Menopausal Mother

     With Father's Day approaching, I've spent this past week thinking about my husband and how blessed I am to have him. Many of you may not know this, but I met Mac on a blind date in 1982, and although it wasn't love at first sight, all it took that night was one kiss in the parking lot and I knew he was THE ONE. Call it chemistry, call it destiny; either way, I knew I'd found my soulmate.

I was recovering from an abusive relationship at the time, and the last thing I needed was another man in my life, but Mac was different. His compassion, honor, quick wit and loyalty convinced me that he was a keeper, and here we are, 34 years later with four adult children, one feisty granddaughter and....SURPRISE! Another grand baby on the way!




     Our children won the dad lottery when the powers that be decided that we would have four kids. The role of father is one Mac embraced wholeheartedly from the very beginning, spending every spare moment he had with his family: Wiffle Ball games in the backyard, shave cream fights on the lawn, helping to coach our son's little league team, attending every one of our daughters' marathon-
length dance recitals, and pushing the kids in a cart around the grocery store while they each picked out their favorite treat.




He played "monster" for hours whenever the kids asked, chasing them around in the dark with their friends no matter how tired he was after work. He volunteered in their school classrooms, attended overnight field trips with them, and served on the PTA board. He taught them how to Rollerblade and ride a bike (and eventually taught them how to drive). He played basketball and hockey in the driveway every Sunday with all the neighborhood kids, helped our kids build their science projects, study for their exams, and was always available for cuddling on the couch whenever they felt sick.


Mac also taught them to love unconditionally and to never, EVER, take the unique closeness that we share in our family for granted. Our kids know that their dad always has their backs, and that they can count on him to feel safe.

The list goes on and on, and there aren't enough words to describe how appreciative I am that he is the father of our four, amazing children.

Amazing because of him.

Happy Father's Day Mac, and to all the hard working fathers out there celebrating this special day of recognition. You deserve the best!


***WANT MORE MENO MAMA? This past week I was featured on Motherhood Collective.  You can read about my funny experience with head lice here: https://motherhoodcollective.blog/2018/06/07/the-5-stages-of-head-lice-from-denial-to-depression/#more-1748

     I remember the day I dropped my oldest child off for his first day of kindergarten. Once the teacher smiled politely, waved goodbye and shut the door, I rounded the corner and sobbed. My baby boy was growing up too fast.

     Fast forward to his college years. It was deja vu all over again when my husband and I hugged him goodbye and drove away from the dormitory that was to be his new home. Once we were out of view, I curled up in the fetal position on the passenger side of the car and cried during the entire trip back home.

     I survived all those years my son was gone, and went through it again with my oldest daughter when she picked a school several hours from home. But I was prepared, and by the time she left for college, I was a seasoned veteran of parenting long-distance. Fortunately, my two younger children chose to stay local, which spared me another round of emotional goodbyes from the steps of a college dorm.

     Now that I have all four of my offspring living nearby, I've noticed not only a stronger bond between us, but a few subtle idiosyncrasies that no one warned me about once my baby chicks grew up and flew the coop. I was surprised to learn the following about my adult children:

* My kids still believe dear old Mom and Dad have only had sex four times in their life---once for each kid. There's something to be said about living in a state of denial.

* They expect us to babysit their pets whenever they go out of town. Good thing none of them own a six foot python, otherwise we'd have a problem.

* Even though they have washing machines down the hall in their apartment buildings, they prefer to haul an industrial size bag of dirty clothes to our house, especially if they're fresh out of quarters.

*They're convinced that we have gold bars buried in the backyard and that we cash them out from time to time to afford our monthly beer budget. The rest, they are certain, will be liquidated to fund our future retirement home on wheels.

* The first thing they do when they walk in our door is head straight for the refrigerator. We might as well hang a neon sign above it that says, FREE FOOD. Same goes for our supply of toilet paper and paper towels.

*They never keep a stash of envelopes or stamps, and will pass by the post office next to their home in favor of driving the extra five miles to our house to borrow one of each.

*Even though they know how to wash and wax a car, they still bribe their father to clean their vehicles with the promise of a bottle of Jameson whiskey.

*On the rare occasions that we get an invite to their apartments for dinner, we have yet to eat a meal off of anything other than paper plates. At least they use real silverware. Have you ever tried cutting a steak with a plastic knife and fork?



     The best part of having adult children is the friendship we share. The door is always open and the fridge is well stocked for their impromptu visits.

     Little do they know that we really ARE saving up for that retirement on wheels….and the day we leave, I'm taking all the toilet paper and paper towels with me.  

     It's that time again! For those of you new to my blog, welcome to another monthly edition of Fly On The Wall group postings, where 14 bloggers invite you into their homes for a peek at what goes on behind closed doors.

