Menopausal Mother

   
We all have them. The secret sins that keep us awake at night and tap us on the shoulder during the day while we try to go about our business. The sins that we would prefer that our friends and neighbors never see. For some, this means dancing the salsa naked with a Hoover Upright ( Hey! I didn't say that was me!). For others, it's sticking their face in a bag of mini, cheese-flavored rice cakes at 2:00a.m. (Okay maybe that was me).
     I'm not Catholic and I'm pretty sure you're not a priest, but I'm sitting in a confessional booth right now about to spill the goods on Menopausal Mama's seven deadly sins.

ENVY:  I live near a park and a jogging trail. I see women of all ages out there, rollerblading, jogging and biking. Certain ones catch my eye---the PERFECT ones, who look like they just rolled off the Barbie shelf at Target. Pink sweats with the Juicy label across their firm, little butts, and a matching tank top stretched tight across breasts that aren't jiggling like jello cups in a truck when they jog. THOSE are the women I envy. Their pre-baby bodies are free of stretch marks
resembling the NYC subway system. They are blessed with perky boobs on the high beam setting aimed at the stars instead of their knee caps. It makes me long for my youth and a certain pink bikini I once owned.


GLUTTONY:  This is the reason I no longer own the aforementioned pink bikini. I am a wine hoarder and a Nutella crack head. I am also selfish when it comes to Chinese take-
out. Don't touch my egg roll or lay a finger on my chicken chow mein. To prevent anyone else from stealing my leftovers from the fridge, I cleverly disguise my food in a covered jar marked "URINE SAMPLE." It keeps my thieving teenager away from my stash while I'm busy Googling Nutella rehab centers.

PRIDE:  This is something easily lost when you're driving an old minivan with missing hubcaps and a broken door handle....which is why you'll NEVER see me behind the wheel of the mommy mobile that seizes up at every stop light in town. My husband has inherited that hemorrhoid on wheels because he happens to know car CPR. My own pride is seriously challenged every day at the gym when I look in the mirror and see body parts wiggling and waving back at me in an unnatural way. But if you ask me about my kids or my granddaughter, I'll
whip out my cell phone faster than you can say moo shu pork and force you to watch a terminally long slide show of every phase in their lives, starting with their ultrasound images all the way to their college graduation ceremonies.


LUST:  When you're menopausal, the mind says, "Yes" but the body says, "Oh, hell no!" So you learn to lust after other things....like a beef burrito the size of a chihuahua. Or Ben and Jerry's Triple Caramel Chunk ice cream and a good bottle of Dom Perignon. A trip to Tahiti would be nice too, but at this rate I'll never be able to fit back into that pink bikini again.

ANGER:  Think Jack Nicholson in The Shining. Anthony Hopkins in Silence Of The Lambs. This is what I become when my son misses the school bus at 6:30 a.m. My head has also been known to spin like I'm in the throes of an exorcism when I send The Hubs to the hardware store for a socket set and he returns with a water-sprayng fan or a singing can opener. What's next, a toilet plunger that chants, " I think I can, I think I can"?


SLOTH:  When I think sloth, the first image that comes to mind is Jabba the Hutt. No, I do not resemble a bloated, slug-like alien, nor do I eat fleshy, aquatic creatures with slimy legs. But I DO like having minions (a.k.a. children) around to take out the trash, wash the dinner dishes and fold the laundry before all the socks play hide-and-seek or join Match.com to find their missing partners.

GREED:  While most people associate greed with money and power, neither of those things appeal to me. I'm greedy when it comes to sleep. Those evil, menopausal twins Hot Flash and Fatigue have joined forces with their mischievous cousin Insomnia to deprive me of a solid, seven hours of slumber. My bladder is never one to miss a party either, so she's right up there playing checkers with her cohorts at all hours of the night. If there's such a thing as reincarnation, I want to come back as a bear so I can hibernate for a few months in a cave and bite the head off the first person who wakes me.

