Friday, May 30, 2014

10 Reasons Why I Love The Midlife Years

     I'm not afraid of aging. I've been looking forward to my retirement years since I was in my thirties juggling four children and working two, part-time jobs. While others bemoan the toll that aging takes on their bodies and their lifestyle, I'm pouring over travel sites and counting down the days until I can pull out of the driveway in a brand spanking new RV.
   
     Rather than focusing on the negative aspects of aging, consider the benefits of the midlife years:


1.  Selective Hearing:  This is a totally acceptable symptom of aging. You remain blissfully ignorant of your spouse's complaints over a dry meatloaf and the rap music blasting from your teenager's room. The only thing you can hear clearly is the ice cream truck.

2.  Weight Gain:  You're okay with a new wardrobe of elastic waistband clothing, even if it comes from  the maternity department…. and you know how to rock an animal print muumuu.

3.  Free Time:  You no longer have young children to shuttle from school to football to band practice. This allows you free time to explore using the Bedazzler on all your furniture now that you've discovered a passion for rhinestone studded sofa covers.

4.  Selective Memory:  You might struggle to remember certain things, but luckily you've forgotten the time you twerked at your cousin's wedding and blew out your knee.

5.  Bone Health:  Your bones might be a little more brittle, but that's okay…. as long as you're not planning on scaling Mount Everest on a Vespa. Just remember to take your calcium supplements.

6.  Fatigue:  Reverting to your kindergarten days by carrying a napping mat to work is completely acceptable at your age. No one will question your need for a midday siesta.

7.  Decreased Vision:  Everything is a little blurrier, which is a blessing since your reflection in the mirror resembles a Photoshopped selfie with nary a wrinkle in sight.

8.  Flatulence:  The fiber supplements you've been taking finally kick in.  If a little gas escapes in a public place, nobody thinks you're rude….especially if you're pushing a walker with tennis balls attached to the bottom.

9.  Car Upgrade:  Goodbye, mommy minivan. Hello, Lexus coupe.

10.  Better Sex:  Sex is stress free. You no longer have to worry about birth control or unexpected pregnancies, especially if you're a menopausal female or a man who has had a vasectomy. There's nothing more fun than sharing seats on the neuter mobile.


     The best part of being a midlifer is that retirement is just around the corner. Gas up the RV, slip into your animal print muumuu and enjoy the ride!




*****You can find more Meno Mama this week over at Humor Outcasts where I have a new post up:  http://humoroutcasts.com/2014/on-the-road-again-3/

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post By: Her Royal Thighness

     I just love, love, LOVE today's WWW guest, Parri Sontag of Her Royal Thighness! I was drawn to Parri's blog by its clever name and was immediately captivated by her humor. I was also fortunate enough to meet this funny lady at ERMA 2014. Parri was the very first person to welcome me to the convention. Believe it or not, I'm pretty shy at big gatherings but Parri walked right up, introduced herself and made me feel right at home. She's that kind of woman----bubbly, friendly and kind….and one of the funniest bloggers I have ever met!

     Parri was recently chosen as a BlogHer VOTY 2104 award winner and will be speaking at the BlogHer conference this year. I wish more than anything I could be there to hear her, because I just know she's going to have everyone in stitches (and probably peeing their pants).

     Please welcome this hilariously funny lady to Meno Mama's site today with lots of comment love!




The Man Who Knows His Way to My Heart

By Parri Sontag (Her Royal Thighness)

Last weekend my husband came into the bedroom at 8:30 a.m. to nudge me awake. He looked at me with his bedroom brown eyes in a way that told me he was feeling frisky. Reaching for me with that secret smile on his face, he knew exactly how to get me going on a Sunday morning.

Parri,” he whispered. “There’s an estate sale on Craigslist.”
An estate sale?” I sprung to life. “Where?” Suddenly I was as alert as if I’d had three venti espressos.
Palmetto and Gomez.”
Come on. Someone’s getting our deals!”

I hopped in the shower, scrubbed up and was out in two minutes flat. With no time to waste, I stuck my hair in a headband, grabbed a diet Dr. Pepper and raced out the door, ready for the thrill of the find.

We hadn’t been bargain hunting in a long time. When we lived in Michigan, we had a 2300-square-foot home with a full finished basement and a two-car garage. In Tampa we’ve downsized to a 1400-square-foot bungalow, with no basement, no garage and very little storage space.