     This has been a quiet month for us, so I believe the fly has been catching up on his naps. I wish I could do the same. Most of my time now is taken up with book marketing strategies---the difficult side of a writing career. It's incredibly time consuming and takes away from what I love doing most---WRITING! The good news though is that my tech girl designed a new page on my blog for the book, which you can see here: http://www.menopausalmom.com/p/who-stole-my-spandex.html

     If you were a fly buzzing around my house this month, here are a few remarks you would have heard floating around the Doyle house:


"I would never go on a cruise ship. Too many rogue waves out there."

"Hey Dad, come here and let me prove to you how strong I've gotten since I've been lifting weights. I'll pick you up."
"No thanks---I don't want to end up with a broken clavicle."

"I wish my inner editor would stop waking me up at 4:00am to share her ideas with me."

"A fart is just a warning sign of what's to come."

"Our neighbor is having a garage sale and he's selling a giant plastic worm that kids can ride. Should I buy it?"
"No, I'm not riding the worm with you."



"I'd wrap that in bacon."
"You'd wrap anything in bacon and eat it, including your pillow."

"Can you please tell our son that changing the toilet paper will not cause brain damage?"

"Karma takes too long to catch up. I'd rather just smack you right now."


"I don't have a bucket list but I have a F@%k it list that never ends."

"Just because my reality is different from yours doesn't mean I'm crazy."

"Of course I love you, but you sound better when your mouth is closed."

I'd like to share a funny little story with you that happened yesterday. If you read my previous post about the odd things that occur around my husband--- http://www.menopausalmom.com/2014/12/good-intentions-gone-wrong.html ---then this story will not surprise you.

One of my chinchillas had diarrhea late in the afternoon, which can be dangerous with these types of animals. I called my vet, only to learn that he was out of town for a few days. They gave me the name of another vet at a different office and suggested I take my chinchilla there. Luckily, my husband had just gotten home from work and offered to take our pet so that I wouldn't have to change my dinner plans.

He was gone for two hours, and I began to worry that something was seriously wrong. Just as I was about to call him, he walked in the front door with a big grin on his face. Apparently, National Geographic was at the vet's office filming for their series, "National Geographic in the Wild" and asked if they could video my husband and our chinchilla during their doctor's visit! How crazy is that? My friends asked if I was disappointed that I wasn't there, and my answer was a resounding "NO!"  I hadn't washed my hair in two days and was still sporting a bleach-stained t-shirt from the previous day that had a few grease spots on it from my lunch. I'm grateful that I WASN'T there.

The episode will air some time in the fall---I'll keep you posted. Now, hop on over to the homes of the other bloggers participating in today's Fly post and see what they've been up to!


Want more Meno Mama? A few days ago I was a featured guest again on one of my favorite sites--Blunt Moms. You can read the post here: http://www.bluntmoms.com/little-white-lies-women-tell/

     Pee-u! This fly got stuck in the stink house! Today I'm participating in another Fly On The Wall Group posting with 14 other bloggers, hosted by Karen at Baking In A Tornado. I don't think the fly knew what hit him when he became privy to all the stinky things going on in our home. I'm talking clogged toilets and methane gas. If you have a sensitive stomach or can't handle poop talk, now would be a good time to strap on some nose plugs or exit the area.

     If you were a fly on the wall in my house, you would have gagged while overhearing the following conversations (and the smells) this month:

"Don't leave the baby's dirty diaper out where the dog can get to it. That's a diaper bean enchilada to him."

"It smells really bad in the bathroom. What did you do, poop out an entire cow?"

"The kind of goat cheese they make in Missouri is NOT the kind of goat cheese you want to eat on a cracker."

"I just got extra carbs from breathing in the pug's fart."

" I had no idea our granddaughter could scream so loud. She sounds like she needs a priest to come in and perform an exorcism."

"I'm the taco to your hotdog."
"What? I'm not a kielbasa?"

"You can't eat your dinner if you have poop on your hands."

"I had a dream last night that I was back in the 7th grade. The problem was that I still had my goatee and chest hairs."

"I'm going to start a toenail farm. I'll harvest toenails for people in need."

"I haven't showered in three days. My nether region smells like road kill."

"Every dinner at the Doyle house is like a Man vs Food episode."

"No playing with your donut hole!"

"I can't handle listening to you guys sing Annie Lennox's 'Sweet Dreams' in unison. The Von Trapp family you are NOT."
"That's because we're the spin-off group called, "The Von Crapp Family."

"Your feet look like the claw feet on a Griffin leg tub."

"Forget buying Hot Pockets. We have Fart Pockets."

"I just did a manatee shart out of my blow hole."

"Hey Mom----did you know you can donate your eggs to a fertility clinic for $8000.00?"
"Mom's eggs are too old. They're scrambled…..but you should have seen the egg beater that Dad used."