     There should be an 8th deadly sin as well, called INSANITY. When my body thermostat mimics the mercury levels of an Arizona desert during the month of July, or I suddenly find myself trolling the girdle aisle at Walmart, I'm bound to feel a little crazy. To combat the bipolar symptoms of my fluctuating hormones, I've discovered that the road to happiness is paved with Prozac and chocolate....and maybe a side trip to Tahiti with a pink bikini in my suitcase.

 Welcome to another edition of the Fly On The Wall series, hosted by Karen at http://www.bakinginatornado.com. 13 other bloggers are opening their blinds and allowing you a voyeuristic peek through the windows of their homes. I'm a fly, so I can easily get in when someone leaves a door open. But I've got to tell you---I just can't stay very long at some of these homes. I need ear plugs. And a blindfold. I've seen too much in my short lifespan. All I want to do is take a dip in your potato salad and buzz around the room.  One house in particular flies the freak flag on a regular basis. These people need to be dropped off at the funny farm for an indefinite amount of time. Don't believe me? Listen to some of the weird conversations I have been privy to lately:


"I'm pretty sure these are rogue fat cells attacking my butt. It has nothing to do with the grilled cheese sandwiches I ate."

"They should invent a dual-ended deodorant stick. One side for your armpits and the other for your butt."

"Mom, where's the antibacterial cream?"
"You mean the Neosporin?"
"No, the generic one you bought since we can't afford the real stuff. POOR-sporin."

"Your bedroom stinks! It smells like a cow died in here."
"I didn't know my socks could moo."

"Oh, look at those cute raccoons in our backyard. I want one for a pet!"
"Honey, that's the wine talking...HONEY!!  STOP CHASING THE RACCOONS!!!"


"It was so hot outside while I was mowing that I don't even feel my feet anymore. They melted. All I have left are stubs."


"They need to include auto poop tubes in cars so you can suck out the toxic waste while you're stuck in traffic. It's the wave of the future."

"Obviously your wagon lost a wheel and you've derailed in the middle of a desert."

"He thinks I'm sitting around all day popping prozac like candy and watching Dr. Phil in my pajamas."

"No, old underwear does NOT make good Chinese lanterns."

"Leave your mother alone. She's cracked out on Nutella and coffee."

"Mom, my sunburn is finally peeling. There's bits of skin coming off my neck."
"It's called leprosy."
"What's  THAT?"
"When chunks of flesh fall off your body."
"Wait, what? No, I don't have that....do I?"

"I'll bet you were one of the cool kids who sat at the back of the bus during school field trips."
"I've been to the back of the bus. All you do is smell urine. It's not a glamorous thing."

"I can't help you right now. I'm getting attacked by a wolverine."
"Good. I hope it chews you up into little pieces of fish bait. "

"Where's Mom? I haven't seen her all day."
"She's playing mole in the hole in her office."

"Honey, there's either a tumor or a very large poop ball stuck to the rabbit's tail."
"Well, don't expect me to help you figure out which one it is."

"Stop trimming the hedges into bunny shapes and penises. Edward Scissor
Hands you are NOT!"

"You need to go to your weird place if you want to write like that."

     Folks, do you see what I'm talking about? These people fly the freak flag with pride.  Where are  those dudes in the little white coats to take this family away to the funny farm? Oh holy crap, is that a fly swatter? Oh no, she didn't, she wouldn't..." SPLAT!


*Be sure to check out these other Fly posts from these hilarious bloggers:

   
My folks were always avid travelers in search of new adventures. Once the last school bell rang in June heralding the beginning of summer break, our suitcases were packed and loaded into the station wagon. When I was young, these vacations involved long road trips that led to some "interesting" experiences which I am convinced is why I need anti-anxiety medications today. These special adventures into hell included spider-infested trails through a citrus grove; sleeping on a freezing mountain top in a tar paper shack with no heat, bathroom or running water; vomiting over the side of a boat (wouldn't that be considered as homemade chum?) during a fishing trip on rough water, and sleeping by myself in the backseat of a rental car when my siblings tricked me into believing there were nuclear reactor size scorpions under my cabin bed in Zion National Park.
     Once I entered adulthood, I swore that I'd never subject myself (or my children) to these summer break horrors. But history has a way of repeating itself, so I've compiled a reminder list of 10 things I will NOT be doing this summer.