My husband always complains that our shoebox-sized closets are booby-trapped – that he needs a hard hat to open the doors. The last thing on earth he wants is for me to bring more junk into the house. But this sale was his suggestion. So who was I to argue?

(I’d like to personally thank the A&E network, because on the day before, there was nothing on TV by Storage Wars, where people bid on abandoned storage units to see what valuables they find inside. The stars were aligned, and my husband caught the bug to hunt for treasure. Had it been a marathon of Hoarders, Sunday would have been a day when he made me pare down my totebag collection, while lecturing me that I’m one step away from saving my toenails in a coffee can.)

Anyway, once upon a time, Jim and I used to hit garage sales all the time, hunting for items that we’d turn around and list on ebay for a good-sized profit. There was the Davy Jones: My Life as a Monkee paperback that we bought for 10 cents and sold for fifty bucks and the Elvis Presley button that we bought for 50 cents and sold for $75. That was almost 20 years ago – back in the ebay heyday, before the site went public and became popular.

Today people check ebay before pricing things at their garage sales, so it’s gotten exceedingly hard to turn a profit. There’s so much competition, items don’t always bring the high prices they used to back in the days when there were lucrative bidding wars on a single Beatles bobblehead or BeeGees lunchbox.

Still, in the wake of closing our business last summer, any extra cash is a good thing, so we headed to the estate sale, with high hopes. We waited an hour for the door to open, figuring the family was running late, but a neighbor finally told us the sale had been the day before. Just my luck, after a seven-year moratorium on buying other people’s junk, my husband was finally in the mood for a bargain, and there was a misprint in the ad. Dejected and hope shattered, I got back in the car.

Knowing how disappointed I was, Jim swung by The Salvation Army on the way home. And as luck would have it, they were having a blowout sale. All furniture and electronics were 50 percent off, and the doors had just opened. I raced around and found an antique armoir for a song. There was a sold tag on it. Darn! Someone beat me to it.

In a frenzy, I went from armoirs to vanities to bookcases. Sold. Sold. Sold. My God, these people were fast. All that was left were some ugly pink velveteen couches from the eighties. I resigned myself to leaving empty-handed, when an employee told me there were a few more pieces outside in the lot. We headed out back, and I swear I heard an angel's choir sing as my eyes gazed on an Adirondack-style rocking chair just looking for a little TLC. It was bargain priced at $20 and screaming my name.

I’ve always wanted a rocking chair,” I exclaimed, running to sit in it, before any other sale vultures tried to stake a claim.
We don’t have a place for it,” my husband said.
We’ll make a place. This chair is so comfortable. It’s like those $200 ones on the porch at Cracker Barrel. Oh my God, it fits my lower lumbar perfectly. I have to have this chair.”
We already have a porch swing. We’re going to look like those houses with too much going on. Next thing I know, you’ll want a lawn flamingo … and gnomes.”

My husband quickly realized he was fighting a losing battle. I was already envisioning myself reading and rocking, while swilling back some lemonade in a scene right out of a Country Time commercial. And before I knew it, he discovered his butt fit perfectly in the chair, too, and we were squeezing that baby into the front seat and driving it home.

Jim spent the day sanding our new chair and repainting it a high gloss white to match our house trim. It looks brand spankin’ new!

So while I never did make it to an estate sale, I still walked away a winner …

Proving once again that my husband always knows how to rock my world!





BIO:


Parri Sontag is a middle-aged, weight-challenged semi-professional dieter with a passion for musical theater and a disposition for spontaneously bursting into song.  An award-winning journalist and marketing/communications professional, Parri’s hilarious new blog, Her Royal Thighness: Torn Between a Little Waist and a Little Debbie(www.RoyalThighness.com) consistently delivers side-splitting laughs as she weaves poignant messages into relatable and universal real-life experiences. Recently named a BlogHer Voice of the Year in the humor category, Parri is a recovering dodgeball target and Farmville addict, who has been mugged of her Halloween candy, ridiculed for hoarding totebags and accused of picking a fight with Santa.









