Friday, March 28, 2014

Are We Raising An Ungrateful Generation?

     The other day I got into an argument with my youngest teenager. He was complaining about our family's strapped financial situation and was quick to point an accusatory finger at me. He understands that I'm a struggling writer trying to earn a buck, but he couldn't resist asking when I was going to get a "REAL" job. The argument quickly turned sour and I wondered why I felt the need to defend my work to a belligerent teenager.
     His worst jab was yet to come when he questioned what I'd done for our family financially. His question cut to the bone. I stared at him in disbelief and swallowed hard against the lump forming in my throat. Where was this anger coming from? I'd never seen him lash out this way before.
      I raised four children while working three in-home jobs to help support the family. I sacrificed a writing career at that time because I was too busy wiping noses, changing diapers and breast feeding babies at all hours of the night with minimal amounts of sleep.
     What have I done for you, Son? Cooked thousands of dinners, packed your lunches, folded your laundry, cleaned your home, volunteered in your school classrooms, helped with your homework, read bedtime stories, chased away the monsters you thought lurked in your room at night, dried your tears, drove you to choir practice, to church, to school and to your friends' homes. I sat up all night with you when you had fevers, stayed by your side after your hip surgery, stood up to the teachers who lost faith in you, and spent a small fortune enrolling you in a new school for a better education. I made sure you had a roof over your head, clean clothes in your closet, and a full belly every night.
     There are too many teenagers out there today who are wondering what their parents have done for them. They're crossing boundaries I never dreamed of stepping over in my youth. Older values have given way to self-centeredness and greed in a throwaway society. Social networks and the anonymity behind a computer screen have enabled our children to forget their manners. Disrespect for authoritative figures is being reinforced by popular television programs that degrade adults.
     I grew up in a different generation where acts of kindness were rewarded with gratitude and love rather than monetary compensation. If we wanted something special, we earned it through diligence and hard work. Parents and the boundaries they set were respected. Broken rules were followed by strict consequences rather than empty threats.
     Our generation survived just fine without the convenience of cell phones, computers and high speed internet. We didn't need video games or Netflix to keep us entertained----we were too busy playing dodgeball in the streets with our neighbors until dusk. Whether our families were rich or poor, we appreciated the food on the table and the clothes on our back. People were judged on their merits and behavior, not by the designer labels they wore or the size of their bank accounts.
      In fifty years, society has progressed to a generation that feels entitled to the latest in material acquisitions. People no longer have the patience to wait for what they want by working towards their goals. They have abandoned simplicity in favor of extravagance. This is not the world our children and grandchildren should be raised in.
     I've never regretted the decision to put my career on hold to stay home with my children. At times we suffered from it financially, but I'm proud of the fact that my children grew up without having everything handed to them on a silver platter. They understand the value of a dollar and the importance of a good work ethic. My teen son has a job and goes to school full-time, but has yet to test his independence by living on his own. I'm hoping once he is an adult, that he'll appreciate all that our family has done and be thankful for the little things that will one day be the big things in life.
     What have I done for you, Son? I've been there for you whenever you needed me. Loved you unconditionally. Helped you navigate your way through adolescence and teenage angst. Spoiled you with hugs and praise rather than a trip to the shopping mall. Taught you to be independent, to take pride in your work and become the man I always knew you could be.
     Our family may not have had much while you were growing up, but what we did have was an abundance of laughter and love. You can't put a price tag on that, and you'll be a wealthier man because of it.  

*** The other websites where you can find more Menopausal Mother blog features this week:

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Wacky Wednesday Writer's Guest Post By: The Momisodes

     My WWW guest today is one of the sweetest ladies in the blogosphere! Please welcome Sarah of The Momisodes! She's one of my partners in crime when it comes to sharing the funny in our monthly Fly On The Wall group postings. You think things get weird at my house? Go be a fly on the wall at her house if you want a glimpse into the wacky world of a mom blogger. She has three young kids, so the humor never ends.
     Sarah's blog features mostly funny slices of life but also some thought-provoking, poignant posts that make me want to hug her and bring her home to share margaritas in my backyard garden. One of these days I'm going to convince this awesome woman to hop on a plane and come visit me.
     Please welcome sweet Sarah to Meno Mama's site today and give her some comment love! Thanks!

