What would your daily report card say, getting Omaha-ready, and is is hot in here or is it me?

One of my favorite things about being a mom to young kids: My daughter's daily school reports.

Each day we get a half sheet of paper that details activities of the day, such as "circle time", "played with blocks" and "Happy-and-you-know-it."

It softens my heart to think as I'm slamming through my work day she is playing bubbles, going potty twice in the AM and once in the PM, and eating five (!!) helpings of cheese pizza, no cucumber (ha!) and four pieces of honey dew melon (good girl!).

But the best part is the "mood" section. At 2 years old, C-girl is a cuddler and has a great, sweet, if slightly diva-ish personality. Some recent descriptions:

• "Such a silly girl full of love and really loved the water table!"
• "Very pleasant and happy! Shared well with friends!"

Imagine if someone wrote a daily report about what you ate and your mood at the end of each day. Did you eat your fruit and veggies? Did you play nice with [fill in the blanks: co-workers, friends, other drivers while on the expressway]? Did you run today, get enough sleep, drink enough water?

***

Speaking of the latter, I just finished my first week of official marathon training, ahead of the Omaha marathon on Sept. 22.

I'm starting training, um, a couple of weeks late. I'm following a version of Hal Higdon's intermediate training plan, which calls for running five days a week. This is marathon #6 and yet I've never trained at more than four runs a week, with yoga and strength training each week.

I made four of five runs this past week. This week I plan to hit all five and get some hill work in for that stretch near the Henry Doorly Zoo that is super hilly. Long before I was a runner, when I was a kid, I remember walking those butt-kicking hills during lots of trips to the zoo. At least I know what I'm in for.

***

Yesterday I took C-girl to a three-year-old's birthday party. It was so fun, complete with bouncy house, a fired-up grill, a table to make super-hero capes with felt letters and shapes to glue on them, all on a warm summer late afternoon. It also had plenty of hipster 20-something mom and dads. Who were kind and warm and hospitable. And yet I felt old.

I blame that on what happened earlier this week, while frantically preparing dinner for the kids after getting home from work late. I was standing in the kitchen when I noticed I was sweating and shaking -- I was hungry, really hungry, after a nutty day at work and snacking, but still shaky.

Suddenly my forehead was liquid and I felt a little weak-kneed. And then I felt it, almost in slow-motion. Drops of sweat rolling down my neck, one by one. It was weirdly fascinating and horrifying, as I realized I was probably having what was the first of many hot flashes to come.

Wah.

I'm 45. I know it chronologically makes sense for this to happen. And I firmly tell myself all the time that I am NOT going to be one of those women who flips out about getting older, including lying about my age, letting myself go to hell or start acting old (um, not sure how I'm succeeding on that last point. Is wishing I could go to bed at 9 so wrong???)

But this did not stop me from feeling bummed anyway. Man. I admit it, I don't want to get old. But why? I remember reading somewhere, not idea what now, that women over the age of 50 are invisible. That is so depressing. I don't want to be invisible. I'm just getting going, in some ways.

And then, something else happened this week that made me feel better. I know a woman who is younger than me and rather immature. She is insecure and bitter that she's professionally in the spot she's been in for a long time, and yet she engages in behavior that will continue to label her as immature and insecure. I realized this week that I was a lot like that when I was younger -- I was a pretty good worker, ambitious, but often childish and peevish, sabotaging myself.

Somewhere along the way, I've learned that if you want to be taken seriously, you have to act the part. That, and a good lipstick for a little extra boost of confidence. (I swear by this.) I now realize that was a part of what led to my layoff even just a few years ago. I think of dumb things I said and did in that job, and cringe.

And then it dawned on me -- that's the gift of getting older. I've happy to have grown beyond a lot of that silly workplace stuff and been blessed to have had some really great professional experiences and opportunities.

I may be sweaty, but I'm not young and insecure anymore. I'll take it.