Menopausal Mother

 
     I've read tons of posts in the blogosphere about gratitude. It's obvious that most of us are thankful for the same things----our families, friends, pets, health, jobs, homes, etc. But what about the little things that we often take for granted? Our lives are made easier by technology----so much so, that we often forget the small things that contribute to our daily comfort.

     Some of the "little" things I'm grateful for (and that I'm convinced I couldn't live without) include:

1. Double rolled toilet paper sold in bulk packaging.

2. Duct tape. It fixes EVERYTHING.


3. Nibble calories that don't count, especially at Costco when they hand out free food samples.

4. Plug-in air fresheners for the car to deter man sweat and the ghosts of old farts.

5. Dri-FIT wicking underwear that prevents chafing at the gym. Nobody wants to explain why there's a rash on their crotch.

6. Cheese. It's the international language of love.


7. Stretch pants. 'Nuff said.

8. Undereye concealer, especially after a long night of playing "Name That Tune" with Mr. Insomnia.

9. Bug repellent. My only defense against blood-sucking mosquitoes and the Zika Virus. No worries---I'm too old to get pregnant with anything other than a food baby.

10. Hair dye. It conceals all the grays my children have given me. I've already gone through more rainbow colors than a packet of Skittles.

11. Wine....my bottle of liquid relaxation after a stressful day.

12. Floss. The tight spaces between my teeth are like mini storage compartments. I could live off the trapped food particles in my mouth for a month if I didn't floss regularly.


13. Deodorant. Especially when I'm standing in a long line at Disney World and it's 90 degrees outside.

14. Air conditioning. I live in south Florida, which means the A/C pretty much runs all year long, especially since I'm menopausal.

15. Naps. Now that I'm older, my priorities have changed. Naps are at the top of my list, followed by food, Netflix and sex....specifically in that order.

16. Chocolate, because it makes the world go 'round....and it's cheaper than Prozac.


***WANT MORE MENO MAMA? I'm thrilled to be interviewed on Too Full To Write this week! Check out my funny interview here: https://toofulltowrite.com/2016/09/29/author-interview-marcia-kester-doyle-who-stole-my-spandex-life-in-the-hot-flash-lane/

   
     I love my quiet weekends. They give me license to indulge in one of my favorite pastimes: napping. When the lunch dishes are cleared and my schedule is free, I retire to my private little cave under a stack of blankets and pillows. Once I close my bedroom door, the family KNOWS not to disturb me. If my beauty rest is interrupted, they'll be dealing with a haggard troll…. and the consequences for waking me will be swift and painful.
     Most weekends I can steal a little shut-eye by mid afternoon. I'm a firm believer in a three hour siesta. But lately, uncontrollable outside forces have been messing with the sweet slumber I desperately crave. No, I do not have young children screeching or stomping through the house like a herd of buffalo. What I DO have is neighbors. And an obnoxious ice cream truck that takes sadistic pleasure in blaring, "Pop Goes The Weasel" from massive speakers as it drives past my home. Three times. The vendor's timing is precise----he catches me the minute I am caught in the throes of a deliciously sexy dream, about to lock lips with Johnny Depp and then….POP GOES THE WEASEL!!
     I grit my teeth against the sudden urge for an orange creamsicle, convinced there must be subliminal messages hidden in the tinny songs from the ice cream truck.
     Burrowing deeper under the covers, I wait for the offending truck to pass my home at a turtle's pace.  Just when I start to slip into the land of Noddingoff, the doorbell rings, which sets the dogs on edge. Over their incessant barking, a salesman is trying to convince me that I need to switch cable companies so that I can add an additional 500 channels to the existing 700 I already have.  Hey, I never get the chance to sleep, so why not feed my insomnia with more channels allowing me to live vicariously through people testing out Tempur-Pedic mattresses on late night infomercials?
     Once things finally settle down, I drift back into the slumber I have waited for all week.  I never know how much time passes---it could be two hours or two minutes, but it happens all the same----the neighbor next door who won last year's Curb Appeal Award has decided to do a little creative landscaping. Possibly carving Mickey Mouse topiaries out of his hedge. As he trims the base of his meticulous creations with a weed wacker, small stones ricochet loudly like a woodpecker on steroids against my bedroom window. I'd rather sleep in a room filled with chocolate wasted toddlers than listen to the torturous tapping of flying debris from the neighbor's new lawn toy.

     I decide to give napping one more shot, when suddenly I am baking in a 475 degree oven.  Who invited the freaking sun into my bedroom? Within seconds, I'm bathed in a puddle of sweat from the aftershocks of a merciless hot flash.
     Giving up on the fantasy of a two hour nap, I stagger into the kitchen for a jolt of caffeine to push me through the rest of the day. Peering around the corner, I see The Hubs sleeping peacefully on the couch, his lips fluffing out with each whistling exhale. I hear the TV in the background----a testosterone-infused program on cage fighting. I marvel at his ability to sleep through doorbells and barking dogs. Actually, I'm a wee bit jealous. Okay, a LOT. Deciding that it really wouldn't be fair for my well-rested husband to be stuck with a wife who resembles an Iggy Doll, I wake him from sleep. He opens one eye, peers up at me and smiles. I hand him a cup of coffee and flop down beside him on the couch. He channel surfs like a kid with severe A.D.D. before settling on the Discovery Channel. Grinning, he wraps his arms around me and I snuggle against his warmth. Within minutes, I drift into blessed slumber.
     I can't think of a better way to spend a Sunday afternoon than nodding off during a television documentary on the sleeping habits of wombats….while curled in the arms of the man I love.


Want more Menopausal Mother? Here's where you can find me this week: Find out why I'm a vacation sloth over at Humor Outcasts: http://humoroutcasts.com/2014/vacation-sloth. Got some neighbors who are driving you crazy? I have a solution for that. Read my latest funny post at In The Powder Room here: http://www.inthepowderroom.com/read/home-time/2014-03-neighbors-from-hell.html