                                             BURNIN' UP WITH BABY FEVER

"The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,

For children grow up, as I’ve learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.

I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep."

This is from one of my favorite poems about motherhood, "Song for a Fifth Child" by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton.

At the age of 21, I became pregnant. 6 weeks later, we discover that I'm getting a twofer, because I am pregnant with twins. One I was ready for. Two? Not so much. But I pushed through and faced many trials. Premature birth, being a single mother, having a child with asthma, uprooting them and moving them 1000 miles from the only home they ever knew. By the time I was 25, I was content with being single and raising my son and daughter and not having any more kids.

Then I met The Hubs. We got married and, 3 months later, I found out I was pregnant. From the moment I held up that urine drenched stick, I knew she was a girl. I knew she would have curly hair. I saw her fighting spirit when I had my first ultrasound and saw that little flicker of her heart, despite that fact that I wasn't producing a lot of progesterone, which is what you need to sustain the pregnancy.

Through constant nausea (seriously, I can tell you the texture and consistency of pretty much any food coming back up), flaming heartburn, an irritable uterus, several false labor scares and finally, pregnancy induced hypertension, my little fighter thrived and made her way into this world at 37 weeks, screaming (that hasn’t stopped either….)because the doctor woke her up This kid slept through the spinal block, the taping, the cutting of the c-section. The doc looked at us and said “She’s asleep….”, then he pulled her out and she let out a scream that could be heard in Bosnia! She was healthy, she was finally here.

Because of all of my pregnancy issues, the fact that I’d already had 3 miscarriages and the fact that I dodge the twofer bullet, we decided that it would be wise to go ahead and get spayed. So on that day, when my baby joined us on the outside, good ol’ Doc V put some clamps on me and called it a day.

I didn’t expect baby fever to strike, but oh, it has and it brought vengeance. I didn’t expect to be strolling through Walmart with my now head strong 4 year old, pass the baby section, and burst into tears because I’ll never buy anything from that section again for my own child. I didn’t expect to have a meltdown because my baby, my sweet little baby, told me that he didn’t want her “princess” stuff anymore because she wasn’t a baby anymore…she was a big girl.

No, I didn’t expect any of this. I expected to do a dance when I signed her up for Kindergarten. This was supposed to be my time, damn it. But here we are, staring down sign ups and all I can think is “My baby is going to be in school with big kids!”

Oh, and let’s not forget about the twins. Boy and Girl Child….they’ll be 10 this year. 10! They are already talking boyfriends and girlfriends, make up, things like that. We are one year away from middle school. Girl Child comes home from school, where she has spent all day with her friends, and is immediately on the phone with them.

This August, I will have a Kindergartener and two 5th graders. I will have a 5 year old and two 10 year olds.

Babies really don’t keep. You blink and they are practically grown. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy about that…..but at the same time, it’s incredibly bittersweet.

Anyone got a box of wine?!

     Sarah is a 30 something wife ad mom of 3 living in a small town in Kentucky. When she's not running around taking the kids to school, soccer practice, softball practice, games and various other events, you can find her lurking around the internet or curled up on her couch reading. A self proclaimed proprietor of epic awesomeness, Sarah tries to fill the lives o bothers with happiness and smiles, all while keeping a cup of coffee in her hand. You can follow Sarah here:

Monday, March 24, 2014

Book Review: I Just Want To Be Alone

    It's not very often that I write a book review, but once I read "I Just Want To Be Alone," I KNEW I had to share it with my friends. Jen Mann of the famous blog, People I Want To Punch In The Throat, has put together a stellar sequel to "I Just Want To Pee Alone," which is a collection of humorous essays written by some of today's most talented writers. The stories shared by these comedic ladies focus on the funny side of marriage and a woman's desire for time away from the chaos of family life.
     The book is an easy, fast read with well-executed chapters that flow seamlessly into one another with a lot of laughter in-between. The essays touch on everything from early romance with a man in ill-fitting clothing to a husband who fears he is the bed wetter in the family. I laughed out loud over one woman's adventure in a mattress store (with her boyfriend's mother!) and another who disguised beans in her bean-hating husband's food for YEARS before getting caught.
     There were plenty of "Oh No She Didn't!" moments in the book as well (potty pre-nups and a husband who tends to his wife's hemorrhoids) and one misguided, eager-to-please husband who accidentally stinks out his very pregnant wife….numerous times. I also found myself nodding in agreement to relatable stories on weight gain and skinny husbands (the less WE eat, the more THEY lose).

