Menopausal Mother

    I'll admit it. I've lost my funny bone. It went on vacation to Maui and left me here staring at a blank computer screen with nary an entertaining thought in my head. Oh sure, I can give you all sorts of excuses.... I'm always tired and drawn to the seductive song of my Memory Foam mattress; Menopause has robbed me of any creativity because it's damn hard to be funny when you're sweating at your desk despite the thermostat being set at sub zero temps. And no, I don't care that everyone else in this house is wearing sweaters and complaining through chattering teeth. I've lost my creativity because lately it feels as if the world has gone mad, whether it's over Trump policies or a gorilla shot at a zoo for grabbing a child who fell over a barricade. Social media and the news are full of stories that are quickly making me lose my faith in humanity.

     It's also difficult for me to be funny lately because my Mum is no longer here to bounce my silly ideas off of. She encouraged and inspired me to be the best I could be. She played a huge part in my journey as an author, but now she's gone, and I need to find my voice again without her.

     The other day when I was feeling a bit sorry for myself, I ended up spending time with someone close to my heart who struggles every single day with a debilitating health issue that robs him of living a normal life. It was an eye opener, and made me realize I have no right to complain about my circumstances. I really don't want to wallow in grief and self pity, but depression is a sneaky thief that loves to steal my thunder. It's a ghastly reminder that I'm balancing on a tightrope between sanity and the urge to free-fall into a rocky pit of nothingness. What's the answer here? There is no quick fix. I just need to move from day to day and focus on the small things that are usually the most profound things in this crazy life I live.

     The simplicity of these events is what brings me the most pleasure----that first sip of coffee in the morning when I'm still in my pajamas, a pug softly snoring in my lap; the sweet tang of fresh strawberries from the farmer's market; watching the bluejays in my yard as they gobble up peanuts left in the feeder by my back door; the way sunlight glints off the pavement after a rain storm; my granddaughter's contagious laughter when I alter my voice to sound like the characters in the books I read to her; the way my muscles burn during Zumba class and the afterglow that leaves me feeling exhausted yet empowered; the little kisses my husband sneaks on the nape of my neck when I least expect them; a text from my children telling me that I am loved.

     Yes, I know I'm lucky. Even blessed, as some would say. But knowing this only fuels the guilt that  surfaces whenever I feel myself sliding into that damn rocky pit of despair. I want to turn a blind eye to all the the things that are wrong in the universe and simply focus on what's right. This is why I need humor. It's my therapy in an otherwise scary world. Laughter makes me forget my fears and helps me cheer others who need it as badly as I do. But when that laughter dries up, I feel vulnerable and unsteady on the tightrope. I need that safety net beneath me as much as the next person.

     I'll keep working at humor----it's what Mum would want me to do. But I also have to learn to write for myself, and not just for my readers. It's the only cure I know for beating back a defeatist attitude. I'll find my funny bone again one day. It's out there somewhere, enjoying the surf and sand while I'm drinking lukewarm coffee and praying for a miracle in front of my computer screen. That's okay, though, because the bluejays are out this morning, the dogs are playing in the yard and my granddaughter is reading Dr Seuss to me.

     And for today, it's enough.  



 

   
    Many mothers wake up on their special day in happy anticipation of what's to come. Perhaps the kids will bring them breakfast in bed and their husbands will surprise them with a dozen roses or a box of imported chocolates. In a perfect world, their special day will echo all the sentimental Mother's Day cards sold at Hallmark.
   
     When my children were young, I cherished their handmade cards filled with loving sentiments of appreciation. As they grew older, the gifts became more creative, especially when working on a tight budget. This included anything sold from an 800 number, such as an Elvis head Chia pet, ShamWows and Ped Eggs.

     My kids know that all I need on Mother's day is their love and oodles of hugs. They also know that any of the following gift fails, no matter how nicely wrapped, will land them in the dog house. For life.


1.  A cow print muumuu with matching hoof slippers and a place for Mom's udders.

2.  Subscription to Old Farts Monthly magazine complete with scratch and sniff tabs.

3.  Give Mom a diamond necklace, not a Life Alert necklace.

4.  Don't offer a Groupon for vaginal reconstructive surgery unless your mother tells you that her lady parts resemble two stingrays swimming side by side.

5.  A can of Ron Popeil's Spray On Hair for Mom's bald spots.

6.  Five free Kegal sessions with Dr. Uso Tyght for bladder control.

7.  Dinner at the Sir-Chews-Not diner for the Sunday Special on spam and spinach smoothies. Leave Mom's dentures at the door.

8.  Your mother deserves flowers from a florist, not your handmade bouquet of ragweed and dandelions with a hint of poison ivy.

9.  A gift certificate for three classes on "How To Turn Your Pool Into A Jacuzzi Through Flatulence."

10.  Mothball Eau De parfum.

11.  A one year supply of Dry As A Bone vaginal lube.

12.  If you're giving your mum candy, make sure the label says Godiva chocolates, not the cheap knock off brand, Cadaver chocolates.


     Most mothers will be happy with the usual flowers, candy and dinner routine this year. But if Mom is looking for something unique, you can always surprise her with the cow print muumuu and matching hoof slippers.

     Happy "MOOO"ther's day!