Friday, June 28, 2013

The 7 Deadly Sins Of Menopause

We all have them. The secret sins that keep us awake at night and tap us on the shoulder during the day while we try to go about our business. The sins that we would prefer that our friends and neighbors never see. For some, this means dancing the salsa naked with a Hoover Upright ( Hey! I didn't say that was me!). For others, it's sticking their face in a bag of mini, cheese-flavored rice cakes at 2:00a.m. (Okay maybe that was me).
     I'm not Catholic and I'm pretty sure you're not a priest, but I'm sitting in a confessional booth right now about to spill the goods on Menopausal Mama's seven deadly sins.

ENVY:  I live near a park and a jogging trail. I see women of all ages out there, rollerblading, jogging and biking. Certain ones catch my eye---the PERFECT ones, who look like they just rolled off the Barbie shelf at Target. Pink sweats with the Juicy label across their firm, little butts, and a matching tank top stretched tight across breasts that aren't jiggling like jello cups in a truck when they jog. THOSE are the women I envy. Their pre-baby bodies are free of stretch marks
resembling the NYC subway system. They are blessed with perky boobs on the high beam setting aimed at the stars instead of their knee caps. It makes me long for my youth and a certain pink bikini I once owned.

GLUTTONY:  This is the reason I no longer own the aforementioned pink bikini. I am a wine hoarder and a Nutella crack head. I am also selfish when it comes to Chinese take-
out. Don't touch my egg roll or lay a finger on my chicken chow mein. To prevent anyone else from stealing my leftovers from the fridge, I cleverly disguise my food in a covered jar marked "URINE SAMPLE." It keeps my thieving teenager away from my stash while I'm busy Googling Nutella rehab centers.

PRIDE:  This is something easily lost when you're driving an old minivan with missing hubcaps and a broken door handle....which is why you'll NEVER see me behind the wheel of the mommy mobile that seizes up at every stop light in town. My husband has inherited that hemorrhoid on wheels because he happens to know car CPR. My own pride is seriously challenged every day at the gym when I look in the mirror and see body parts wiggling and waving back at me in an unnatural way. But if you ask me about my kids or my granddaughter, I'll
whip out my cell phone faster than you can say moo shu pork and force you to watch a terminally long slide show of every phase in their lives, starting with their ultrasound images all the way to their college graduation ceremonies.

LUST:  When you're menopausal, the mind says, "Yes" but the body says, "Oh, hell no!" So you learn to lust after other a beef burrito the size of a chihuahua. Or Ben and Jerry's Triple Caramel Chunk ice cream and a good bottle of Dom Perignon. A trip to Tahiti would be nice too, but at this rate I'll never be able to fit back into that pink bikini again.

ANGER:  Think Jack Nicholson in The Shining. Anthony Hopkins in Silence Of The Lambs. This is what I become when my son misses the school bus at 6:30 a.m. My head has also been known to spin like I'm in the throes of an exorcism when I send The Hubs to the hardware store for a socket set and he returns with a water-sprayng fan or a singing can opener. What's next, a toilet plunger that chants, " I think I can, I think I can"?

SLOTH:  When I think sloth, the first image that comes to mind is Jabba the Hutt. No, I do not resemble a bloated, slug-like alien, nor do I eat fleshy, aquatic creatures with slimy legs. But I DO like having minions (a.k.a. children) around to take out the trash, wash the dinner dishes and fold the laundry before all the socks play hide-and-seek or join to find their missing partners.

GREED:  While most people associate greed with money and power, neither of those things appeal to me. I'm greedy when it comes to sleep. Those evil, menopausal twins Hot Flash and Fatigue have joined forces with their mischievous cousin Insomnia to deprive me of a solid, seven hours of slumber. My bladder is never one to miss a party either, so she's right up there playing checkers with her cohorts at all hours of the night. If there's such a thing as reincarnation, I want to come back as a bear so I can hibernate for a few months in a cave and bite the head off the first person who wakes me.

