Menopausal Mother

     I decided several years ago not to make New Year's resolutions after a series of failed attempts at improving myself. Not a whole lot of change going on over here at my age. I'm pretty happy right where I am, but it's nice to dream about certain resolutions coming true. Lose weight? Maybe a pound or two. Finish my memoir? Absolutely! But don't ask me to give up chocolate or lemon drop martinis because that will never happen.

     What else will I resolve (but fail) to do in 2019? Everything on the list below. You might even find a few of these on your own to-do list for the New Year.



1. Buy a Peloton bike for my morning workout. This will be great.....for about a month. By February, the bike will be used as a place to drop my clothes. I don't need an expensive laundry hamper like that.

2. Begin the Keto Diet. Everyone knows what happens with this resolution. It ends up being the Eat-O-Diet.

3. Be more patient with people. Which I can totally do until I get into my car. "WHAT THE HELL, DUDE, MOVE! IT'S A GREEN LIGHT! ARE YOU COLOR BLIND?"

3. Get organized. In theory, this is a wonderful idea. Usually I start with the Tupperware drawer in my kitchen. But after finding ten containers and only two matching lids, I get frustrated and quit. I'm pretty sure those lids were abducted by the same aliens who stole the other half of my matching sock sets from the dryer.

4. More "me time" for pampering. I'd love to try goat yoga twice a week. Just remind me not to leave my mat unattended for any length of time.

5. Travel the world and experience new cultures. The problem is that I don't fly. As soon as someone builds a bridge over the Atlantic, I'm sure I'll get there.

6. Resolve to make amends with the people who treated me crappy in 2018. Nahhhhhh......I'll let karma handle that one.

7. Practice Five Minute Meditation. Which is fine, until it turns into a three hour nap.

8. Drink less alcohol. HAHAHAHAHA.

9. Save Money. Does this means I can no longer collect sequined poop emoji totes??

10. Spend more time with family and friends. Does interaction on Snapchat count? Asking for a friend....

11. Lose Weight. This might work if my favorite source of entertainment wasn't rummaging around in the refrigerator every 30 minutes.

12. Find a new job. Sure, I could easily go from being a stay-at-home writer to being a stay-at-home professional napper.


13. Learn a new skill. There's no better time than 2019 to master playing beer pong with my left hand.

14. Volunteer time to a worthy cause. Since I'm allergic to grumpy old people, incontinent cats and cranky toddlers, it looks like a dolphin rehab center would be more my style.

     All kidding aside, my resolutions to love more and to treat each new day as a gift is an easy one to keep. 2018 was a mixed bag of emotions for me with health scares, political drama and hurtful people, but I finished out the year in the most spectacular way with the birth of a new granddaughter. And with the recent announcement of my son's upcoming nuptials in April, it looks like 2019 is already off to a great start. I'm really looking forward to what the new year has to offer. BRING IT ON, 2019!!

     I'm thrilled to have Margaret Lashley, author of Glad One: Starting Over Is A @%&%#! , on the blog today! I "met" Margaret online in one of the social media writer's groups that I belong to, and immediately felt that I had found a kindred spirit. Margaret has written several funny, women's fiction books, and today she is generously sharing a chapter from her latest. On Amazon, the book is described as, "Glad One is a satirical look at divorce, single-hood and climbing back up the social scale told through the eyes of a sarcastic, reluctantly redneck woman who's a magnet for the absurd."

     I'm already hooked after reading several chapters----Margaret's humor is something I can certainly relate to, and I think that you will, too!


                         GLAD ONE: STARTING OVER IS A @%&%#!

     Before the ball drops in Times Square, we have our New Year's resolutions figured out. We toast to a prosperous year ahead and have every intention of following through on our resolutions.

     And it works....for about three months. It's easy to get sidetracked from our goals by stress, boredom and a really good plate of pasta marinara. Over the years, I've learned not to make such stringent resolutions for myself. What's the point? I know I'm going to break them anyway, since I'm as easily distracted as a six-year-old in the toy aisle at Target.