     Although "I Just Want To Be Alone" is steeped in comedy, there are several poignant moments in some of the essays (a mother's letter to her son;  a couple's marriage put to the test during a European vacation) that bring a nice contrast to the overall humorous tone of the book.

    Despite poking fun at the kinks and quirks in their marriages, the underlying theme in the author's essays is a deep appreciation for their spouses. Jen herself sums it up nicely in her story:

     "We might not be the most traditionally romantic couple, but our relation- ship works for us. We've built the foundation of our marriage on relentless teasing of one another, constant griping, and the knowledge that no one else could possibly stand us, so we'd better make this work."

     If you're looking for hilarity, poignancy and fun, "I Just want To Be Alone" is the book for you. Do yourself a favor ladies and share this one with your husbands.


Soft cover book:


Nicole Leigh Shaw-------------------------------Ninja Mom Blog
Kim Forde----------------------------------------The Fordeville Diaries
Lisa Newlin---------------------------------------Lisa Newlin…Seriously?
Abby Heugel--------------------------------------Abby Has Issues
Magnolia Ripkin----------------------------------Magnolia Ripkin
A.K. Turner----------------------------------------A.K. Turner
Courtney Fitzgerald-------------------------------Our Small Moments
Andrea C.------------------------------------------The Underachiever's Guide to Being a Domestic Goddess
Christine Burke------------------------------------Keeper of the Fruit Loops
Raquel D'Apice------------------------------------The Ugly Volvo
Amy Flory-------------------------------------------Funny Is Family
Stephanie Young-----------------------------------I'm Still Learning
Meredith Spidel------------------------------------The Mom of the Year
Deva Dalporto--------------------------------------MyLifeSuckers
Katie Manley---------------------------------------Somewhat Sane Mom
Michelle Newman----------------------------------You're My Favorite Today
Ellen Williams & Erin Dymowski------------------Sisterhood of the Sensible Moms
Kristin-----------------------------------------------Life On Peanut Layne
Karen Alpert----------------------------------------Baby Sideburns
Allison Hart-----------------------------------------Motherhood, WTF?
Lynn Morrison--------------------------------------The Nomad Mom Diary
Stacy Hatton---------------------------------------Nurse Mommy Laughs
Meredith Napolitano-------------------------------From Meredith to Mommy
Heather Reese-------------------------------------My Husband Ate All the Ice Cream
Robyn Welling--------------------------------------Hollow Tree Ventures
Lori Wescott----------------------------------------Loripalooza
Leanne Shirtliffe------------------------------------Ironic Mom
Suzanne Fleet--------------------------------------Toulouse and Tonic
Stephanie Jankowski------------------------------When Crazy Meets Exhaustion
Bethany Thies--------------------------------------Bad Parenting Moments
Kathy Glow-----------------------------------------Kissing the Frog
Bethany Meyer-------------------------------------I Love Them Most When They're Sleeping
Janel Mills------------------------------------------649.133 Girls, the Care and Maintenance Of
Rebecca Gallagher--------------------------------Frugalista Blog
Nicole Knepper------------------------------------Moms Who Drink and Swear
Kim Borgiorno--------------------------------------Let Me Start By Saying
Jen--------------------------------------------------People I Want to Punch In The Throat

Friday, March 21, 2014

Fly On The Wall In Nutsville

     Welcome to another crazy edition of Fly On The Wall group postings, hosted by Karen of Baking In A Tornado.  14 brave bloggers are inviting you into their homes today for a sneak peek into their private lives. Come buzz around my home (a.k.a Nutsville) to eavesdrop on my family weirdness. Beware: your ears might be burning after you read some of our conversations.
     If you were a fly on the wall in my house this month, this is what you would have heard:

"You're an emotional hurricane leaving a trail of Nutella jars and empty wine bottles in your wake."

"I'm not sure that steak-on-a-stick you ate at the festival was really a steak."
"You're right. It tasted more like German-Shepherd-on-a-stick."

"The world just gave me protein. I swallowed a large bug while I was out riding my bike."

