Menopausal Mother

     Normally I love the holiday season, but the older I get, the more difficult the preparation becomes. I don't have the patience it takes to endure the crowds, the parties, the hours decorating, cooking and standing in long lines at the mall. If elves existed, I'd hire them in a nanosecond to take care of everything so that all I had to do was wake up on Christmas morning and enjoy my day. Oh wait---that already happened when I was young. The elves were my parents. And now it's my turn to play elf.

     I'll admit that menopause has made me more irritable than usual, but there are certain things about this time of year that really bring out my grinchy side:

   

   The Weather 
   
     I feel for my northern friends during the winter months. I have no clue what it's like to shovel my way out of the house each morning just to go to the Starbucks, or to search for a car buried under pounds of the white stuff.
 

    We have a different problem here in south Florida. Our winter lasts five days if we're lucky, and the only changing of the leaves occurs when the occasional palm frond turns brown and drops to the ground. I'd like a little bit of a change in the weather during the holiday season----temperatures in the sixties for a few months would be nice. It's hard to feel Christmasy when it's 80 degrees and I'm sweating through my tank top.

     I also envy the people up north who can make snow angels on their front lawns. The closet thing I have to that is thrashing around on the beach to make a sand angel. Even worse----while my northern friends are coating their pale skin with spray-on tans, I'll be coating my ridiculously green Christmas tree with spray-on snow.

I Get Fat

   The 12 days of Christmas should be called the 12 days of gorging. Why? Because the eating begins on Thanksgiving and doesn't stop until January 2nd. It's five weeks of no holds barred binging, and everything I eat contains butter. Before the Thanksgiving turkey gets cold, I have to move all my outfits that have zippers or buttons and replace them with clothing made of stretchy fabric or elastic. Whoever said the Pajama Jeans can't be worn to dinner at a nice restaurant was wrong.

Shopping

     First off, let me just say that you will NEVER catch me shopping on Black Friday. I don't want to end up in an internet video with all the other crazies elbowing their way through the electronics department. Long lines, greedy customers and rude sales people have nothing to do with the spirit of Christmas.

     I usually wait a week or two until the frenzy dies down before I hit the local mall. But it never fails that the day I decide to shop, I run into everyone from my high school graduation class. And of course this only occurs when I've left the house without a stitch of makeup on and hair that looks like a hiding place for a family of stowaway mice.

     The other thing that makes me stabby is the supposed "sale" prices that stores offer. Give me a break, Mrs. Department Store Manager---that memory foam pillow was always $50. You just wrote $100 on the tag, then slashed through it with a marker and called it a bargain at 50% off. No thanks. I'll just grab this $5 canister of tri-colored popcorn from aisle six and call my shopping day a success.

Secret Santa 

     Who the hell came up with the dumb idea of drawing names from a hat to buy cheap gifts for complete strangers at work? Nothing says "I-don't-know-you-and-I-don't-care" more than a plunger made in China from the dollar store. And what happens if you're paired up with the one co-worker you really do despise? Do you give them an enema kit?

     When in doubt about what to buy for a total stranger, grab a bar of chocolate, even if it's an off-brand and a bit stale. That's gotta be better than receiving a can of Silly String or a gift certificate to the adult video warehouse from Gerald in Accounting.

Decorations


     I don't mind decorating for Christmas, but my husband hates it. Every December this causes more strain on our marriage than our finances, our children, or the in-laws. It doesn't help that I'm a holiday hoarder, and my husband is easily overwhelmed when he sees twenty-three boxes of decorations that need to be opened. While I do all the indoor decorating, my guy is in charge of the outdoor part. The swearing begins the minute he opens the first box and sees the snarled mess of lights inside that will take at least an hour to de-tangle. This is followed by more boxes of legless deer, flattened sleighs, and a wobbly Santa that looks like he's been nipping at spiked eggnog. Putting together these holiday figurines for our front yard display is worse than trying to piece together furniture from Ikea.

     Every year my husband swears that this is the time he's putting up our holiday display and threatens to donate all twenty-three boxes of decorations to the Salvation Army. Little does he know that I plan to hit the after-Christmas sales at the store. I hear they'll be selling their Santa stock for 50% off.  

Wrapping The Gifts 

     I advise people to tackle this holiday nightmare by wrapping just a few packages at a time. Otherwise, you'll be overwhelmed after the first hour and your thumbs will be stuck together from pulling out yards of tape from the dispenser. Believe me, I've done Christmas Eve wrapping marathons before, and by 3:00 a.m., my packages looked like they'd been wrapped by rabid squirrels.

Holiday Parties   

     Every year I get invited to an "ugly sweater" party. This would be fine if it was 40 degrees outside instead of the usual 80 degrees here in December. There's nothing fun about sitting around in a hot,  hideous sweater that causes perspiration to pool under the breasts. South Floridians need to switch up this event by hosting an ugly thong party instead.