1.  Get on an airplane. Most flights from my hometown circle out over the Bermuda Triangle first. I don't want to end up on a sequel of Lost or have my picture plastered on the side of a milk carton.

2.  Fall asleep on the beach only to wake up hours later looking like the main entree at a Red Lobster restaurant.

3.  Wear all white to an outdoor barbecue party. Juicy ribs + rum runners = hot mess disaster.

4.  Get into a canoe with my daughters who are just as clueless on the water as I am. Pocahontas we are not, and I already know this tender, white meat would make great alligator bait.

5.  After a camping trip, attempt to neatly fold a double air mattress back into its original box. Fuggedaboutit. Ball that sucker up and toss it into the back of the closet.

6.  Visit a Jurassic Park exhibit with life like dinosaurs roaming the grounds. I don't want to be mistaken for a pork chop or a pu pu platter for two.

7.  Go to an outdoor Judy Collins concert just because the tickets are free. Shock therapy would be
more entertaining.

8.  Vacation at a southern resort where the mosquitoes are the size of vultures with a vampire's appetite for blood.

9.  Participate in a sea cow rodeo. That's just wrong on so many levels.


10.  Zip line over a wide canyon, especially if the cord has been recycled from an old clothes line or used dental floss.


     The next time you get extra tickets to see Neil Diamond in concert at the amphitheater or feel like riding the waves on a bucking sea cow, don't bother calling me. I'll be asleep on the beach next to a bowl of melted butter. Lobster, anyone?

 Today is a special day here at Menopausal Mother for several reasons. It's my official SITS day, where I am the featured blogger on their site, and secondly, I'm participating in another Secret Subject Swap with 11 other bloggers, hosted by the lovely Karen at http://www.bakinginatornado.com. First off, let me welcome all of my SITS sisters to my site! SITS is a large blogging community of over 40,000 women sharing tips, support and friendship. The site shares various forums and offers  resources for blogging opportunities as well as featuring a new SITS blogger daily. It's a great place to connect with other bloggers, so be sure to check out their site at: http://www.thesitsgirls.com.
     I have been participating in Karen's Secret Subject Swap for several months now, and I love the challenge of writing off a secret prompt given to me by another blogger. Today my prompt comes from Sarah at http://themomisodes.com. Her question for me is: "Tell us about a botched Father's Day gift for either your spouse or your own father." I racked my brain on this one but I couldn't think of any Father's Day gifts that were botched, except for the cheap pens I used to buy my father when I was a little kid. And maybe that expensive pirate coat I bought for the Hubs years ago for the Renaissance festival (what can I say? I have a thing for pirates!).
     To avoid epic fails on Father's Day, there's plenty of things NOT to give your spouse or your father on their big day. The following is a list of 10 items to avoid next time you're out shopping:


1)  Cologne bought out of the trunk of someone's car on the side of the road.

2)  Tickets to a Barry Manilow concert.

3)  A yearly subscription to Orthopedic Monthly.

4)  A box of Rogaine and discount coupons for hair plugs.

5)  A matching set of His and Her bejeweled cremation urns.

6)  Blue underwear depicting a train across the front with the slogan, "Blow My Horn!" Male thongs are an equally disturbing gift.

7)  A case of non-alcoholic beer.

8)  A jar of pickled pigs feet in habanero pepper sauce. Or a can of beans, for that matter.

9)  A tee shirt that reads: "Just because I have man boobs doesn't mean that I am lactating!"

10)  Do not sign him up for the constipation research study advertised on a late night infomercial or the Buy-One-Get-One sale on Fleet enemas at the drugstore.


     Still worried about what to get that special man on Father's Day? Show him this list, then offer him a silk, SpongeBob tie and a six pack of generic beer brewed by hog farmers living near a sewage plant. He'll thank you for the best Father's Day ever!