"Oh look! The dog is dragging her butt across the carpet. If she picks up enough dust particles, I won't have to vacuum. She's a pug butt Swifter."

"Hangover is such a harsh word. Let's just say I have the wine flu."

" I wanted a poop supporter, not a fecal friend."

"I'm so full from your cooking that I can't find my navel anymore. I think my stomach has grown a worm hole."

"There is nothing more awkward than having to hold hands and 'partner up' with a sweaty stranger in Zumba class."

"I'm not doing this upcoming road trip unless the doctor doubles up on my meds."
"Oh great, that's all I need----a wife in La La Land flirting with dementia."

"His snoring is driving me crazy. He sounds like truffle-sniffing pig when he sleeps."

"I'm not listening to you. I've retreated into my blogger bubble."

"You would have made a good pirate."
"Why? Because of my thirst for rum?"
"No---because of the grunting noises you make when you eat meat….and the fact that you haven't showered in three days."

"There's just something wrong with a dog who licks his genitals, then turns around to lick your face."

"I think it's time to go shopping. My underwear drawer looks like it has been ravaged by moths."

"There's a fine line between my love for food and not wanting to get fat….but sometimes that line gets blurred."

"My liver better hurry up and regenerate because I've been drinking a lot lately."
"Sprinkle Miracle Grow on it. Better yet, start a liver harvesting farm: cornfed and hormone free."
"If I didn't know any better, I'd swear your mother dropped you on your head when you were born."

You heard it here first, folks. It's official. I'm living in Nutsville and there's no escape. Got a jar of Nutella you can spare?

***Other places you can find Menopausal Mother this week: Got writer's block? Read: Are you a Facebook fossil? Read:   Check out my interview with Kathy Radigan of My Dishwasher's Possessed at:

For more laughter, please visit all the bloggers participating in today's Fly On The Wall group posting!                          Baking In A Tornado                                  The Rowdy Baker                                Just A Little Nutty                                          The Momisodes                          Spatulas on Parade                                   The Sadder But Wiser Girl                          Follow me home . . .                Stacy Sews and Schools                                      Dinosaur Superhero Mommy                          Someone Else’s Genius                               Menopausal Mother                                     Pink Heart String                                              Spinster Snacks                                 Juicebox Confession

Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post By: The Shitastrophy

     My fabulous WWW guest today is the hilariously funny Alyson of  The Shitastrophy! How did I find this awesome writer? By the unusual name of her blog! C'mon, what's not to love? I knew with a title that clever, the rest of the blog had to be hysterical, and I was right! Alyson is a transplanted New Jersey girl living in the midwest, but claims that she has kept her "sarcastic cynical Jersey attitude." She has two young children and a husband who provide plenty of fodder for her funny blog. When I visit her site, I can't decide which posts to read first because this woman is a genius when it comes to titles.   Once you get to her blog, plan on staying awhile…..and laughing a LOT!
     Please welcome this funny, sweet lady to Meno Mama's site today and shower her with lots of comment love!