     Another thing that sucks about holiday gatherings are pot luck parties. It never fails that the one  neighbor down the street who's proud of being crafty with her budget shows up with an odd concoction made from leftover turkey gizzards, green beans and mayonnaise. Hey neighbor, if your dog won't eat it, what makes you think I will? And don't even get me started on fruit cakes. I'm convinced that there's only a handful of these nasty things in existence, and it's the same ones that just keep circling the globe, year after year. I'm pretty sure there are enough preservatives in these cakes to last a millennium.

     The other type of party that's known to scar people for life is the annual office holiday party, especially if alcohol is involved. All it takes is for some fool to sneak a little Fireball Whiskey into the punch bowl and pretty soon shit gets real. Sure enough, two hours into this fiasco, the young intern from cubicle B is yaking up cocktail wieners at her desk while the nerdy guy from the fourth floor tries to impress his female co-workers by doing The Worm. Even more nauseating is the company boss disguised as Santa, trying to coax employees to sit on his lap and whisper what they want for Christmas. You know what I want for Christmas, Santa? A fat raise and a Netflix marathon followed by eight uninterrupted hours of sleep.

Out Of Town Guests  


     I understand the concept of gathering the family together during Christmas to create the perfect Norman Rockwell moment, but if you're the person who has surrendered your home to relatives you haven't seen since you were in diapers, you're just asking for trouble. Within days you'll know every intimate detail about their bathroom habits and just how far they'll go to avoid washing the dishes after dinner. It doesn't matter if you give them a dilapidated sofa bed to sleep on or just a leaky air mattress---once they've settled in your home, they'll be harder to get rid of than a swarm of termites.

 Hip Christmas Carols  

     Call me old fashioned but I love the classics. Give me music from Handel's Messiah sung by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir or even a little Bing Crosby, and I'm happy. But once I hear "Silent Night" transformed into a rap song, I'm ready to stick a fork in my eye. The same goes for department store muzak. How can I pick out the right size jingle bell jock strap for my husband if all I can hear blaring from the sound system is Christmas music sung by the Kardashians?

Travel

     I feel awful for the poor souls snowed in at airports during the holidays. I can't imagine what that must be like. I don't fly anymore, but I remember the frenzy of racing through the terminals after a delayed flight to make the next connection, losing my luggage, and being sandwiched in-between two men the size of sumo wrestlers on the plane. There is nothing worse than crawling over a complete stranger's lap to get to the bathroom before your bowels burst.

     Long road trips aren't much better. Icy roads, traffic jams, impatient drivers and five hour trips that turn into twenty-four hour trips....this is the reason antianxiety pills were invented.


     Hopefully my grinchy little heart will grow three sizes larger before Christmas and I'll be humming to the rap version of Silent Night while shopping for gifts. But if someone sends me a fruit cake, all bets are off.



***WANT MORE MENO MAMA? Last week I was featured on Purple Clover with a new version of my couples' colonoscopy story. Check out my story, "Two Royal Pains In The Ass" here: http://www.purpleclover.com/health/5622-two-royal-pains-ass/





 

     Welcome to another addition of the Fly On The Wall group postings. Fourteen brave bloggers are allowing their readers to step into their homes for a glimpse of what goes on behind closed doors.

     In the Doyle house, this month has been all about holiday preparations. The Christmas tree is up, the house is decorated inside and out, the frantic shopping has begun and there are oodles of baking goods in my pantry for a weekend of marathon cooking.  I look forward to having my family here as we sip mimosas, open gifts, start a balled-up wrapping paper war and feast on all the delicacies of the big Christmas dinner. My favorite part of the evening is sitting around the fire pit in our backyard as we cozy up to the warmth and listen to family members who sing and play guitar. When I look at all the lovely faces in the glow of the fire, I'm reminded of how blessed I am to belong to this spectacular family.

     If you were a fly on the wall in my house this month, you'd see me designing my own holiday Somee Card memes, which I'm including in today's post. You'd also hear the following snippets of conversation:



"To some, it's a tin of Christmas cookies. To me, it's a support group."

"You could have helped me decorate the tree today instead of being so lazy."
"I'm not lazy. I'm energy efficient."

"There's never a happy ending from a story that begins with, 'that one time I drank Fireball at a holiday party….'"

" I can't enjoy the Christmas feast this year without feeling guilty. You've demonized all the calories."

"It's obvious you're a holiday hoarder. You need a decoration intervention."

"Thank God we have hurricane resistant windows, otherwise they would have cracked when she hit that high note on the Christmas carol."

"It's not good holiday food unless it's really fattening….and you can feel your heart beat slowing down while you eat."

"Need help wrapping all these Christmas presents? …..said no teenager ever."

"Why on earth did you buy a red star for the top of the tree? We now have a brothel Christmas tree."
"I'm going to try to stick to my diet during the holidays."
"I can't do that. I have a condition that prevents me from going on a diet."
"What condition?"
"I get hungry."

"I hope you don't wait until the last minute to do your Christmas shopping at a Walgreens drugstore. I don't want to find the Ho Ho Ho Enema Gift Set there."