Friday, May 23, 2014

Fly On The Wall In A Wacky World

   Welcome to another wacky edition of Fly On The Wall group postings, hosted by Karen of Baking In A Tornado. 12 courageous bloggers have agreed to open their homes today for a sneak peek into their private lives. When it comes to the insane asylum I call home, I feel the need to post a disclaimer: WARNING! The following conversations may cause bleeding of the ears, hair loss and difficulty breathing.

     If you were a fly on the wall in my house this month, this is what you would have heard:


"I just plunged the toilet. Who wants to lick the black lollipop?"

"If you don't stop singing "Livin' la Vida Loca" in my ear while I'm trying to sleep, I'm going to smother you with my pillow."

"He has an intestine longer than I-95….which explains why his poop is the size of a nuclear sub."

"You told me this spray tan in a can stuff works. So how come I look like a patchwork quilt?"
"Didn't you read the directions? You're supposed to spray it from 6 feet away."
"How is that humanly possible? My arms aren't 6 feet long!"

"You have the memory cells of a gnat."

"I can't sleep with you and the pugs. You sound like dueling snorers."

"I'm not eating possum meatloaf. I know we're broke but we're not THAT broke!"

"I can't drink Celsius on road trips without making a ton of pit stops. That stuff goes straight from my mouth to my urethra."

"The family that gets pink eye together stays together."
"We have to….we've been quarantined."

"I feel so fat that I could tuck my feet into my butt and roll into the room."

"You know you've had too much to drink when you accidentally pour your cereal into the dog's bowl and add milk."

"Don't ever use menthol lube unless you want a campfire in your pants. My nether region feels like it has third degree burns."

"Why is our granddaughter locking herself in the dog crate?"
"Unless she starts barking or lifting her leg on the furniture, I'm cool with it."

The refrigerator is so packed that I'm afraid if I pull anything out, I'll cause a food-alanche. "

"When is the last time you washed the minivan? There are cobwebs all over the back."
"Leave them there. People will think I'm driving Spiderman's car."
"No, they'll just think you're a grumpy old man driving a dirty, outdated, mommy mobile."

"His gas clouds are so bad they singe my nose hairs."
"What do you expect from a kid who leaves the bathroom smelling like butt road kill?"

"You're going to tell your mother that I'm the one who came up with all that gross stuff in your last blog post, aren't you?"
"Of course. I don't want to shatter the illusion of being the perfect daughter. I'd rather she believe that all the grossness comes from the shallow end of your gene pool."
"At least mine doesn't empty out into the raw sewage plant."


     Congratulations! You survived another edition of Fly On The wall. Just be sure to check the shower drain tonight for hair clogs.



***WHERE YOU CAN FIND MORE MENOPAUSAL MOTHER FEATURES THIS WEEK:  "One Size Fits None" on the Erma Bombeck Writer's Workshop  http://humorwriters.org/2014/05/21/one-size-fits-none/
"Father's Day Fails" at Humor Outcasts  http://humoroutcasts.com/2014/fathers-day-fails/

PLEASE BE SURE TO VISIT THESE AWESOME BLOGGERS PARTICIPATING IN TODAY'S GROUP POSTING!

http://www.BakingInATornado.com                          Baking In A Tornado
http://www.therowdybaker.com                                  The Rowdy Baker
http://www.justalittlenutty.com/                                Just A Little Nutty
http://themomisodes.com                                          The Momisodes
http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/                          Spatulas on Parade
http://thesadderbutwisergirl.com                                   The Sadder But Wiser Girl
http://stacysewsandschools.blogspot.com/                     Stacy Sews and Schools
http://batteredhope.blogspot.com                                   Battered Hope
 http://www.someoneelsesgenius.com                      Someone Else’s Genius
 http://www.menopausalmom.com/                                 Menopausal Mother
http://dinoheromommy.com/                                 Dinosaur Superhero Mommy
http://sorrykidblog.com/                              Sorry kid, your Mom Doesn’t Play Well With Others

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post By: So Then Stories

     I feel incredibly fortunate to feature this popular humorist today on my site! Please welcome Darcy Perdu of So The Stories ! I've been a HUGE fan of Darcy's writing for a long time and was ridiculously excited to meet her at the Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop 2014 conference in Dayton, Ohio last month. She's as sweet and funny in real life as she is on her blog and I just adore her! We had a great time connecting and I can't wait to meet up with her again at ERMA 2016.
     Darcy shares hilarious stories on her blog right out of the pages of her life that include some of her most embarrassing moments and outrageous blunders. I'm laughing WITH her, not AT her, when I read her posts because they're so relatable.
     This funny lady is a BlogHer Humor Voty award winner two years in a row, now. She is THAT GOOD! Please welcome Darcy to Meno Mama's site today with lots of comment love!