     When I was in my early twenties, it was simple to make a bucket list of things I wanted to do for the coming year. Hop on a plane to Paris, explore the Greek islands, or run with the bulls in Pamplona, Spain. Now that I've hit my middle-age years, I'd be lucky to run with the llamas in Bolivia.

     My expectations are lower these days, freeing me from the guilt trips I faced when I broke my resolutions early in the new year. I know what I'd like to see happen in the coming year, but I'm a realist, and frankly, if I can get through the next twelve months without breaking any bones or needing cholesterol medication, I'd call the year a success.


 Lose Weight
     Resolution: I'm going to lose these extra pounds that have inflated my waistline like the Goodyear Blimp. I'll just cut back on portion size, skip the carmel lattes and eat more leafy greens.
     Reality: Is that a bag of Doritoes?

Exercise More
     Resolution: I'll join a gym so that I can be in shape for swimsuit season. Working out with weights every day will get rid of my underarm wing flaps so that I'm no longer mistaken for a sugar glider.
     Reality: I haven't been to the gym in three months because I'm too damn busy. I have dirty laundry piled higher than the Sierra Nevada Mountain Range, and there's a colony of dust bunnies breeding under my couch. I'm terminally tired and easily swayed by the sweet siren song of my memory foam mattress. I'll go to the gym tomorrow, I promise.....

Save Money
     Resolution: I need to put more money into my retirement fund. Winnebagos aren't cheap.
     Reality: My appliances have different plans for me this year. With a weeping toilet, an ornery washing machine, and a dishwasher that gave up the ghost two days ago, the only recreational vehicle  I'll be driving after retirement is a Vespa.

Drink Less
     Resolution: It's bad enough that my brain isn't as sharp as it used to be when I was in my twenties. I need more gingko biloba and less tequila.
     Reality: Wait a minute---have I had two margaritas, or three? How can I cut back on drinking if I can't remember my resolutions by the time I've had my second drink?

Get More Sleep:
     Resolution: I'm going to get to bed earlier instead of staying up late every night to watch Netflix.
     Reality: I'm only going to watch one more episode of Downtown Abbey and then I swear I'm going to bed.

Spend Less time On The Internet
     Resolution: Social media is a time-suck. I'm going to deactivate all my accounts and focus on socializing with my real friends, not the ones who live inside my computer.
     Reality: I need to see the latest food porn photos on Instagram and Facebook to find out what my friends are eating for lunch. Hopefully Pinterest has some clever recipes for deconstructed tuna casserole since I'm obviously not going to have time to cook tonight.

     I've accepted the fact that I suck at keeping New Year's Resolutions. For this reason, I'll be happy to raise my glass when the ball drops and toast to a future filled with long naps, Netflix, and maybe a llama or two.

   
     Smart teenagers know that the way to a parent's heart is through obedience, love and respect for the people who raised them (plus offering to do a few loads of laundry will go a long way). But smarter teens know when to keep their mouths shut, even though chances are they disagree with most of what their parents tell them. They have their own agendas, but the clever ones know how to distract their parents long enough to cloud their judgment. They'll push the limits to borrow the family car or extend a curfew, all the while swearing that they'll be careful.

      As parents, we want to trust our little beastlings, so we give them the benefit of the doubt. But sometimes it backfires…..

1. I'll co-sign on their student loans because I know they'll never be late on a payment.  
    Yes they will. And when it happens, you'll be inundated with robo calls from collection agencies          because your college-age teen chose to buy the latest iPhone, stereo system, or big screen TV rather than make a monthly loan payment.

2. Sure, my kids will help me mow the lawn this weekend, fold the laundry and dust all 90 squirrel figurines in my curio cabinet. 
     For real? What planet are you from? First off, no teen wakes before noon. After that, you'll be lucky if they brush their teeth and put on deodorant. In other words, you'll be cleaning out the A/C grate and weeding the garden by yourself.

3. My kids won't remember family night at the sports bar/restaurant when I had one too many beers. 
       Yes. Yes they will. And they will remind you until your 80th birthday about the time you entered a punching bag contest after nine beers and the punching bag won. Nor will they let you forget what you looked like after you swung, missed the bag, and ended up on the floor curled up like a cocktail shrimp.