     Please be sure to visit all the other awesome bloggers participating in the SWAP today!

 
 Menopause is that tricky "change of life" time better known as the "sucky phase" in a woman's life that no one ever wants to talk about.   Sorry ladies, but menopause is a fact of life, and how you handle it is all in the attitude.  It's known as "the change of life," not the END of life, which means that it isn't ALL bad.  Look at it as an era of new freedom. Yes, you heard me right. There IS an upside to menopause, and I've come up with a list of 10 reasons why you should look forward to this challening-but-interesting time in your life.

1.  No More Periods:  You can swim with the sharks and not worry about becoming fish bait. You can also go camping in the mountains in Montana without fear of grizzly bears shredding your tent in search of raw meat.

2.  Weight Gain:  This can be great, but only if the extra weight is distributed in the right places.  If it goes to the breasts, you've got a built-in floating device to prevent drowning in a pool.  If it gives you a badonkadonk butt, you can sign up as a backup singer for a Beyonce music video.  But if the excess weight settles in your stomach, you're going to have to tell everyone it's an inoperable food tumor that you are forced to carry for the rest of your life.

3.  Hot Flashes:  Sporting a shiny, red face and sweat rings under your arms has its advantages.  It fools people into thinking you just had an invigorating session at the gym or in the bedroom.  Hot flashes also keep your heating bill down in the winter and help you sweat out those extra calories from the chocolate Nutty Buddy cone you scarfed down in your car at the gas station.

4.  Memory Loss:  It's sorta like early dementia.  It erases all those nasty movie reels from the past that you'd rather forget.  Like the night you puked spiked cranberry juice all over your white birthday party dress.  Or the time your husband thought it was a good idea to clear the dance floor at your best friend's wedding reception by doing The Worm in his tuxedo.

5.  Loss Of Libido:  You no longer have to feign headaches.  Just remind your spouse that your lady parts are as dry as tumbleweeds rolling across Death Valley and he'll leave you alone.

6.  Mood Swings:  You can be Freddy Krueger one minute or a Care Bear the next, and nobody will accuse you of being bipolar like they did in the car pick-up line at the elementary school when you were a hot mess mama in your thirties.

7.  No Longer Fertile:  You'll never have to worry about birth control again.  The money you save can then be invested in Viagra stock.

8.  Insomnia:  You get to add an extra 4 hours to your day since you'll only be sleeping for 3.  All those pesky items on your to-do list will be finished in no time.  But you're going to need some spackle in your makeup box to hide those duffel bags under your eyes.

9.  Dry Skin:  This is your excuse to go shopping and spend a fortune at the Lancome counter at the mall.  No one wants to look at a face that resembles an elephant's ass or a 10 year old Shar Pei.

10.  Fatigue:  Your body shifts into narcoleptic mode every day after lunch.  To combat the fatigue, you have an excuse to invest in a gold card membership to Starbucks or convince your boss you have a medical condition that requires a midday nap on the floor under your desk.  Be sure to carry a pillow with you at all times.

     Once you change your attitude, menopause isn't all that bad.  You just have to learn how to roll with the hot flashes, bloating and roller coaster mood swings.....and it wouldn't hurt to have a healthy stock of wine on hand at all times, just in case.....

   
 Welcome to another edition of the Fly On The Wall series hosted by Karen at http://www.bakinginatornado.com. 13 bloggers are participating today, allowing you to see what REALLY goes on behind closed doors in their homes. If you have voyeuristic tendencies or like  reality TV, then these Fly On The Wall posts are perfect for you!
     I discovered several new ways to spy on my family for these posts without their knowledge. The first is called, "Fake Sleep." That's right. We've all done this. Women are especially adept at this skill when their husbands come to bed late. I fake sleep on the couch so that I'm privy to the conversations whispered around me.
     Another handy spy tactic is "Fake Bored." I pretend I'm not listening when my family calls me. I throw in a few yawns for good measure....meanwhile I'm frantically writing down every wonky comment that comes out of their mouths.
     Lastly, and my personal favorite, is "Fake Drunk." This one is almost too easy to do and quite obviously where my true talent lies. I have mastered the slurred word, the glassy-eyed stare and can even wobble better than a penguin when I walk. Everyone confides in me because they assume I'll never remember the conversation when I wake up the next morning. Yeah, I'm crafty like that.
     If you were hanging around the Fake-Sleep-Bored-Drunk, these are the snippets of conversations you would have heard around my roost:



     "Stop burping so loud! You sound like a seal in heat!"