Smackdown: Old Biddies vs. Rowdy Moms
By Darcy Perdu

So then…we shriek with laughter, pounding our fists on the table, slapping our thighs – with tears rolling down our faces.
The diners at the tables near us turn to look, so we shush each other, giggling like schoolgirls.

It’s Mom’s Night Out and the four of us are lettin’ off steam, swillin’ cocktails, and skewering our husbands, our kids, and ourselves. No one’s safe from our mockery and teasing, including each other. We’re swapping stories, revealing embarrassing moments, and asking those awkward personal questions you can only ask your really close girlfriends.

We’re trying to be considerate of our fellow restaurant patrons, but we’re on a roll – chatting and laughing and -- yes, even squealing. Either we are downright HILARIOUS – or these cocktails are mighty potent!

Most people are engaged in their own conversations, but there’s one table of elderly diners who keep eyeing us. Every time a gust of laughter bellows from our table, the white-haired ladies look our way and their husbands frown in our direction.

We pull back to a dull roar, but then the stories start again and we’re chattering away like magpies.

As I’m gesticulating wildly to illustrate my story, a server approaches our table. I quickly sit on my hands.

(Just last week I was out to dinner with my Mom, friends, and kids at a lovely restaurant, where I told a similar story that required enthusiastic hand gestures. Just as a server walked by, my sudden arm movements smacked into his tray and shot his entrees and drinks in all directions!

I was mortified, of course, and rushed to help him. Everyone at our table was shocked and attending to the disaster throughout the aisle – except for my Mom who calmly continued eating her clam chowder while the server frantically wiped steak sauce from her shoe. Ain’t nobody gettin’ between my mama and her chowder.

When the manager rushed over, I apologized profusely, but he cut me off gracefully and said that the restaurant bears full responsibility and could they please comp my mother’s meal?

Hells yeah! We made sure that the server wasn’t in trouble (he wasn’t) -- and once all was cleaned up, we commenced eating -- and talking (albeit a bit more calmly than before).

Mom noted that the chowder was delicious.

My kids urged me to “Tell more stories! Tell more stories!” so we could upend more trays and get more meals comped.)

So you can see why I’m a bit nervous tonight that we’re making such a ruckus at this restaurant. I don’t want any more flying entrees – and I certainly don’t want any disgruntled customers complaining that we’re too noisy.

So we keep our voices low, eat some, drink some, laugh a little, drink some more, laugh a lot, and before you know it, we’re giggling and guffawing, chortling and snorting.

The four elder patrons keep looking over here. I just know we’re moments away from an intervention.

Finally they finish their meals and the men head for the front door, but the two older ladies approach our table!

My girlfriends and I freeze.

Here we are, mothers ourselves, about to be reprimanded by women who are the age of OUR mothers. I’m having flashbacks to my Catholic school days when the disapproving nuns would scold our rowdy behavior.

I immediately stammer, “I’m so sorry if we disrupted your dinner by being so loud!”

The taller lady says, “Not at all! We just came to say you girls look like you’re having a blast!”

“Yeah,” says the shorter one. “We kept wishing we were at YOUR table instead of with THOSE guys!” She points her thumb over her shoulder at the husbands picking up mints at the hostess stand.

We die laughing! “Then come sit with us!” we say. We scoot over in the booth to make room for them, but they laugh and say they have to go.

“We just wanted to say it was great to see you girls out having such a good time and so full of energy,” says the taller one. “Enjoy your night! You deserve it!” They smile and leave to join their husbands.

We take a moment of silence to let that sink in.

First of all, those old biddies are THE BOMB.

Second of all, I hope when I’m their age, I have the same joie de vivre and appreciation for fun and laughter and lettin’ loose -- instead of being an old stodgy judgmental curmudgeon!

And third of all, my girlfriends and I cherish that unspoken reminder to “Live, baby, live! Love, laugh, enjoy, go wild, be rowdy, have a frikkin’ BLAST – ‘cause it all goes by really fast.”