                                        WHY WOMEN HAVE SHITTY BRAS

I hate bra shopping – actually I don’t just hate, I loathe it. Eventually though I am forced to break down and purchase some bras. Typically this is a moment of total weakness because seriously it is my most hated womanly task. Here are the reasons why it sucks so much, and why I believe woman hold onto their unmentionables longer than some marriages last.
1) Bra’s cost anywhere from $20 – $65. Seriously $65 for one piece of clothing that no one even sees? Ridiculous. I could buy a really nice sweater, shoes, groceries, get a haircut, basically anything would be better than a bra for that money!
2) You have to escape your house and waste alone time on bras! Bra shopping should not ever be done with children in tow. If I were to bring my daughter with me she would be feeling every piece of the lace, sequin, satin, and sheer garment in the store. If I brought my son, we would both need therapy.
3) Being fitted for a bra could be one of the most awkward experiences ever. The stores are always outfitted with young, way to cheerful, girls walking around with a tape measure slung over their shoulders that are more than happy to get a lookey-loo at my skin tubes. I hold my arms up while my gal pal throws the measure around my not so perky girls. I then assume the stance of staring off to the side and act like this is not as bizarre as it really is.
4) Upon donning my new dud I get to ring my pleasant little mother’s helper to please come check out my girls – how they are, or are not, hanging. We talk support, straps, cups, and coverage. I might be lucky enough for her to attempt an adjustment on the straps that either hoists my babies up front and center or just smooshes them till they spill out the sides. At the end of this I feel like we should exchange numbers or something.
5) I find myself sucking in my gut and pushing my handles into my pants in an effort to impress my girl. I want to compare well with the other overweight customers.
6) I get to announce my band size that is larger than some children’s height.
7) The clerk hands me the basket of the stores best bra’s available to try on. I can’t help but think – when were these last washed? And how many other ladies put their boobs in these before me? Gross.
8) Stores do not display anything greater than a 34D, apparently us with boobs bigger than a 34D are banished to the bottom drawers because these are not showcase worthy. Makes me feel really good about my boulders.
9) There are always the girls that shop with their boyfriends. This tends to be a teenager – and seriously if my son ever shopped with his girlfriend, or my daughter brought her boyfriend into a bra store, I will kill them.
10) And the worst, most horrible thing I have witnessed while bra shopping – the family that shops together. Mom, Dad, and daughters searching through the sale underwear bins and holding up options. This is a hard core no way in hell, ever, never, NO.
Men this is why your lady has bra’s in her drawer that are older than your marriage. This is why we have bra’s that are held together with safety pins, or with one side that has underwire and the other that has had it removed – resulting in lopsided boobs. This is why we have bra’s that have bandaids over the spot where the wire is poking through, or why we will actually get the sewing kit out in an attempt to fix our bras.This is why our boobs spill over and out of our bras in an attempt at escape, and this is why we continue to wear bras that leave a full leave imprints on our bodies when we remove them.
Now you know, so leave us and our old bras the hell alone.


Originally from NJ, Alyson now lives in the Midwest but has kept her sarcastic cynical Jersey attitude. She has to make a conscious effort to not curse in most conversations. She is the mother of two kids that provide constant fodder for her blog, The Shitastrophy. Her husband lives in fear that every thing he does or says will be highlighted in her next post, Face Book update, or Tweet. Alyson loves her two huge Bernese Mountain Dogs, even if they do eat their weight in food each month. 

Friday, March 14, 2014

Sleepus Interruptus

     I love my quiet weekends. They give me license to indulge in one of my favorite pastimes: napping. When the lunch dishes are cleared and my schedule is free, I retire to my private little cave under a stack of blankets and pillows. Once I close my bedroom door, the family KNOWS not to disturb me. If my beauty rest is interrupted, they'll be dealing with a haggard troll…. and the consequences for waking me will be swift and painful.
     Most weekends I can steal a little shut-eye by mid afternoon. I'm a firm believer in a three hour siesta. But lately, uncontrollable outside forces have been messing with the sweet slumber I desperately crave. No, I do not have young children screeching or stomping through the house like a herd of buffalo. What I DO have is neighbors. And an obnoxious ice cream truck that takes sadistic pleasure in blaring, "Pop Goes The Weasel" from massive speakers as it drives past my home. Three times. The vendor's timing is precise----he catches me the minute I am caught in the throes of a deliciously sexy dream, about to lock lips with Johnny Depp and then….POP GOES THE WEASEL!!
     I grit my teeth against the sudden urge for an orange creamsicle, convinced there must be subliminal messages hidden in the tinny songs from the ice cream truck.
     Burrowing deeper under the covers, I wait for the offending truck to pass my home at a turtle's pace.  Just when I start to slip into the land of Noddingoff, the doorbell rings, which sets the dogs on edge. Over their incessant barking, a salesman is trying to convince me that I need to switch cable companies so that I can add an additional 500 channels to the existing 700 I already have.  Hey, I never get the chance to sleep, so why not feed my insomnia with more channels allowing me to live vicariously through people testing out Tempur-Pedic mattresses on late night infomercials?
     Once things finally settle down, I drift back into the slumber I have waited for all week.  I never know how much time passes---it could be two hours or two minutes, but it happens all the same----the neighbor next door who won last year's Curb Appeal Award has decided to do a little creative landscaping. Possibly carving Mickey Mouse topiaries out of his hedge. As he trims the base of his meticulous creations with a weed wacker, small stones ricochet loudly like a woodpecker on steroids against my bedroom window. I'd rather sleep in a room filled with chocolate wasted toddlers than listen to the torturous tapping of flying debris from the neighbor's new lawn toy.