     "My toenails fall out as easily as baby teeth."

     "I just got molested by your chinchilla. He had sex with my forearm."


     "I'd give my right testicle for a sprinkler system."

     "There needs to be a gadget in the car that allows you to poop while you're stuck in heavy traffic. But then you'd need a car bidet to go with it. Okay, so maybe this isn't the best invention..."

     "My blister just popped...there's water coming out."
     "That's not dinner conversation."
     "Anybody thirsty?"


     "That ratchet ceiling fan in our bedroom is having another seizure."

     "I felt like I was being eye raped by that creepster in the Walmart line."

     "I'm living inside myself and I can't get out!"


     "No more vodka! I'm allergic to hangovers!"

     "Are you watching Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives?"
     "Nope. I'm watching Diners, Drive-Ins and Dillholes."

     "For my retirement party, I don't want a gold watch--- I want a penis pump!"


     "Yeah, our house is unique---it's the only one with the word "Poop" engraved on the windowsill."

     "There's a hole in the roof of our junked-out mini van. I put duct tape over it to keep out the rain but it still sounds like I'm driving through a wind tunnel."

     "I just had a Kamikaze mosquito on a death mission use my forehead as a landing strip. Now he's in my ear and it sounds like a damn dentist's drill!"


     "I have to go to the bathroom so bad---my poop is now deploying into phase #2."

     "Sniff my arm pits."
     "NO! Why?"
     "I don't have any deodorant on. Do I stink?"
     "I don't know but I am NOT sticking my nose in there, even if you were sweating chocolate!"


     "What the heck is that noise my chinchilla is making in his cage?"
     "It sounds like he's using a nail file on the bars to break out."

     "If you're so worried about cellulite, go buy some oinkment cream to get rid of it."

     "No offense, but the older you get, the more you resemble that blue eagle with the bushy eyebrows on Sesame Street."


     "Are you sitting on my pillow?"
     "Yeah."
     "Did you just fart on my pillow?"
     "Yeah."
     "I have to sleep on that tonight!!!!"


     I can't make this stuff up, folks. This is how my family rolls! Now go and visit all the other funny bloggers participating in today's Swap!




   

   
 It starts with a glance in the mirror or a family picture that has been plastered all over Facebook. Yeah, that one of you stuffing half of a red velvet cupcake into your mouth.  Even your long lost relatives who are sheep herders on another continent are sharing and commenting on that picture: "Awww...look how much she's GROWN over the years..." This is fine if they're talking about a five year old, NOT a middle aged mother.
     My wake-up call hit like a clap of thunder thighs the day I uploaded some pictures taken from our local renaissance festival.  Who was that chubster in the blue gown next to Mr. Robin Hood-Wanna-Be? Oh yeah, that's me...wait, WHAT? Okay, I'll admit I've been a little heavy-handed with the desserts lately. And the frappuccinos. Those pesky, two-for-one sales at Wine-Mart haven't been doing me any favors, either. But what am I supposed to do when there's an industrial size jar of Nutella in my pantry, just calling my name? You could spread that stuff on styrofoam and it would still taste good.
     Upon closer inspection of my physical flaws in that traitor I call a mirror, I knew I had to get myself back into the svelte clothes growing cobwebs in the back of my closet. I joined an all-female gym, but quickly realized that my workout clothes from the Richard Simmons era were sadly outdated. I needed a new gym wardrobe, but me visiting a sporting goods store for clothes to sweat in is a perfect example of an oxymoron.