-- Darcy Perdu

(Ever get a little rowdy in a public place, laughing so hard with your friends or family? Any restaurant mishaps like the flying entrees? How about a time you thought someone might be judgmental but it all turned out great? Do tell!)



BIO
Darcy Perdu shares funny true tales about her awkward adventures, embarrassing kids, exasperating coworkers, and the ever-perplexing public at www.SoThenStories.com – then invites you to share your related stories. So the laughs keep snowballing – come join the fun! Darcy’s delighted to win a Humor VOTY Award from BlogHer in 2013 and 2014 – and hopes you’ll visit her blog to find out “what’s so damn funny?”

LINKS


Friday, May 16, 2014

How To Keep A Husband Happy

 
    With Father's day just weeks away, I found myself wondering what to do for my husband on his special day. An early Oktoberfest in the backyard? A competitive spot next to Adam Richman on Man vs Food at an all-you-can-eat-ribs diner? Probably not a good idea since our toilet is temperamental.
   
     When I was finally able to grab my husband's attention from the NBA playoffs for a nanosecond, I asked him what it would take to make him happy on Father's Day----other than the obvious. I'm talking BEER, people! Get your minds out of the gutter.

     After out little chat during the five minute commercial break, I came to the conclusion that my husband's needs go far beyond a single day of recognition. He deserves to be happy all year 'round and to feel appreciated on a daily basis.

     Actions speak louder than words, so I've come up with a wish list of things I think wives should do that would make most husbands happy:


*  Let him eat all the burgers, pizza and chicken wings he wants. Just remind him you've already set up his doctor's appointment for a new heart stent.

*  Give him the badabing manual on "How To Help Your partner Reach The Big O in 2 Minutes Or Less When The Playoffs Are On."

*  Install a mini fridge full of beer next to his La-Z-Boy recliner. Add a portable catheter so he never has to get out of his chair.

*  Let him take a nap for an hour every day. Longer if he's hooked up to the catheter.

*  Convince him he needs a night out with his buddies Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble at the Water Buffalo Lodge. This is especially important if your husband is the Grand Poo Ba of the man cave.

*  Tell him not to strain and push so hard at the gym. Working toward a six pack just to be a trophy husband isn't worth popping out a hemorrhoid.

*  Let him sit on the couch, scratch his crotch and channel surf all weekend long.

*  Keep the sex life interesting, even if it requires a nightly Viagra cocktail and a wife dressed in an Oscar Mayer Wiener costume.

*  Surprise him with VIP tickets to his favorite sporting event that include seats in the sky lounge, unlimited steak, beer and an adult diaper changing station.

*  Give him an HD television the size of a movie theatre screen. The picture should be clear enough that he can tell whether or not the ball players have been circumcised.

*  Let him spend a weekend at a testosterone infused camp where men are men and sheep are nervous. Hopefully he won't have a b-a-a-a-a-d experience.

*  Buy him a large gift certificate to a hardware store. This allows him all the time necessary to roam the aisles for stupid trinkets. Don't be surprised if he comes home with a paint sprayer that doubles as a margarita dispenser or a yard hose with a special, suction extension attached for those lonely nights in the garden.

*  Tell him it's perfectly acceptable to show off his talent of burping the alphabet for your guests. Farting the alphabet, not so much.


     If none of these suggestions work to keep your husband happy, I have a Plan B. Send him off to a one room cabin in the woods for a year where he can grow a long beard and commune with the tree frogs.

     Just don't forget to pack the suction hose.


***I was thrilled to take part in a podcast on Friday 5/16 hosted by Wendy Hernandez of Family Law Insider. We talked about "mating, marriage and making it all work." You can watch the interview here:  https://plus.google.com/events/c16ceku58ng29v805mp5icva3fo  If you're unable to see it on Google Plus you can see it anytime on YouTube Here:     http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBFNhv_yRf4

***Want more Meno Mother? This week my feature on Humor Outcasts was about The 7 Deadly Sins Of Menopause, which you can read here: http://humoroutcasts.com/2014/the-7-deadly-sins-of-menopause/

****I wasn't aware that a few weeks ago I was also featured on Better After Fifty, where I'm discussing the humorous symptoms of menopausal men. You can catch that post here: http://betterafter50.com/2014/04/my-husband-totally-gets-the-menopause-thing/

