How Old Am I?

Today is my birthday, and the answer depends on who in my family you might ask.

My hubby, the only one I did ask, gave an answer that any woman would want to hear – which is why I saved it for last.

Hypothetically, my family would answer this way:

Michael, the Ancient Languages grad student, would say:

On this day two score and six years ago, Béla was thirty-three years old when his wife Sári bore him his fourth child. And they named her Ilona.

Joey, the Math major, would compute:

 My mom is 29 x 2 – (3×4).

Jonathan, the Youth Ministries major, would answer:

 My mom’s past forty, but hey, she should have fun anyway.

Katie, the 11 yr.old type A female in the family, would say (to me):

 Mom, you’re not old. But it is time to color your hair; your gray roots are showing.

And my dear hubby replied singing a George Jones country song:

 Your lips stay young and tender just the way they used to be; and because it’s you with your love so true, you’ll never grow old to me. You’re always warm as the sunshine when I hold you tenderly; and because it’s you with your love so true, you’ll never grow old to me. And as the world grows old around you, I’ll look back and see; because it’s you with your love so true, you’ll never grow old to me. Any you’ll never grow o-o-o-ld to me!

Country ain’t so bad after all, though I’d still opt for a new Andrea Bocielli i-Tunes download. (hint hint to my three sons).

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