4. My teen just got his driver's license. He'll do fine since I taught him how to be a consciencious driver and to always obey the speed limit.  
     What you don't know won't hurt you….until your child hands you a $150 speeding ticket from going 65 in a 25 mile-per-hour school zone. This same teen still believes that his 1991 Dodge Caravan can outrun a 2015 Mustang GT.

5. Of course my kids know better than to break their curfew. 
     Uh-huh. That's why they leave their bedroom window unlocked and oil the hinges on the front door with W-40 while you're sound asleep in Never Never Land.

6. I know my kids enjoy spending time with the family, especially when it's Monopoly night.
     Wrong. They would rather scrub grout from their shower tile or babysit the neighbor's toddler who has a bad case of diarrhea than spend an evening with dear old BORING mom and dad.

7. Their first love will be the school valedictorian who has a full scholarship to an ivy league school where they'll earn their doctorate in nuerosurgery. 
      Dream on. Every teen goes through their "I-wanna-bad boy/bad girl-phase." Grit your teeth and gnaw on a leather strap until they outgrow this nail-biting phase of life.

8. I don't need to spend more than $200 a week on groceries for a family of four. 
     There's a little known fact that teens, especially boys, consume a gallon of milk a day washed down with an entire package of cookies and chips. You might as well buy a few chickens while you're shopping because you can never have enough eggs in the house when there are one or more teenagers living under the same roof.

9. My teen hates the smell of cigarette smoke and the taste of alcohol, plus she hates taking any form of medication. Chances are she'll never drink, smoke, or try drugs.
     Sadly, this is wrong. Chances are your teen WILL try one or all of these things at some point because peer pressure is mightier than you can imagine. Brace yourself for a bumpy ride…"Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore."
   
10. My kids will never get a tattoo or body piercing. 
     You wanna make a bet? The good news is that some of those things will be in areas on their body that you will never see, so don't worry about it. If you can't see it, it doesn't exist, right?
   
     The only lie you're allowed to believe is the one that really isn't a lie, even though at the time (while raising teens) it might feel like one. They love you. They really do. And one day when they're old enough to understand all that you've done for them, they'll appreciate you.

     But don't forget to hide the WD-40, just in case….
   



       
     

     Meno Mama is spending the holiday with her crazy family at the nuthouse, so in the meantime I wanted to leave you with a funny guest post I wrote a few months ago for my gal pal Stephanie over at http://whencrazymeetsexhaustion.com. This is a memory from a long time ago…one I'm not too proud of but fortunately am able to laugh at myself for doing the things that I did back then. What can I say? I was young and stupid at the time……



We planned it for months. It was to be the birthday party to end all parties. I bought a beautiful, white silk pantsuit with lace and hand sewn seed pearls on the front for the momentous occasion. The bar, disc jockey and baby sitter had all been reserved, along with a food and decorating committee. On THE BIG DAY, my brother surprised me with a bottle of Dom Perignon ( nectar of the gods) and my husband had a brand, spanking new minivan delivered to our home. It was the perfect day….and I don’t do well with perfection. Because somehow I find a way to screw it up. Two hours before the party started, The Hubs was in the driveway signing the papers with the car salesman. The cold bottle of Dom was calling my name from the refrigerator. I drank the first glass while I finished putting on my makeup. I drank the second (and third) while I was curling my hair. By the time I was pouring my fourth, The Hubs finished the deal and handed me the keys to my new birthday present. I didn’t eat before the party because I’d been dieting so that I wouldn’t look like the Michelin Man in my white pantsuit. I think you know where I’m going with this: champagne + empty stomach = TROUBLE. By the time we arrived at the club, my nerves kicked in at the prospect of hosting a party for 50 people. I quickly marched up to the bar to place my order. My brain started screaming, “NOOO!” the minute my mouth shouted ,”Sex On The Beach!” I NEVER drank that cocktail combination! Someone slipped the bartender a few extra bills to make the drink stronger for the birthday girl. Yeah, like I needed that. I pinched my nose and chugged the drink to calm my nervous excitement. Oh vodka, you fickle bitch, convincing women they can move like a pole dancer on the floor to any pulsating beat from a DJ’s sound system. The siren song of alcohol warped my perception, leading me to believe I was as sexy as Cat Woman in a snug, white pantsuit. I sidled up to every male in the room (including the janitor and a skitterish waiter) like a wolf in heat. The Hubs was busy playing host and didn’t seem to mind that his wife was quickly turning into a party train wreck. That evening, 20 years ago, is still a blur to me. I remember stumbling through some horrid line dances and stepping on many toes. I never got to blow out the candles or taste the birthday cake because I was too busy ralphing up Sex On The Beach in the toilet. My beautiful, white pantsuit turned into a Jackson Pollock painting with red cranberry juice splatters all over the fabric. I DO remember my sister and my best friend holding my hair out of my face so that I wouldn’t wake the next morning with puke-encrusted strands. It took several men to carry me down a flight of stairs to the minivan and believe me, this scene was nothing like Madonna’s “Material Girl” music video where all the male dancers are carrying the sexy, writhing singer down the stairs. Oh, I was writhing all right; writhing in agony because my stomach had not finished giving up the ghost. I learned the next day that everyone happily carried on without me and (thankfully) no lap dances were performed. After I woke from my alcohol induced coma with a headache reminiscent of electro shock therapy, I crawled to the phone to start my long list of apologies to the guests. Moral of the story: tequila might make a woman’s clothes fall off, but Dom makes me dumb and vodka makes me vampy. Next time I’ll wear camo to the party to hide my upchuck imperfections.