     I decide to give napping one more shot, when suddenly I am baking in a 475 degree oven.  Who invited the freaking sun into my bedroom? Within seconds, I'm bathed in a puddle of sweat from the aftershocks of a merciless hot flash.
     Giving up on the fantasy of a two hour nap, I stagger into the kitchen for a jolt of caffeine to push me through the rest of the day. Peering around the corner, I see The Hubs sleeping peacefully on the couch, his lips fluffing out with each whistling exhale. I hear the TV in the background----a testosterone-infused program on cage fighting. I marvel at his ability to sleep through doorbells and barking dogs. Actually, I'm a wee bit jealous. Okay, a LOT. Deciding that it really wouldn't be fair for my well-rested husband to be stuck with a wife who resembles an Iggy Doll, I wake him from sleep. He opens one eye, peers up at me and smiles. I hand him a cup of coffee and flop down beside him on the couch. He channel surfs like a kid with severe A.D.D. before settling on the Discovery Channel. Grinning, he wraps his arms around me and I snuggle against his warmth. Within minutes, I drift into blessed slumber.
     I can't think of a better way to spend a Sunday afternoon than nodding off during a television documentary on the sleeping habits of wombats….while curled in the arms of the man I love.

Want more Menopausal Mother? Here's where you can find me this week: Find out why I'm a vacation sloth over at Humor Outcasts: Got some neighbors who are driving you crazy? I have a solution for that. Read my latest funny post at In The Powder Room here:

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post By: Writer B Is Me

   I am so lucky today to nab this incredible writer for WWW! Please welcome my dear friend Beth Teliho, of Writer B Is Me. I love the diversity on Beth's blog---some posts are so funny that you might need to wear a Poise pad (or be near a bathroom) because you'll be laughing so hard. Yes, she is THAT funny! Other posts she has written are so poignant they've moved me to tears. Sprinkle in a little poetry and some vegan recipes, and you've got one very special blog site written by an up and coming blog star. Please welcome this lovely lady to MM today and shower her with LOTS of a comment love!

 That Time I Showed A Chiropractor My Hoo-Ha. 

 I sat on the table awaiting my new Chiropractor. She’d come highly recommended, and I desperately hoped she’d be able to ease the lower back pain that seemed to elude all the other doctors. My eyes flitted over the sophisticated equipment in the room: scanners, and X-Ray machines, wands, and computer screens, to name a few.

This was far more than a typical back-crack visit.

She came in the room with a friendly smile. As usual, I was a little nervous meeting someone new, and when I’m nervous, I don’t process things well.

We chatted about this ‘n that and I told her about my back issues. To my delight, the banter was flawless. Hell, I even made her laugh. AND she seemed confident I’d be pain free in just a handful of visits. Score!

“I’m going to do a scan of your spine,” she told me. “I’ll need you to put on this cover-up with the opening in the back. You can leave your bra on.”

That’s what she said. What I heard was, “Take off everything but your bra.”

She left. I stripped nude except for my bra - not once thinking why she’d need to see my vag for a spine scan - and rustled into the paper shirt making sure to leave the opening in the back like she’d asked.

Yeah. You read that right. Shirt. It only covered my top half. And it still didn’t occur to me that this was unusual.

 I nervously tugged at the top, making sure it covered my lady bizness. A few minutes later, she glided back in the room. When her gaze lifted to my naked thighs, she did one of these:

  shocked gif photo:  jackshocked.gif 

 “I…I…you didn’t have to take your pants off,” she stammered.

 Thick, toxic dread draped over my body as I realized my mistake. All I could do was stare at her with heat burning in my face.

   shocked gif photo:  Shock.gif 

“Oh, I thought you said take off everything but your bra,” I finally mustered, adding a high-pitched-crazy-person cackle to ensure she knew I was deranged. 

 I walk-of-shamed out of the clinic a different person that day. One who no longer trusted herself to leave the house or drive a motorized vehicle. For the record, I did continue to see her, and she did get rid of my back pain. But the humiliation? Still there…. 

What’s the worst misunderstanding you’ve ever had? Do you manage to embarrass yourself often? Ever end up nude when you weren’t supposed to be?


