Menopausal Mother

     Welcome to another edition of Fly On The Wall group postings, hosted by Karen of Baking In A Tornado. Today 12 bloggers are inviting you to catch a glimpse of what you’d see if you were a fly on the wall in their homes. Come on in and buzz around my house to see what we've been up to!





"I can't eat this hospital food. The hamburger patty is too hard to chew and I'm afraid I won't be able to get it down without choking on it."
"That's because I just saw some guy down the hall pulling the heel off his shoe and putting it on a hamburger bun."

"Why do you take a nap on the couch an hour or two before going to bed at night?"
"It's a part of my 'Pre-Sleep' ritual."

"That breakfast burrito went through me like a breakfast torpedo."

"I think the kids are plotting to kill me. Every time I step into the living room and see that creepy, gigantic Valentine's bear on the couch, I think it's a stranger in the house and my heart stops."

"You carry enough cheese sticks in your purse to open your own dairy farm."

"I just ate two turkey burgers and now I have the entire bird stuck in my teeth. I don't think the floss I need has been invented yet that can pull this bird out of my food trap."

"My muse is in overdrive and I'm on fire."
"Quick---somebody hand me a fire extinguisher!"

"What is it with boys? Hover boards, an office chair and sparklers equal a scary night on our street. God help us all."

"A balanced diet is a cupcake in each hand."

"Sorry I didn't respond to your text. My mind wandered off and I forgot."
"Wandered off? I think it left for good."

"I ate too much piccadilly tonight. I'm crop dusting beans and rice everywhere I walk. "

"What's the matter with you? Every man has lighter fluid in his garage."
"What are you, a dinosaur? Coals and lighter fluid went out after the 60's. Everyone uses propane grills now. "

"Of course I won't tell anyone what happened. I understand the girl code of silence."
"Since when do girls know how to keep silent?"

Well, there you go, folks! Another crazy month at the Doyle abode. And yes, this girl can't keep silent. Why do you think I'm a writer??



****WANT MORE MENO MAMA? I'm delighted to have my first ever feature on Elephant Journal, and it's a POEM! Yes, in a former life before writing humor, I wrote poetry. You can read my poem "Leaving" here: http://www.elephantjournal.com/2016/02/leaving-poem/
I also have a NEW blog post up this week on Bonbon Break titled, "Mirror mirror On The Wall, I Am My Mother After All." You can read it here: http://www.bonbonbreak.com/mirror-mirror-wall-mother


Buzz around these other participating sites for a peek into some other homes:

 
     I have two adult daughters who are the light of my life, but I have to admit---their teen years were not the brightest. I could have done without the arguments over the boys they dated, the clothes they wore or the fact that they mastered crawling out of a bedroom window late at night without disturbing the dogs.

     Any parent who makes it through their child's teen years unscathed deserves a metal of honor. Perhaps more so if they've been able to successfully raise daughters.

     There are certain things that no parent should EVER have to say to their little darlings once they've transitioned from the tea party, dress-up stage to Cyndi Lauper's girls-just-wanna-have-fun stage. Although the parent may feel they have a handle on raising their teen girl, it's inevitable that one or all of the following lines will be uttered from their lips at one time or another:

*Drop that hem about four more inches before you leave the house.

*You want to put a tattoo where?

*I know you consider twerking a skill, but that still doesn't mean you should dance like that in public.

*You'll need to buy another cell phone just to store all your bathroom selfies.

*Of course you won't gain five pounds from eating three Milk Duds at the movie theatre.

*No, I'm not leaving work just to bring you a tampon at school.

*You could save a lot of money by actually washing your clothes instead of buying new ones to avoid doing laundry.

*There's a great deal on Amazon right now for chastity belts.

*No, you're not allowed to get your belly button, nose or nipples pierced.

*You're not going to experience life on the back of a motorcycle until you're over twenty-one.

*Yes, there really is such a thing as too much eye liner.


*I don't care how cute he is---if his I.Q. matches his shoe size, you can't date him.

*No, you won't be scarred for life by scraping old food off the dishes before you load them into the dishwasher.

*If the clock strikes twelve and you're not home, your car won't turn into a pumpkin but your social life will turn into the black hole while you're grounded.

*No, you're not allowed to use your college loan money for a Brazilian butt lift.



     I'm proud to say that I survived raising two teen girls----despite a few tattoos and piercings along the way. Thank God for BOGO sales on chastity belts!

   


Want more Meno Mama? This week, my article, "The Invisible Generation," is up on The Huffington Post.  You can read it here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/marcia-kester-doyle-/the-invisible-generation_b_6938344.html

 
    Little white lies. We're all guilty of using them, whether it's to protect someone's feelings or to get out of attending the fifth Pampered Chef party invitation we've received in a month. We stretch the truth on the internet to make our lives sound more interesting. We tell our teens that our wallets have more cobwebs in them than an Egyptian tomb to avoid paying for a concert we secretly don't want them to attend.

     White lies are used to avoid the truth about ourselves and our loved ones. We use them to validate our actions, manipulate situations in our favor and to help sidestep conflict with others.

     Many of my female friends are very sensitive to the feelings of others and confess to using white lies whenever necessary. For instance, they would rather shave their heads than tell their husbands that they really didn't want a nose hair trimmer for a birthday gift, or that their friend's expensive bridesmaid dress looks more like a gunny sack dunked in a vat of Grey Poupon.


     My own mother is guilty of telling me little white lies when I was a child.  "If you eat all your carrots, you'll always have good eyesight"…. WRONG. I consumed more carrots in my youth than the entire rabbit population at the local pet store, and I'm still sporting 2.5 readers.  She also told me that calves liver is an acquired taste. Thirty years later and I still gag when I smell it frying in a pan with onions.