***Please check out my pugalicious Christmas card to all of my dear readers today over at In The Powder Room! http://www.inthepowderroom.com/read/home-time/2013-12-doyle-nut-house.html

   
Welcome to another Fly On The Wall group challenge, hosted by karen of http://www.bakinginatornado.com. Thirteen bloggers are participating today to give you a glimpse into their private worlds. This month, that pesky fly crashed my birthday celebration and aimed right for the coveted birthday cake. I swatted him away from the sugary confection, but this is what the uninvited guest overheard:

     "Isn't it great becoming a year older? You recognize all the music playing in elevators and mysterious skin tags show up in your arm pits."

     "How would you like to spend your birthday?"
     "Tipsy shopping and drunk eating, of course."

     "The rabbit just peed all over my foot. Do you suppose that's his way of wishing me a happy birthday?"

   
 "You'd better stop poking fun at me for getting a year older. I have BIG plans for you."
     "Oh yeah? Like what?"
     "When you turn eighty, I'm going to strap you into your wheel chair with duct tape, slather you with peanut butter and sunflower seeds, then leave you out in the backyard all day to become a human bird feeder."

     "The first person who buys me adult bladder leakage pads for my birthday will be placed on pug poop patrol for an entire month!"

     "There will be no talk of corn porn on my birthday."
     "Why not? Don't you want to be 'buttered up' on your special day?"
   "Oh gawd, I'm living with a pack of neanderthals."

     "It's pretty sad that I can sum up the past year of my life in five words: wine, Nutella, squirrels, blogging and menopause."

     "I think you'd better slow down on the partying. It looks like you've either jammed or broken your finger. Do you need to go to the emergency clinic?"
     "Are you kidding? I can't do that. You were just there to have eight stitches put in your hand. That doctor is going to look at our double injuries and think, 'What have you kinky-ass people been
doing?'"

     "What are your plans for your birthday?"
     " Cleaning up the chinchilla's poop."
     "My, you lead a glamorous life."

     "I already know what I'm giving you for your birthday: a coupon organizer, miracle wrinkle cream made from goat pee extracts and a lifetime supply of ibuprofen."

     "I'm so sweaty in this dress, I have to wing out my thighs."

     "Go ahead and eat the leftover grounds from your Turkish coffee. I need you to stay awake tonight for the party."

     "You're lucky---you can eat as much cake a you want because you have the metabolism of a gnat. Mine, on the other hand, is more like a turtle's. In this case, slow and steady does NOT win the race."

     "What? No sexy thongs for a birthday gift?"
     "Your butt floss days are over. But I WILL buy you a case of dental floss."

     "Did you give the pug your birthday dinner leftovers? He just farted and I swear it smells like Cantonese shrimp."