Beth Teliho is a wife, mother of two lunatic boys, writer, and artist living in wouldntyouliketoknow, Texas. Writer B is Me is where she unleashes her candid, crazy, sometimes filthy, a little naughty, always-leaves-you-with-a-smile stories. You’ve been warned.
Twitter: @beth_teliho

Friday, March 7, 2014

10 Reasons Why You Should Go To A Renaissance Festival

     If you've never been to a renaissance festival, you're missing out on a chance to travel back in time to the 15th century. Where else will you experience an archaic privy, royal encampments, pirate raids and stout for breakfast?
     I'm a fourteen year veteran of the renaissance festival, and here are 10 reasons why you should lace up your boots, tighten your corset and visit the local faire:

1.  ROLE PLAYING:  Other than Halloween, this is the only time of year you can fly your freak flag by wearing a pirate hat, fairy wings, a king's crown or a cat mask. There's no social hierarchy among the attendees of a renaissance festival----CEOs dressed as saucy wenches rub elbows with middle school janitors in royal garb. No one cares about your net worth or your upbringing. The only thing you'll be judged on at the faire is your swordsmanship and beer drinking skills.

2.  FOOD:  Turkey legs. Fried pickles. Chocolate covered bacon on a stick. Did they have all of these delicacies during the renaissance era? No. Would they have wanted them? Heck yeah!

3.  GAMES:  This is a great place to test your skills in axe throwing, archery and jousting. A word of warning: the chances of you winning any of these tournaments is as likely as finding the Holy Grail under the tool shed in your backyard. If you're lucky, you might win the consolation prize---- a t-shirt that reads, "I RODE ON A UNICORN HORN AT THE FAIRE!"

4.  REN PORN:  There's more exposed skin at the faire than you'll find on a beach in Nice. Women wear gowns with necklines down to their navels and the men in tights leave little (or a LOT) to the imagination. You'll see tattoos in places you never thought possible. The manly men in kilts will keep you guessing as to whether or not they're wearing a boulder brace or going commando under their plaid skirts.

5.  LIBATIONS:  If you don't have the taste buds for warm mead in a wooden mug, don't worry. There are plenty of rum runners and frozen mojitos at the faire's pub. If these wicked libations were available back in the 1400's, there would have been less wars and more napping.

6.  RIDES:  What sets the renaissance festival rides apart from carnival rides is the lack of electricity. When you climb into a spinning barrel or a giant, rocking horse, the ride is powered by sheer muscle. In other words, a burly man in tights will be in control of your mortality when you board the swinging pirate ship. Avoid any ride named, "The Hurlinator." This is especially important if you've consumed a large plate of sausage and peppers washed down with too many mugs of mead.

7.  PEOPLE WATCHING:  Where else can you find a parade of wenches, cardinals and knights? The costumes tend to alter the personalities of the people wearing them…..especially if they've added rum floaters to a few of those frozen concoctions from the pub.  Just steer clear of the man dressed as a polka dotted caterpillar.

8.  VENDORS:  There is an abundance of arts and crafts available if you like unusual souvenirs that you'll never use again….such as a didgeridoo and a horned Viking helmet. DON'T take the didgeridoo to work to show your friends. Blowing into the large, wooden instrument to replicate the sound of an injured buffalo is NOT conducive to a happy work atmosphere……unless you buy a pipe for everyone in the office and break out into an impromptu didgeridoo concert during lunch hour.

9.  SHOWS:  If you're looking for Disney quality shows, you're in the wrong century. There is nothing G-rated about the festival's bawdy humor, musicals or daredevil acts. But you WILL laugh hard enough that a quick trip to a privy might be necessary. If you like men with long poles on horses, then the jousting show is for you.

10. ROMANCE:  Nothing is more romantic than being surrounded by people dressed like characters from the cover of a bodice-ripping, romance novel. Love is in the air….along with alcohol and revealing clothes. Welcome to 50 Shades Of Renaissance Grey.

     At the end of the day when you leave with a big bag of kettle corn tucked under your arm, you'll be thankful to return to your modern day conveniences. Nothing beats air conditioning and indoor plumbing….except maybe a slow roasted turkey leg.