"Forget 'Elf On The Shelf.' I have 'Steve Up Your Sleeve' and 'Elvis On Your Pelvis.' "

"Whoever said 'Patience is a virtue' never experienced instant gratification."
"Or long line at Walmart."

"I have a lot of decorating to do today, but the coffee will keep me going until it's acceptable to drink heavily spiked eggnog."



MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL!




Don't forget to grab your copy of my book, "WHO STOLE MY SPANDEX?" from Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble! Thanks!

     For many of us, this is the busiest time of year. It's also the most stressful. Trying to juggle the everyday demands of work, children, household chores and errand running coupled with extra holiday obligations is enough to make our heads spin (or earn our very own parking spot at the Liquor Mart).  It's nearly impossible to fit in time for decorating the house, shopping for gifts and baking special treats for family and friends.

 
     I hate clothes shopping, which explains why I've never been accused of being a fashionista. It also explains why my daughters always call first to ask what I'm wearing before they bring their friends over to the house.

     Shopping is a miserable way for me to spend a day, but when my underwear drawer looks like its been attacked by hungry moths, I know it's time to hit the mall.

     After birthing four babies by c-section and sweating my way through menopausal hell, having a root canal is preferable to me than clothes shopping. I might enjoy it more if I was twenty pounds lighter, but shopping isn't fun when I'm forced to skip the petite section in favor of the Orca department where everything comes in black, white or shower curtain pattern.
   
     My husband often accompanies me during my clothes hunting expeditions because he is: (A) Bored with all 500 cable channels (B) Needs to replenish his tube sock collection or (C) Wants to make sure I don't spend all my cash on animal print house dresses and takeout from the Burger Barn. Normally he's pretty helpful while I scan the aisles for something I can squeeze into. It's always a challenge to find an outfit that doesn't leave me looking like the exploding dough from a Pillsbury Crescent Roll tube.

     While I'm on the other side of the store pondering zippers v.s. elastic waistbands, my husband feels no shame in shouting across the room for everyone to hear:

     "Honey, can you still fit in an XL?"
 
     "Hey Babe, you want those jeans with a control top panel, right?"

     I try to be frugal while I shop, but by the time I hit the clearance section, there are only two clothing sizes left on the racks---hummingbird or mastodon.

     Once I'm able to find a dress that doesn't resemble a large paint tarp, I head for the dreaded dressing room. It's always at this moment that I wish I lived in the 1500's where everyone bought one-size-fit-all clothing from Dirty-Smocks-R-Us and dressed by dim candlelight to mask the effects of a mead and potato diet.

     Another reason I dread entering the dressing rooms is because there are some shoppers who use these cubicles for more than just trying on clothes. How do I know this? Several of my children worked in major department stores during their high school years and shared a few nightmare tales that have scarred me for life. These popular stores should consider posting signs so that paranoid people like me don't have to worry about stepping into DNA samples left by the previous occupants. Simple signs that would be helpful, such as: "FECAL FREE ZONE" or "MOTEL 6 IS DOWN THE STREET…. THEY'LL LEAVE A LIGHT ON FOR YOU!"

     It never fails that by the time I get to the checkout counter, the angry woman in front of me with three returns and a missing receipt was once the president of her high school debate team. My eye starts to twitch the moment she engages in refund warfare with the young girl behind the cash register. Obviously neither one of these women knows I'm two hours late getting home to walk a dog known for bouts of IBS. That's one "WELCOME HOME" surprise I can do without.

     Along with the shopping spree comes the daunting task of cleaning out the old clothes to make room for the new. I'm a firm believer in recycling and have found some creative ways to repurpose my granny panties with a needle and thread. By sewing them together, I can make an outdoor patio umbrella, a tent for camping trips or an heirloom quilt for the grandkids. Pinterest has nothing on me.

     The reality is that when I try on the new clothes at home, they don't look as good on me as they did in the dressing room. I'm convinced that department stores use trick mirrors so that every woman appears as shapely as an hour glass. When I get home and look in my own mirror, all I see is a pear dressed up in a shower curtain.

     Chances are I'll be returning my one-size-fits-none clothing to the mall….but only after a quick stop at the Burger Barn.



***You can find more Meno Mama this week at http://humoroutcasts.com/2014/devil-juice where I dish on the (funny) effects of too much wine.

        ***********************BREAKING NEWS!!!*************************


 I'm pleased to announce that Menopausal Mother's first book, "Who Stole My Spandex? Midlife Musings From A Middle-Aged MILF" will be released this coming fall!!!


     Many of you dear readers have been asking me if I would ever consider putting my nutty life in a book so that you can enjoy my wackiness 24/7. That time has come, and I hope you will spread the word, join my author site here: http://www.marciakesterdoyle.com and sign up for news of the official release here: https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1Sktj_KWKQgRlj4-YJWMD4eeuwROs2bGXJkdpq5B1fqI/viewform.