthday.  Nice...

Over the past two weeks I can't quite recall all the random times I've cried; however, as I was mopping up flood after flood the thought did cross my mind to write this post.  I do remember looks of horror and disbelief from my family many times.  More than once this month, I've caught Noah glancing my way with a face that yells, "What is happening to my mom!?"

This morning was no exception.

On the way to school, it hit me that this was the last time I'd drive my baby to school.  My inner-self began braking in sync with my foot, as I pulled into the turning lane for morning drop-off.  No! Stop. This can't be so.

Monday is a holiday, Tuesday his 16th birthday.  We have a strict agenda to be at the clerk's office 8 am sharp that morning.  So this was really it.  My final daily task of dropping him off.

The last time.

Tears began streaming and it was all I could do to hold back sobs at the knowledge.  It resulted in an ugly cry.  And it was right in front of my soon-to-be-sixteen-year-old son.

"Are you ok?" he asks, placing a hand on my shoulder.

I manage to shake my head, trying to focus on the now blurry officer waving me on.  Ever the jokester, he tries to lighten the mood.  I chuckle and try to joke back but it doesn't really work, although it is long enough to distract me to get him out the door.

And then the tears continue.

Where did the time go?

Please excuse me while I grab a tissue...