I’m cooking dinner and am vaguely aware of The Pickle working away with pencils and paper on the kitchen floor.
“Mama, this is an old car,” he says.
“Mmm,” I reply, chopping onions.
“I mean, it’s really old!”
“Mmm hmm.” (still chopping)
“It’s so old I’m going to color it brown.”
“Oh?” (now chopping carrots)
“It’s like, from the 1980’s!”
I stop chopping. He finally has my attention.
How to know your youth has passed: your children refer to a decade you can clearly remember as if it is an archeological novelty.