As you may have noticed, I've taken a little time off from blogging recently to adjust to the passing of my mother, and to reorganize certain areas in my life that need my full attention. I'm hoping to bring back the funny next week, because the main thing I've learned throughout this grieving process is to hang onto my sense of humor. It gets me through the rough patches when I'm at my lowest point. I know that's easier said than done, but I'm working on it. In the meantime, I'd like to share a special post I wrote for another site about last goodbyes and the grieving process. This post was written two months ago from my mother's hospital room when she was still fighting to survive. At the time, I had no idea what the outcome would be, and was inspired by her strength and courage. If you have a moment, please visit Purple Clover where the post was featured earlier this week. You can read "Last Goodbyes" HERE.

I'd still like to bring some laughter to start your weekend off right, and am pleased to introduce another humor writer who never fails to make me smile. Please welcome Roxanne Jones of Boomer Haiku to Meno Mama's site today! She was kind enough to rescue me when I was struggling to write a new post. My muse is still in grief mode, but with the help of my family and their humorous antics, I'm sure I can bring the funny back soon. Meanwhile, enjoy this hilarious post--- "8 lies I Tell Myself"---from Roxanne, and be sure to give her lots of comment love!

8 LIES I TELL MYSELF

One of the benefits of getting older is the self-awareness we acquire (well, some of us, anyway—certain presidential contenders are obvious exceptions). But I digress.

I hate to admit it, but I’ve become aware of some lies I’ve been telling myself at this age. To wit (in no particular order):

I don’t have to write it down; I’ll remember it.

How deluded am I? Without committing it to paper, that middle-of-the-night inspiration for a blog post won’t be there in the morning. If that online funds transfer isn’t entered into my check register when I actually make the transfer, I’ll forget and likely end up bouncing a check. And if I don’t make a list of the six items I need at the grocery store, I’ll invariably come home with only five.

I’ll go for a walk at lunchtime.

I justify dawdling over a cup of tea and the morning news—instead of getting my ass out the door for a walk—by telling myself I’ll walk at lunchtime instead. But then lunchtime comes and I’m hungry, I get caught up in work, or I simply forget. The road to hell (and cardio unfitness) is paved with good intentions.

I’ll fit into those jeans again.

Oh, please. I’ve been hanging on to them for nine years now. I am not a size four anymore, and they don’t even have Spandex in them. Besides, medical science says it’s good to carry a few extra pounds as we get older. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Next spring, I’ll keep up with the weeding.

Gung ho at the start of every growing season, I tell myself that I’ll get out there and pull weeds in the garden at least once a week. Who am I kidding? I honestly have absolutely no interest in gardening, I have no time for it during the workweek, and kneeling in dirt with spiders, worms and other crawly things is not how I want to spend my free time on weekends. I’d rather pay someone else to do it.

This skin care product is really going to make me look younger.

Hope springs eternal. But by now, I—and my credit card—should know that no over-the-counter beauty product is going to lift my jowls or get rid of my crow’s feet. Short of a facelift, Botox or laser resurfacing, at best I’ll get well-moisturized skin that, in the right light and at the right angle, has its fine lines and wrinkles “minimized.” Sigh.

I’m not going to have wine tonight.

I don’t need the empty calories. And one glass invariably leads to two. But there’s something so comforting about the ritual, especially at the end of a crazy-busy workday. So while I start the day with the best of intentions (there’s that word again) to forego wine, when I come downstairs from the home office and Hubs asks me if I want a glass of chardonnay, sometimes I just can’t say no. I’m sure he wishes I were that easy when he offers other ways to de-stress.

It won’t hurt to wear high heels just one more time.

Yeah, tell that to my aching back, sore footpads and cramping calves. But vanity still prevails over common sense every now and then. What can I say?

If I leave my smartphone in the kitchen, I won’t feel compelled to look at it when I wake up in the middle of the night.

Wrong. I haul myself out of bed, retrieve it and spend way too long reading emails and visiting social media sites in the wee hours. I should probably ask Hubs to hide my phone at night. Or just exhibit some self-discipline and resist its siren call.

I’m sure there are numerous other ways in which I delude myself, but that’s all I can come up with for now. What about you? Are there lies you tell yourself—that you’re willing to fess up to here?

While you think about it, here’s this week’s Boomer Haiku:

Lies we tell ourselves

give the illusion we’re in

control. Let’s get real.

BIO:

An award-winning copywriter for more than 25 years, Roxanne Jones writes Boomer Haiku (www.boomerhaiku.com), a blog that takes a mostly light-hearted and often irreverent look at life as a baby boomer as we move through midlife and beyond. She recently launched the Boomer Haiku line of greeting cards, funny cards for folks 50+ that aren’t insulting about age. They’re available on her website.

You can follow her on:

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/boomerhaiku/

Twitter: @RoxJonesWriter

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/rjones2538/