     "Nothing is worse than waking up with a hangover. I smell stale garlic and rum on my breath. I need a mouth douche."

     "Leftover birthday cake and ice cream at 7:00a.m. It's the breakfast of champions."


     The night of my birthday celebration, we closed down the restaurant.....because folks, that's how we do birthdays Doyle style!



****NEWS FLASH**** I have more, exciting news to share with you! Meno Mama is once again honored to be a contributing author in another newly released book, Sunshine After The Storm. It's a collaboration of stories from parents sharing their stories of pregnancy and infant loss. The book is beautifully written, providing hope and support to grieving families. It is currently available through Amazon.com. Order your copy today!





     Please be sure to visit all 13 bloggers participating in today's Fly On The Wall group challenge!

http://BakingInATornado.com                                     Baking In A Tornado

   
 Welcome to another edition of the Fly On The Wall Series, hosted by Karen at http://www.bakinginatornado.com. That pesky fly has been busy buzzing around the 12 bloggers participating in today's group challenge. He even followed me on a recent family vacation and left with an earful. My guess is that after spending a week with us on the road, he dove into the nearest martini to drown the memory of what he witnessed during our trip:

"I've had so much coffee on this road trip, I could hang a Starbuck's sign on my bladder."

"Stop feeding the pug banana bread! It may smell good going in but it smells really bad coming out."

"Don't make me laugh so hard in the car---I have to pee!"
"Next time remind me to get plastic seat covers..."

"Too bad it rained, because I was really looking forward to zip lining over an alligator pit."

"Why are we the only people in the hotel gym with Solo cups full of champagne?"
"Because the lounge was closed. This way we can drink and burn off the calories at the same time. Oh
look! There's champagne cup holders on every treadmill!"


"Did you just fart in the pool?"
"Um...no...why?"
"Because your swim trunks are billowing out like a flotation device."

"Oh great...take the guy with no cartilage in his knees on a rocky, ten mile hike through the woods...yeah, that's my idea of a fun, family
bonding moment."

"What on earth took you so long at the gas station?"
"We were comparing penises in the restroom."

"We've had so much to drink since we've been on vacation, my liver is crying out for an AA meeting."

"Stop dropping gas bombs in the car. You smell like processed ass."
"You're the one who bought me the fried chicken tenders, Dad. They upset my stomach."
"Chicken tenders? More like chicken stinkers out the butt."

"Nothing like driving a car with a transmission that bucks you out of your seat."

"We took a wrong turn on that last trail. I think we're lost. We could be in China for all I know."
"I think we've just entered another dimension, known as the Twilight Zone."
"Or we're starring in a new movie---Paranormal: The Woods Edition"
"I told you we should have left a trail of breadcrumbs..."

"Hon, you've eaten so much on this trip, I think we need to stop at Walmart and get you some men's maternity pants."

"Stop making booger patches on your side of the car!"

"Why aren't you going inside the caves with us?"
"Because I'm probably older than most of those stalagmites. And I'm claustrophobic. I might have a heart attack. Paramedics don't respond to cave calls."
"I don't understand what caused you to be so claustrophobic."
"I got trapped inside a mole hole as a child."

"Stop using the gingerbread cookie air freshener in the bathroom to mask your poops. Next year when I smell Christmas cookies baking in the oven, I'll think of poop."

"I know its been raining a lot, but it'll pass."
"Yeah, about as quickly as a gallstone."

"It's about time you got into a pool after 15 years. This is a HUGE event...sort of like man's first visit to the moon.... one small step for Marcia,
one giant leap into the pool."

"Why did you guys sprint ahead at the park and leave me behind in an open field with lightning, rain, 50 mile per hour winds and a funnel cloud above? You knew I couldn't run the mile back to the car with my bad knees."
"It's not our fault you're the injured buffalo in the herd."
"That means you'd leave me behind to be eaten by the wolves?"
"We didn't want to get hit by lightning or sucked up in a tornado. You were moving too slow for us!"
"I was busy clicking my heels, trying to get back to Kansas."



     And this, folks, is how we vacation Doyle style. I'm off now to swat a fly and fill my Solo cup with champagne. Be sure to visit the other bloggers in today's challenge!