****Last but not least, I was also featured this week on Midlife Boulevard talking about my first period. Don't say. "EWWWWW!" This is FUNNY, people! Check it out here: http://midlifeboulevard.com/her-first-period
 

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post By: Comfytown Chronicles

      I'm thrilled to introduce you to my new Wacky Wednesday Writers guest today! Please welcome Joy Christi of Comfytown Chronicles to my blog site! I've always enjoyed reading Joy's blog but didn't get to know her until we started chatting in a private Facebook group for writers. It has been such a pleasure interacting with the woman behind the hilarious blog!
   
     Joy describes herself as a "mostly foul-mouthed, immature hooligan and sometimes a sweet mother of 3 doing my best." When you visit her blog, you'll be treated to some of her reader's favorite posts about 80's prom pictures, Hogwarts Hotties and weird halloween costumes. She often includes funny memes and photos with her posts, which always bring a smile to my face. Her guest post today has me in stitches because I have grown children of my own and can relate to EVERYTHING she has written here.
   
     Kick back and relax, folks. This is a funny one! Please welcome Joy to Meno Mama's site today with lots of comment love. Thanks!



MOTIVATING YOUNG ADULTS




If getting ADHD/ODD (or any) teens through high school is a battle, trying to guide these young adults into adulthood is World War Can’t. Mission: NotPossible. I wish I could offer advice on these special not-quite-adults, but just like children, adults and Anal Polyps, each is different.


I’m no expert on your young adult. If I wrote a blog on the subject you could find it at www.iCan’t@Even.com, however I have learned a few things about mine, mostly the hard way. My one piece of advice to survive this stage with any hair left on your head, is to focus all of your energy on making them financially and completely self-dependent. As soon as possible. Then when you can’t take anymore, fast forward their independence.


Meaning: Kick their hams out the door.


The mere threat of being on their own is enough motivation for some young adults to start them on a path. Mine has always pushed to the limit, and then a little farther. Once you feel they're able to provide for themselves, stop making their lives at all comfortable. They may not ever launch into their own orbit if their life in your home is easy and enjoyable.


Here are some tips on that kind motivation, in no particular order.   


Stop buying their favorite food, and all edible snacks.
They can get a(nother) job and buy their own snacks. If you want snacks your own in the house, hide them well. NOT anywhere in the kitchen, they’re smarter than that, and how many hollowed-out bags of broccoli can you realistically have in your freezer before tipping your hand?
(Answer: About 4.)


In fact, this is the perfect time to:


Dramatically announce your family is going vegan/paleo/all organic.
Nothing makes my son more angry than “Meatless Monday.”


Think of them as a roommate, start treating them like one. Start thinking and acting like the worst roommate you can imagine. They should probably get used to it.


Make them install something similar to the Homeslice app on their phone. Homeslice is basically an electronic whiteboard for divvying up chores, groceries, bills, etc. You want to make SURE you can annoy them when they’re not home.


Why should leaving the house for small amounts of time mean the annoyance should stop? YOU are still annoyed by their actions when they’re not there, right? Send that youngin reminder texts, full of slang, dawg! Youngins love texts. And adults using their slang, yo.


What else do bad roommates do?


If you see they bought or brought home leftover food, be sure to eat it, even if they marked it as theirs. What? That’s what bad roommates do. Trust me on this.


When you see their laundry in the washer/dryer, leave it in a crumpled ball on the floor.
No more thinking that if you teach them how to be considerate, they will follow suit. After years of failed negoatiating (yelling) mine only learns the hard way.

20140510_095226.jpg

At least he will now leave our clothes on TOP of the dryer, though he still won’t fold it or even place it nicely. Back at ya, Bro.


If they leave their dirty dishes all over, take all of the clean ones from the cabinets and hide them.

2014 05 Guest Post MenoMama Motivate Teens 2.jpg


They open the drawer to find NO forks, spoons or knives anywhere to be found, just a note telling them to go get their dirty ones and wash them.

2014 05 Guest Post MenoMama Motivate Teens.jpg

This did eventually work to some extent with my son, but we were REALLY tired of hunting for flatware when we needed it. I needed to carry a survival backpack of supplies.