     There should be an 8th deadly sin as well, called INSANITY. When my body thermostat mimics the mercury levels of an Arizona desert during the month of July, or I suddenly find myself trolling the girdle aisle at Walmart, I'm bound to feel a little crazy. To combat the bipolar symptoms of my fluctuating hormones, I've discovered that the road to happiness is paved with Prozac and chocolate....and maybe a side trip to Tahiti with a pink bikini in my suitcase.

Friday, June 21, 2013

Fly On The Wall At The Funny Farm

 Welcome to another edition of the Fly On The Wall series, hosted by Karen at 13 other bloggers are opening their blinds and allowing you a voyeuristic peek through the windows of their homes. I'm a fly, so I can easily get in when someone leaves a door open. But I've got to tell you---I just can't stay very long at some of these homes. I need ear plugs. And a blindfold. I've seen too much in my short lifespan. All I want to do is take a dip in your potato salad and buzz around the room.  One house in particular flies the freak flag on a regular basis. These people need to be dropped off at the funny farm for an indefinite amount of time. Don't believe me? Listen to some of the weird conversations I have been privy to lately:

"I'm pretty sure these are rogue fat cells attacking my butt. It has nothing to do with the grilled cheese sandwiches I ate."

"They should invent a dual-ended deodorant stick. One side for your armpits and the other for your butt."

"Mom, where's the antibacterial cream?"
"You mean the Neosporin?"
"No, the generic one you bought since we can't afford the real stuff. POOR-sporin."

"Your bedroom stinks! It smells like a cow died in here."
"I didn't know my socks could moo."

"Oh, look at those cute raccoons in our backyard. I want one for a pet!"
"Honey, that's the wine talking...HONEY!!  STOP CHASING THE RACCOONS!!!"

"It was so hot outside while I was mowing that I don't even feel my feet anymore. They melted. All I have left are stubs."

"They need to include auto poop tubes in cars so you can suck out the toxic waste while you're stuck in traffic. It's the wave of the future."

"Obviously your wagon lost a wheel and you've derailed in the middle of a desert."

"He thinks I'm sitting around all day popping prozac like candy and watching Dr. Phil in my pajamas."

"No, old underwear does NOT make good Chinese lanterns."

"Leave your mother alone. She's cracked out on Nutella and coffee."

"Mom, my sunburn is finally peeling. There's bits of skin coming off my neck."
"It's called leprosy."
"What's  THAT?"
"When chunks of flesh fall off your body."
"Wait, what? No, I don't have I?"

"I'll bet you were one of the cool kids who sat at the back of the bus during school field trips."
"I've been to the back of the bus. All you do is smell urine. It's not a glamorous thing."

"I can't help you right now. I'm getting attacked by a wolverine."
"Good. I hope it chews you up into little pieces of fish bait. "

"Where's Mom? I haven't seen her all day."
"She's playing mole in the hole in her office."

"Honey, there's either a tumor or a very large poop ball stuck to the rabbit's tail."
"Well, don't expect me to help you figure out which one it is."

"Stop trimming the hedges into bunny shapes and penises. Edward Scissor
Hands you are NOT!"

"You need to go to your weird place if you want to write like that."

     Folks, do you see what I'm talking about? These people fly the freak flag with pride.  Where are  those dudes in the little white coats to take this family away to the funny farm? Oh holy crap, is that a fly swatter? Oh no, she didn't, she wouldn't..." SPLAT!

*Be sure to check out these other Fly posts from these hilarious bloggers:                                                                                                                            

Friday, June 14, 2013

10 Things I Will Never Do Again On Summer Break


My folks were always avid travelers in search of new adventures. Once the last school bell rang in June heralding the beginning of summer break, our suitcases were packed and loaded into the station wagon. When I was young, these vacations involved long road trips that led to some "interesting" experiences which I am convinced is why I need anti-anxiety medications today. These special adventures into hell included spider-infested trails through a citrus grove; sleeping on a freezing mountain top in a tar paper shack with no heat, bathroom or running water; vomiting over the side of a boat (wouldn't that be considered as homemade chum?) during a fishing trip on rough water, and sleeping by myself in the backseat of a rental car when my siblings tricked me into believing there were nuclear reactor size scorpions under my cabin bed in Zion National Park.
     Once I entered adulthood, I swore that I'd never subject myself (or my children) to these summer break horrors. But history has a way of repeating itself, so I've compiled a reminder list of 10 things I will NOT be doing this summer.

