Agh! My cats just caught a mouse. I thought they were playing with one of their toys.

I took it outside in a container. I can't tell if it's in shock or actually injured. Uck.

I suppose this explains why they've been staring at the cupboard all week.

My mom was 39 when I was born, so I have some positive bias in favor of older moms, from my personal experience. Having a stable and mature outlook/relationship can be one of the most important elements!

This.

For Hec and others wondering about being an older parent: Although I deeply regret my Dad no longer being here, I never regretted that he was already 45 when I was born. Ever.

I certainly don't think it made any difference in his physical capacity to take care of me, which is what many people fear—I mean, this is a man who made a skating rink in the backyard every winter and could sledgehammer a dock into the lake well into his 70s! He was very secure with himself and his work, and I think this gave him tremendous patience with me, patience that he might not have had if he had been younger. He had seen a lot of the world and people, and was able to give great advice because of it. I wish I had listened to all of it.

Plus, having a retired father those first few years out of college? Invaluable. He could help me move (a number of times) and shuttle stuff back and forth. He could take long trips to help me pursue my interest in landscape photography. He could take the time to visit me when I lived abroad. And, he was in financial position to provide back-up if and when I needed it.

As a childless person in my late thirties, I understand the concern, but please don't let the "too old" demons have the last word.

While I might have been in better physical shape for a child if I had one when I was in my 20s, I wasn't in emotional shape for one then.

This exactly. For all the BS from the doctors about my "advanced maternal age" and for how unpleasant pregnancy was, being emotionally balanced and calm is way more important.

Which isn't to say all young parents are unbalanced, just I would've been.

And my DH's parents were in their teens, and not really interested in a relationship with each other, so while they tried to do the right thing that just meant a lot of domestic stress and then divorce. And neither of them was very safe or stable while he was growing up.

I walked over to the doctor's office, and the receptionist called the owner who was out of town, took my information, checked out the damage, and gave me the owner's card so we could talk on Monday about how to solve the issue with my paint speckled car.

Am calmer. For now.

Many chores ahead of me for the day, so I'll take out my leftover frustrations on scrubbing and vaccuuming.

Neither of us have either the patience or energy small children require, any more.

I don't think anybody has that patience or energy until they actually have to deal with small children.

For Hec and others wondering about being an older parent: Although I deeply regret my Dad no longer being here, I never regretted that he was already 45 when I was born. Ever.

Excellent good news! I'd better get to work on my ice rink making skills, though.

I had Emmett when I was 35. I was probably emotionally prepared to have kids by the time I was 30. Fortunately Matilda is proving to be a better sleeper and breast-feeder than Emmett was so she's not as taxing (thus far).

Newborns are so odd. It's difficult to hang onto this fact because they progress so quickly and you're more engaged with them later, and that's what you tend to remember.

Newborns have lots of skeptical and dubious expressions. Also they have trouble coordinating the top half of their face with the bottom half so their eyebrows may be in full Spock mode while they're making a big sour lemon mouth. Sometimes they do the Joey Trebbiana fish-hook in the eyebrow face. There's a lot of Master Thespian in a newborn.

Then there's the issue of their hands which are independent satellites which come in for periodic landings on their head in random gestures of Jack Benny or Willy Ninja. Newborns don't have a lot of happy expressions, except by accident. Their best moods are Doped Up On Milk and quiet zenlike bogglement.

I'd better get to work on my ice rink making skills, though.

Well, global warming isn't helping matters any. The fact that (as a child growing up in Northern CT) my winter memories are things like being able to consistently skate in my backyard (and have my siblings build an igloo for me that lasted for months) is just amazing to me.

Our ice rinks were water sprayed over concrete on the rare days it stayed below freezing. It didn't happen very often. I've never been on ice skates.

After getting myself all worked up about the inherent problems involved in pilling Chumley, I got the go-ahead to add the content of the capsules to his food... and he gobbled down the medicine-laced food without a complaint. Couldn't have been easier....

As a childless person in my late thirties, I understand the concern, but please don't let the "too old" demons have the last word.

Just to be clear, all my "too old" demons belong to already-a-mother-of-three-busy-people me. I wasn't trying to discourage anyone. I tried to make that clear with my "me me me" comment. If I failed, I'm sorry.

Then there's the issue of their hands which are independent satellites

We named Mal's hands "Cora" and "Clarice" because they acted like power-hungry viscious twins, always trying to take over the kingdom by knocking his food away or randomly attacking him when he wasn't looking.

And if there's anybody that might get that Gormenghast reference, it's you people. Our families certainly didn't.