Speaking of hiding, move their jackets, shoes, any clutter they leave lying around, and hide them. Either tell them you’ve donated them, or actually donate them. There are in fact, many people in our country who would love and take care of those expensive sneakers, so why shouldn’t they have them?
“Oh you needed those shoes? Here’s a Kohl’s coupon and some bus fare, they close at 9:00. This will never happen when you live by yourself, just sayin’.”
Leave the toilet paper roll empty.
Tell them they have to buy their own. They can buy it from you, but cash in advance. No credit! This is another item for your backpack of survival essentials. It’s also a perfect place for your hidden snacks.


Hit them where it hurts. If they don’t like it, they will be more motivated to work and save for their own place.


What works for some, may not work for others. Some don’t like their privacy “invaded” so when they’re out, go in their space and move things around. They’ll think you were snooping, this drives them crazy.


My son wasn’t too bothered by most of this, so I had to step up my game. Hiding plates and flatware didn’t bother him, he just eats with his hands. But telling him I used his razor to shave my personal parts? I could tell that was a Home Run. He is also grossed out by my under garments hanging to dry in the bathroom. Make sure to leave it there right before their shower time.


Pro-tip: Don’t forget to take that down when your in-laws come over.


If this doesn’t work, you’re going to have to play dirty. Or, at least tell them that’s what you did on their bed. If they don’t believe you, consider a sending them a selfie of you in their room, but remember these pictures could (and mostly likely will) end up in front of their friends’ eyeballs.


If that doesn’t bother your young adult, not much will.


You’ll know what is best (worst) for your child, dig deep. Don’t be afraid to leave emotional scars. Our parents weren’t afraid of that, were they? Keep your eyes on the prize, soon they’ll be out and on their own. As my mother said of almost all my siblings at this age, “You did your part, they’re society’s problem now.”


_________________________________
Joy Christ writes Comfytown Chronicles, which is sometimes a blog about a mother of 3 just doing her best, but mostly is about silly humor, cussing, day-drinking, binge eating and other things she won’t go to meetings for.
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Read just how low she can go at the following places



Friday, May 9, 2014

12 Mother's Day Gift Fails

   
    Many mothers wake up on their special day in happy anticipation of what's to come. Perhaps the kids will bring them breakfast in bed and their husbands will surprise them with a dozen roses or a box of imported chocolates. In a perfect world, their special day will echo all the sentimental Mother's Day cards sold at Hallmark.
   
     When my children were young, I cherished their handmade cards filled with loving sentiments of appreciation. As they grew older, the gifts became more creative, especially when working on a tight budget. This included anything sold from an 800 number, such as an Elvis head Chia pet, ShamWows and Ped Eggs.

     My kids know that all I need on Mother's day is their love and oodles of hugs. They also know that any of the following gift fails, no matter how nicely wrapped, will land them in the dog house. For life.


1.  A cow print muumuu with matching hoof slippers and a place for Mom's udders.

2.  Subscription to Old Farts Monthly magazine complete with scratch and sniff tabs.

3.  Give Mom a diamond necklace, not a Life Alert necklace.

4.  Don't offer a Groupon for vaginal reconstructive surgery unless your mother tells you that her lady parts resemble two stingrays swimming side by side.

5.  A can of Ron Popeil's Spray On Hair for Mom's bald spots.

6.  Five free Kegal sessions with Dr. Uso Tyght for bladder control.

7.  Dinner at the Sir-Chews-Not diner for the Sunday Special on spam and spinach smoothies. Leave Mom's dentures at the door.


8.  Your mother deserves flowers from a florist, not your handmade bouquet of ragweed and dandelions with a hint of poison ivy.

9.  A gift certificate for three classes on "How To Turn Your Pool Into A Jacuzzi Through Flatulence."

10.  Mothball Eau De parfum.

11.  A one year supply of Dry As A Bone vaginal lube.

12.  If you're giving your mum candy, make sure the label says Godiva chocolates, not the cheap knock off brand, Cadaver chocolates.


     Most mothers will be happy with the usual flowers, candy and dinner routine this year. But if Mom is looking for something unique, you can always surprise her with the cow print muumuu and matching hoof slippers.

     Happy "MOOO"ther's day!  