1.  Get on an airplane. Most flights from my hometown circle out over the Bermuda Triangle first. I don't want to end up on a sequel of Lost or have my picture plastered on the side of a milk carton.

2.  Fall asleep on the beach only to wake up hours later looking like the main entree at a Red Lobster restaurant.

3.  Wear all white to an outdoor barbecue party. Juicy ribs + rum runners = hot mess disaster.

4.  Get into a canoe with my daughters who are just as clueless on the water as I am. Pocahontas we are not, and I already know this tender, white meat would make great alligator bait.

5.  After a camping trip, attempt to neatly fold a double air mattress back into its original box. Fuggedaboutit. Ball that sucker up and toss it into the back of the closet.

6.  Visit a Jurassic Park exhibit with life like dinosaurs roaming the grounds. I don't want to be mistaken for a pork chop or a pu pu platter for two.

7.  Go to an outdoor Judy Collins concert just because the tickets are free. Shock therapy would be
more entertaining.

8.  Vacation at a southern resort where the mosquitoes are the size of vultures with a vampire's appetite for blood.

9.  Participate in a sea cow rodeo. That's just wrong on so many levels.

10.  Zip line over a wide canyon, especially if the cord has been recycled from an old clothes line or used dental floss.

     The next time you get extra tickets to see Neil Diamond in concert at the amphitheater or feel like riding the waves on a bucking sea cow, don't bother calling me. I'll be asleep on the beach next to a bowl of melted butter. Lobster, anyone?

Friday, June 7, 2013

Father's Day Fails

 Today is a special day here at Menopausal Mother for several reasons. It's my official SITS day, where I am the featured blogger on their site, and secondly, I'm participating in another Secret Subject Swap with 11 other bloggers, hosted by the lovely Karen at First off, let me welcome all of my SITS sisters to my site! SITS is a large blogging community of over 40,000 women sharing tips, support and friendship. The site shares various forums and offers  resources for blogging opportunities as well as featuring a new SITS blogger daily. It's a great place to connect with other bloggers, so be sure to check out their site at:
     I have been participating in Karen's Secret Subject Swap for several months now, and I love the challenge of writing off a secret prompt given to me by another blogger. Today my prompt comes from Sarah at Her question for me is: "Tell us about a botched Father's Day gift for either your spouse or your own father." I racked my brain on this one but I couldn't think of any Father's Day gifts that were botched, except for the cheap pens I used to buy my father when I was a little kid. And maybe that expensive pirate coat I bought for the Hubs years ago for the Renaissance festival (what can I say? I have a thing for pirates!).
     To avoid epic fails on Father's Day, there's plenty of things NOT to give your spouse or your father on their big day. The following is a list of 10 items to avoid next time you're out shopping:

1)  Cologne bought out of the trunk of someone's car on the side of the road.

2)  Tickets to a Barry Manilow concert.

3)  A yearly subscription to Orthopedic Monthly.

4)  A box of Rogaine and discount coupons for hair plugs.

5)  A matching set of His and Her bejeweled cremation urns.

6)  Blue underwear depicting a train across the front with the slogan, "Blow My Horn!" Male thongs are an equally disturbing gift.

7)  A case of non-alcoholic beer.

8)  A jar of pickled pigs feet in habanero pepper sauce. Or a can of beans, for that matter.

9)  A tee shirt that reads: "Just because I have man boobs doesn't mean that I am lactating!"

10)  Do not sign him up for the constipation research study advertised on a late night infomercial or the Buy-One-Get-One sale on Fleet enemas at the drugstore.

     Still worried about what to get that special man on Father's Day? Show him this list, then offer him a silk, SpongeBob tie and a six pack of generic beer brewed by hog farmers living near a sewage plant. He'll thank you for the best Father's Day ever!

     Please be sure to visit all the other awesome bloggers participating in the SWAP today!


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