     Here's a list of the typical white lies that many women tell themselves:


*I'm only baking these chocolate chip cookies for the kids.

*All I need is five more minutes of sleep, and then I'll get out of bed.

*The kids won't notice we're eating leftover tuna casserole two nights in a row if I bury it under a mound of cheese.

*I refuse to give away my size 6 clothing because I'm sure I can lose these last 20 pounds of baby weight.

*My husband doesn't need me to remind him that our anniversary is coming up.

*I don't waste time on Facebook or Pinterest.

*I can quit eating sugar and salt anytime.

*My husband won't notice that I spent a fortune on yoga clothes but haven't been to the gym in six months.

*One more glass of wine won't affect me.

*I'm not sleeping…. I'm just resting my eyes.

*My husband will never see the extra charges from the Ikea store on our credit card bill.

 *I'll wake up early tomorrow to finish the project.

*My co-workers won't care if I re-heat broccoli in the lunchroom.

*The kids won't mind if we use their inheritance to invest in a billy goat farm.

*My husband won't notice that I haven't had time to wash my hair in three days.

*I'll start my diet on Monday.

*My daughter won't be angry if I tag her on Facebook with an old photo from her awkward, prepubescent years.

*The calories from the bites off my husband's dinner plate don't count.

*I'm sure my boss will be understanding when I call out of work for the third time this week with a sick toddler.

*I dance so much better after several vodka martinis.

*Just one more bite and then I'll stop.

*No way was she born with a perfect body like that.

*My son won't mind if I show his new girlfriend twenty hours of old family videos.

*I swear I didn't eat the last slice of pizza. It must have been the dog.

*I'm only going to watch one more episode of Orange Is The New Black on Netflix before I go to bed.

*I don't need to write down that information because I have a mind like a steel trap.

*I can't understand why I'm not loosing any weight. I haven't cheated on my diet at all.

*My husband won't be disappointed when I claim another headache for the third night in a row.

*I can't throw away my collection of Hello Kitty socks---they might be worth a lot of money one day.

*Of course I'm on my way there. I left ten minutes ago.


*I'll buy these jeans one size smaller because I know I'll fit into them eventually.

*No, really, you don't have to get me anything for my birthday.

*My life would be perfect if I won the lottery.

*I don't snore.

*It's perfectly acceptable to steal chocolate from my kids' Easter baskets and hide in the bathroom to eat it.

*I'll be ready to go in just a few minutes.

*Of course I love your new hairstyle. That purple mohawk really brings out your eye color.



     If ten or more of these apply to you, welcome to the Little White Liar's club. Now pass me that plate of cookies---- the kids won't notice if we eat them all. We can always blame it on the dog.

     For as long as I can remember, my husband has been haunted by the ghost of old injuries. Although I've been dubbed the Queen Of Klutz, my guy has ended up in the emergency room more often than I have. An accident on the baseball field in his teens left him with the knee caps of an eighty-year-old man. They creak and pop like a bowl of Rice Krispies Cereal whenever he pushes himself off the couch.
     It doesn't help that this middle-aged man thinks with the brain of a twenty-five-year-old. He never turns down a challenge on the basketball court and will gladly snap on a knee brace just to keep up with the young
whippersnappers. One year when my son's friends gathered in the front yard with their skateboards and BMX bikes to perform stunts, The Hubs didn't want to miss out on all the fun. He assured the boys that he was quite the cyclist in his youth, and that there wasn't a ramp around that he couldn't conquer. Sensing a challenge, the teens goaded The Hubs into reliving his boyhood days one ramp at a time. He swaggered over to the bike with the confidence of Evil Kinevil before hopping on and peddling full force down the street. Up he went, over the ramp, gliding though the air with the glory of youth shining in his eyes.

     And then his feet slipped off the pedals and the bike landed with a resounding thud on the hard pavement. Good thing we were past the procreation stage in our lives since my husband lost his family jewels that day on the BMX bike from hell.

     When my youngest daughter turned eleven, she invited a group of friends over for a slumber party. While the girls ate pizza and watched spooky movies, my husband came up with a brilliant idea that only a prepubescent teenage boy would admire. He donned a rubber monster mask and crept outside to give the girls a little scare. Just as they were settling down into their sleeping bags, The Hubs popped up and pounded on the window to frighten them. The girls shrieked, glass shattered and the "monster" became strangely quiet. That's when I noticed the two, red fountains pulsing from his wrists. My husband had inadvertently sliced both on the broken windowpane and needed immediate medical attention.

    The paramedics found it hard to believe that a middle-aged man would skulk around his own backyard on a Saturday night with a mask. If they'd seen him the week before in a Velcro suit on a Velcro wall at Disney World after too many jello shots, they'd understand.

     Alcohol has always been the liquid courage that prompts men to do stupid things. My husband is no different. After a rousing game of beer pong with a group of college students, my overly confident husband challenged his two, strapping sons to a wrestling match. Oh yes, he was once the captain of the wrestling team in high school. Thirty years ago. Which explains why he ended up face first in a nightstand drawer and woke the next morning to a deviated septum and two black eyes.
   
 There have been countless knee injuries, sprained ankles, sore backs, torn ligaments, broken toes, fingers and black eyes since then. I can't help but wonder if my husband's co-workers have speculated on the nature of our marriage. Menopausal women have tempers, after all.
     At this rate, I'll need to buy stock in Advil or Aleve since arthritis is Mother Nature's revenge on my middle-aged man.
     Time to trade the BMX bike in for a motorized wheelchair.