****EXCITING NEWS!!!!****  Menopausal Mother just won a BlogHer Voices Of The Year 2014 award for the post, 10 Reasons Why I Love Menopause!!! This has been on my bucket list for quite some time. Now I'm ready to PAR-TAY!


*This week Menopausal Mother was featured over at the NEW In The Powder Room. This post originally appeared on the site last summer and became notorious for CRASHING the site due to the surge in page views, LOL! Curious? You can read it here: http://www.inthepowderroom.com/6-good-things-about-raising-teen-boys/

   

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post By: Kim Ulmanis

     Oh, how I love today's funny WWW guest! Please welcome Kim Ulmanis of the blog by the same name:  http://www.kimulmanis.com . What's unique about this witty woman's site is her perfect blend of humor, outstanding photography and the stories she shares about her adventures on the road. Kim is also a rodent lover, so of COURSE we hit it off immediately in the blogosphere! We're both coffee addicts with humorous husbands who are often the fodder of our blog posts. Kim holds nothing back in her writing and isn't afraid of exposing the hidden layers of her psyche. These are the posts that bring so many readers to her site---she has the gift of making us look deeper inside ourselves for the answers.
     Today Kim is bringing on the funny by sharing a little slice of her personal life….or rather, her husband's talent for stinking out their pets. I've read this post several times and I'm STILL laughing over the visuals! Please welcome my dear friend Kim to Meno Mama's site today with lots of comment love!




                         LIFE IS A SYMPHONY OF BUTT TRUMPETS


Okay, so I've gotta be honest. I've known I had to write this post for weeks. But when you're feeling like a zombie thanks to Lexapro and you're winding down the final weeks of a hellish spring semester, sitting down to write a post is ridonkulously challenging.

Nevermind the fact that this should be a funny post. There's plenty of funny in my world (hello fart jokes!) but, again thanks to Lexapro, I have the memory of 90 year old.

"Honey, where did I put my keys?"

"Um, they're right in front of you."

"Oh. Right."

With my questionable memory, constant fatigue, and zombie-like state, it's a wonder I'm allowed to do things on my own. Operating heavy machinery, aka my car, is probably up for debate as well. Then again, have you SEEN how people drive in Vegas? Scary!

So, Meno Mama readers, I do apologize for not having a hilarious story to tell. I can tell you that fart jokes reign supreme in my household. They become even funnier when they scare one of our three cats.

There has also been a time or five when a cat was sleeping right next to my husband's butt and said husband let one loose. Watching a cat fly off the bed because he's scared is hilarious. Trust me on this. Who needs an alarm? Just get my husband to play the butt trumpet and everyone's suddenly awake.

Okay, I just remembered a funny story (funny how that happens when you sit down to write).

We used to have a rat named Pepper. Actually, she was my rat and I happened to bring her with me when I moved in with my husband. One night, possibly a slightly drunken one, hubby was standing next to her cage.

Poor, unsuspecting Pepper was sitting on her perch sniffing around like rats tend to do. Hubby's butt was a grand total of a few inches from her cage when he let one fly. When that happened Pepper fell right off her perch.

I don't recall if the fart was a foul one but just watching her fall off had us both laughing our asses off (no pun of any sort intended, folks).

If there's one thing I've learned (besides the fart jokes reigning supreme) in this marriage, it's that keeping our sense of humor makes life a lot more entertaining. Now if only I could remember more than one or two stories.

As I prepare to set the virtual mic down and return to my own corner of the web, I'd like to thank Marcia for allowing me to hang out here for a day. My idiot inner editor is staring at this post and saying, "Yea, you could do a lot better than this. What the [bleep] is wrong with you?" Might be time to give him another cup of coffee and maybe a cookie so he'll shut up. *sigh* What a jerk.

Moving on...

So yea, I guess that's all I got for now. Time for my meds and another cup of coffee.


In the words of Porky Pig, "That's all, folks!"





BIO:

Kim Ulmanis is a coffee addicted, early 30-something writer, photographer, and journalism student based in Las Vegas, Nevada. She lives with a mini zoo that includes her husband, three cats, and two rats. Her self-titled blog, www.kimulmanis.com, is a mish-mash of whatever she comes up with on any given day. Writing, photography, travel (when she's allowed out of her cage and her bank account isn't laughing at her), and general thoughts about life.


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