"You're not just out in left field….you're in the lot NEXT to left field."

"There are so many holes in my underwear that sometimes my toe catches in them and trips me."
"That's due to your high flatulence level."
"No, it's due to the work of the Bung Hole Fairies."

"I'm so desperate for work that I applied for a job as a Hula dancer at a Polynesian restaurant."
"Honey, I don't think they're hiring men for that position."

"Someone should invent a special poop glove. It could be washable and lavender scented. It would give new meaning to the term 'Pooper Scooper.' Even better, if you put rotating bristles on it, you could sell it as a Star Wars edition. May The Poop Be With You."

     Forget a fly swatter. Anyone got a can of Glade Air Freshener?



******AWESOME time for Meno Mama! Featured on Huffington Post TWICE this week, along with a post appearing on the Erma Bombeck Writer's Workshop. You can find me here:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/marcia-kester-doyle-/benefits-of-aging_b_5465465.html
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/marcia-kester-doyle-/benefits-of-aging_b_5465465.html
http://humorwriters.org/2014/06/13/10-reasons-go-renaissance-festival

Please visit the homes of the other bloggers participating in today's Fly On The Wall. Hopefully their homes won't be as stinky as mine!

 
    The soft padded chair envelopes me in memories of my father, the leather worn where his arms once rested. I run my fingers over the smooth patches to get a sense of him, breath deep the scent of leather and success. From this chair he managed a real estate and banking business, arranged our summer vacations to the Southwest and designed his dream home in Montana.

     My father's legacy is now tucked away in the cardboard boxes that surround me, his voice a distant echo against these bare walls.

      Packing up his office, I come across a grainy, black and white photo that sparks memories of a father who carried me on his shoulders in the pool, made me laugh with his Cookie Monster imitations and when I was older, shared his quiet wisdom with me on a porch in Whitehall, Montana.

     The world will remember him as a successful entrepreneur who was larger than life; an intense man of intellect, integrity and power with a lifelong pursuit of excellence. To me, he was just Dad----the man who was my shelter in a world of uncertainties. No matter my age, I was still his little girl.

     At times he was imposing and strict, reprimanding me when I tested the limits of his patience. Like any teen, I resented his advice until I had children of my own and understood that the boundaries he set were rooted in love.

     There was also a softer side to my father that few people knew. He could be moved to tears when listening to a Wagner opera or the complexities of a Mahler symphony. His eyes misted over whenever he expressed his love and gratitude for my mother. And he hugged us tightly, as if he never meant to let go. When I close my eyes, I can still feel his arms around my shoulders and the soft fabric of his shirt against my cheek.

     When my father was first diagnosed with blood cancer, there was no doubt in my mind that this powerful man would beat the disease. We'd spent an entire summer together tracing his ancestral roots and discovered that longevity was in his family genes.

     He fought the good fight with chemotherapy but the insidious cancer robbed him of all the simple joys in life. The gourmet food and wine he once loved tasted like cardboard as he battled daily against nausea and fatigue. It was difficult watching a man who was once active in sports and a strong force in the boardroom become fragile and confused. I couldn't accept defeat, even as the soft angles of his face were sharpened by rapid weight loss from the disease.                                                                                                

     I realized cancer was winning the day I embraced him and felt the knotted rope of his spine against my fingertips. He no longer had the strength to hug me back.

     My father spent his last days in Hospice with his family surrounding him. I remember how his eyes lit up when we walked into the room and his feeble attempt to squeeze my hand when I sat beside him on the bed. Choking back tears, I spoon fed him his dinner and reminisced about happier times. Looking back, I should have played Wagner or Mahler to soothe him, but I like to think the music was still there, playing in his dreams and lulling him to sleep.

     We lost him two weeks before Father's Day. And just as I did when I was a child, I pressed my face against his chest and heard the last beat of his heart.

     My father has always been my idol and the inspiration that drives me to succeed. He saw the potential in the humorous stories I wrote and encouraged me to become the writer I am today. He believed in me when I was unable to believe in myself, pushing me to heights unimaginable.

     I miss his humor and the deep chuckle that resonated in his voice when he regaled us with tales from his youth. I miss our road trips, family holidays and the laughter we shared over a good bottle of wine. But most of all, I miss his strong embrace.

     I feel him now in the threads of Mahler's music and the stories I write from the comfort of his brown leather chair. When I look to the west, I see his smile beyond the darkness, a shooting star that leaves a bright tail across the summer night.



****Want more Meno Mama? You can find me this week on Midlife Boulevard talking about how menopause drives me crazy! http://midlifeboulevard.com/menopause-make-crazy
I'm also featured this week on What The Flicka, talking about bad Father's Day gifts: http://whattheflicka.com/10-things-get-fathers-day