Menopausal Mother has been featured on several sites this week. This is where you can also find me:          

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post By: My Dishwasher's Possessed

     My adorable WWW guest today is Kathy Radigan of  My Dishwasher's Possessed. Not only do I LOVE her blog name, I admire her amazing writing skills as well. This sweet lady knows how to pull in the laughs, but also writes many thought-provoking posts that resonate with my life. Kathy generously "shares the love" in the blogosphere by helping to promote the work of her fellow bloggers, a kindness that is deeply appreciated by those of us who are struggling to make a name for ourselves in the arena of writing.
     Please welcome Kathy and her possessed dishwasher to Meno Mama's site today and leave her some comment love after reading her funny post! Thanks!

                          TWENTY  WAYS TO DEAL WITH WRITER'S BLOCK

Ever since I decided to go back to blogging on a regular basis, I’ve been plagued by a massive, dare I say epic, case of writer’s block.
For the last week, I’ve wracked my brain for a topic to write about.
Each time I sit down at my desk and look at my empty screen.
I went over past blog posts. I spent hours on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest trying to find an idea that would be worthy of an essay. And, just to be clear, all the hours reading social media sites was only for research. I did not enjoy doing any of these things. (I sense your doubt.)
No ideas were coming to me.
Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
 Finally at the end of my rope, I came up with twenty ways to get over writer’s block:

  1.  Moan, groan and complain that you have nothing left to write about. Use a very dramatic voice for more effect. If you can conjure up some tears, it will totally add to the “poor me” effect.
  1. Sit down and try to write again. Start and throw out 10 essays.
  1. Ask all your writing friends for ideas on how to get over this annoying block.  Love the ideas about unplugging from the computer and walking away from writing. Hate the ideas about having to just sit down and write because if there is one thing you don’t want to do to get over your block, it’s write.
  1. Remind yourself that your friends are talented writers, feel intimidated, quit writing, take up underwater basket weaving.
  1. Spend some time thinking about whether or not there really is something called underwater basket weaving or was it just something your high school choir director would tell you would be your major in college because clearly you would never be good enough for anything else.
  1. Go into kitchen where family is eating a late lunch and beg husband for an idea.
  1. Get into argument with husband when he tells you that the only way through your writer’s block is to sit down and write. If you feel up to it, throw back in his face all you have done to help him over the twenty years you have been married.
  1. Plead with all three of your children for an idea, any idea.
  1. Dismiss the eleven-year-old’s suggestion of writing about princesses and the eight-year-old’s idea of writing about his deep fear of animals. Not because they are not good ideas, but because you have already written about them
  1. Decide that you have exhausted everything in your life to write about and that you are a complete failure as a writer. You might want to throw in a few more minutes of deep self pity here, but that’s only a suggestion.
  1. Get another cup of coffee.
  1. Look around for a snack that is only 2 points with Weight Watchers because you blew 5 points on the chocolate that you swore would end your writer’s block. Sadly it did not.
  1. Start to get not-so-secretly annoyed by 14-year-old son, who has clearly become too much like his father when he laughingly suggests writing about the “Harlem Shake.”
  1. Now that husband is laughing along with son, go ahead and give the man a very dirty look. Make note of the fact that he gives son secret hand sign to let the poor child know he better quit teasing his mother because husband knows his wife and he knows that any minute she is going to eat her firstborn.
  1. Go into your office, which is really just a small corner of the bedroom, and look at the blank computer screen. Again.
  1. Change the radio station from the soft pop station to the one devoted to songs of the 70s.  Maybe listening to the same songs that you did as a child will spark a memory.
  1. Listen to a song from Jim Stafford and realize that the song is about growing and smoking pot. Start wondering if your conservative parents knew what this song was about and if they did why did they let you listen to it when you were just a little girl?
  1. Start thinking maybe you don’t know your parents as well as you think you do.
  1. Make mental note to mention this fact the next time they question your parenting skills because you let your youngest child watch Friends with you and your 14 year old.
  1. When all of that fails to work, write an essay about the ways that you deal with writer’s block.

    Kathy Radigan is a writer, blogger, social media addict, mom to three, wife to one and owner of a possessed appliance. She posts a weekly essay each Sunday on her blog,  My dishwasher's possessed! and has had her writing featured on BlogHer, Mamapedia, The Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop and other publications. She is a contributing author in Sunshine After the Storm: a survival guide for the grieving mother and The HerStories Project: Women Explore the Joy, Pain and Power of Female Friendship. You can follow her on Facebook, Twitter and Google +


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