     I made the mistake of inviting The Hubs along to help me choose my new gear. He was a little TOO  enthusiastic at the prospect of his wife getting back into shape. I roamed the aisles until I found the women's workout clothes section and stopped dead in my tracks. Who were these manufacturers kidding? The "large" tops were the size of small sausage casings. I'd be lucky if I could stretch the shirt to fit one arm. Further down the aisle I came across a row of "grande" tank tops. In white. I envisioned a fat polar bear wearing a pink headband and hopping around the gym floor during Zumba class. I shuddered.


     And then the unthinkable happened....every chubster's worst nightmare. My brilliant Hubs was  across the store in the men's department. He held up an armload of colorful tee shirts and shouted, "Hey Hon, you need a larger size? I found a 2X in the men's department that might fit you!"  I should have slapped a muzzle on the man during public outings years ago.
     I quickly grabbed a few pairs of yoga pants and some tee shirts with motivational sayings on them such as, "Just Do It" and, "I like to lick cake batter off beaters" (No wait---that was for something else!).
     Not willing to suffer alone, I convinced one of my daughters to join the gym with me because misery loves company (and paybacks are hell). We spent our first few, torturous days with a personal trainer to learn how to use the weight equipment. But mostly we learned how not to grunt too loudly like truffle sniffing oinkers or sweating too much like two sumo wrestlers in a sauna.
     The day of our first Zumba class, I surveyed the group and was pleased to see a nice mix of ages and body types. Women's shapes are often compared to certain fruits---apples, pears, oranges...and the occasional grapefruit. I was in the midst of a fruit salad ready to learn some sexy Zumba moves. Music with a heavy, Latin beat reverberated against the walls and we began hopping around the wood floor like Mexican Jumping beans. I tried to concentrate on the dance steps but my mind kept wandering....a typical defense mechanism against the extreme pain I was in from my workout with the trainer. My thighs were so sore that I'd been forced to walk around with a full bladder all day just to avoid squatting over a toilet seat. Rather than listening to the Zumba instructor, my mind was swept along with the cluttered debris of A.D.D. ----random thoughts scurrying through my brain like rapid channel surfing through 450 television programs:

     "Drop it drop it low girl....drop it like it's hot....oh yeah, I got this booty shakin' thing down....wait. Why isn't my butt moving like everyone else's? And what's that popping sound in my lower back? At least I'm rockin' these new, neon green Nikes....actually, they kinda look like twin sand barges in the ocean. Uh-oh.....should have worn some Spanx. My junk is jiggling in all the wrong places. I swear I can still see those damn cupcakes sitting on my hips, mocking me. Crap, it's hot in here. Hot flash hell. Hard to breath. Heart, don't play me like that. I'm not dropping dead in Zumba class! It would scar my daughter for life. Hey, where did she learn to shake her ass like that, anyway? Probably snuck out of her bedroom window to hit the dance clubs all those nights I thought she was snug in bed. Umm...am I in Pole dancing 101 right now? And who's bright idea was it to place mirrors around this brightly lit room? I'm so pale I look like I've been cohabiting with family of moles.
OH HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! Is that what I think it is----camel toe? I need new pants!! Hey, what's the food channel doing on the gym TV? They should be showing infomercials for weight loss supplements or....ohh, Paula Dean is making smothered pork chops with gravy....do I have any pork chops in the freezer? Wait---what fresh hell is this---more squats? Yoo-hoo teacher, I'm dying over here. I'm not gonna Busta Rhymes---- I'm gonna busta femur. Oh great...now I'm sweating so much my makeup is running down my face
. I look like I belong at a KISS concert. Whoa! Paula Dean is baking a chocolate marble cake! Are you kidding me? She needs to get over here and do this freakin' Zumba class!  Huh? Cool down time already? You mean we're done? I made it! I didn't die on the Zumba floor!"


     Its been a few months now and Meno Mama is getting closer to brushing the cobwebs off her skinny clothes. I'm droppin' it like it's hot in Zumba class without feeling a heart attack coming on. The only thing I need now is new tee shirts from the sausage casing aisle....or maybe just some cupcake batter.....