To Colton on his Graduation Day...

To Colton on his graduation day...if life is an ice cold six pack, you now have 5 bottles to go so drink them down and enjoy the taste of every drop. If you guzzle them down, you'll miss out on the flavor and if you drink them too slowly, they could get warm before you get to finish them. You know I'm totally talking about Root Beer right? Those glass bottles of Root Beer are delicious! I remember when you were born. I was 23 years old and at a bar. Probably on a weeknight because you can do that and still go to work in the morning when you're only 23. Your dad came in briefly and bought everybody in the place a drink and we toasted to you. I was with my boyfriend who later became my husband and then my ex-husband after that. That was 18 years ago and now, you're giving my own teenage son rides to football practice and dropping him off after choir rehearsal. You're graduating today. Where have those years gone? What have I learned and what would I tell my 18 year old self if I could go back in time and whisper in my own ear? What wisdom would I take back from here to my graduation and use to get me through the next 20 or so years? Since I can't change the past, maybe I can help you out a little with the future as you embark on your journey into adulthood...let's begin. Don't wish away your youth. You'll spend your entire adult life wanting it back. Almost everything about being a grown up sucks except for getting to say bad words and being able to drive. I can't even say legally getting to drink in a bar is worth being an adult because the consequences of that are endless. When I look back on my 20 year history with alcohol, there are several occasions when I wish law enforcement would have tossed my drunken butt in jail to protect me from the stupid that I was going to take part in. I was never lucky enough not to remember how I ended up handcuffed to a toilet or walking home in a cheerleading outfit when I was in fact not a cheerleader. Naturally, those days are long over with except for the nightmares. Fall in love a million times but remember two important things: changing your phone number is very inconvenient to a lot of people. (Bear with me, I'm going somewhere with this). And, if you think it is inconvenient for a crazy person to have your phone number, imagine for a moment what it would be like for that same crazy person that you can't even tolerate another text or call from to have a living, breathing human being with? This is very scary so pay attention! Be very careful about choosing the person who will be in your life forever because you share a child. I strongly recommend one of those flip chart variety signs that counts the number of "accident free" days for every 18 to 30 year old. The part about being a grown up sucking will become a harsh reality if you have a kid with a nutcase. Pretty sure I don't have to explain to you what to do to stop that from happening...investigate the one you want to spend the rest of your life with very carefully or the rest of your life can end up feeling like a very, very long time. Get a job you love or at least don't hate to get up to go to...everybody has to work, well, except for me because I'm an unemployed genuis waiting for Ellen DeGeneres or Jimmy Fallon to discover me, but everybody else has to work because you need money to pay for your grown up things. It helps a lot if the job you pick is one that you like. If you find that you dread going to work everyday, find something else to do with your life. Take a lot of electives in college, just to make sure you really know what you want to do. Attend college theater performances and art shows just so you can become well rounded and say that you did. In the grown up world, attending that stuff costs a fortune and that's not the time to figure out you don't like art shows and you think theater is boring. Besides, in college, you'll get to see naked chicks and they call it "art." Live in a dorm for one year so you are more sympathetic to people in refugee camps. Communal living does have it's benefits however such as the occasional member of the opposite sex in the wrong bathroom. And, if you run out of something, there's a 95% chance somebody else has it. Plus, every dorm floor has a least one kid who has an overprotective mother who brings food every weekend- make friends with that kid. Always remember where you came from...your friends, your family, your first job, and your high school. You never know when you might need something or someone from that time no matter how successful you become. Last, make memories you can hold on to like the ones your mom and dad and I have...light years before you were born, when your dad roamed the halls of the very same high school you are roaming today, saying hello and greeting everyone like it was his job,and your mom at community college when your mom sat in front of me in Stackpool's Personal and Community Health class- we were your age and had nothing but the future in front of us and odds are, it didn't go as planned but it still turned out ok. Mike Modano and I never got married like I had hoped..I blame the team moving to Texas for that. Oh yeah, and another thing about being a grown up that doesn't suck- bringing another little person into the world, watching them grow, seeing the best of you in them and letting them out in the world and knowing they're going to be extraordinary. I think I can speak for both of your parents when I say they wouldn't have missed watching you from the first time you walked to walking across that stage tonight, and there's so much more to come...Good Luck Colton.

Forty is Not Funny! : I don't mind getting older...as long as I still lo...

Forty is Not Funny! : I don't mind getting older...as long as I still lo...: Mother Nature is chock full of cruel jokes for girls and women throughout their lives, but my favorite so far is perimenopause. This is the ...

I don't mind getting older...as long as I still look 17.

Mother Nature is chock full of cruel jokes for girls and women throughout their lives, but my favorite so far is perimenopause. This is the pre-game warm up to full blown menopause and can last for many years prior to the Big Show. I started getting night sweats about 3 years ago- not waking up kinda sweaty like when you have a bad dream. This is waking up soaking wet- so wet in fact, that I wasn't sure if I was sweating that badly or if I had pissed myself. Oh yeah, cause if you've had a baby, pissing yourself is also a distinct possibility. Once I was able to determine that I did not piss myself and I had actually sweated myself through a pair of pajamas and bedding, I sought out medical advisement. That's where I was introduced to the term "perimenopause". Here's what I like best- the "peri" in perimenopause is short for period, as in the one you still get while suffering the menopause symtoms of a sloth-like metabolism, mood swings and hot flashes. Yes ladies, it's the best of both worlds- sort of like a teenager trapped in an old lady body. This was the same time that I gained 40 pounds and started getting these tumor-like zits on my chin the size of a dime. When I was a teenager, I got the occasional normal sized pimple now and then but had clear skin for the most part. These suckers come from the depths of hell and have their own pulse and take weeks to months to clear up. I've put everything on them shy of Drano and those mothers will not go down. It always ends the same way- I somehow think that an unsightly swollen red lump under the skin is more offensive than an oozing bloody scab so bathroom surgery it is. I'm an excellent bathroom surgeon- I have at least 4 different sizes of safety pins and tweezers for lancing and squeezing of all varieties of infected looking bump-ish type things. I soak a safety pin in rubbing alcohol and stab the living hell out of that thing and then squeeze it until my eyes water. Within a day or two, it looks like a flesh eating disease, but I'll do the same thing next time. It defies logic that the same body can have super acne and gray hair at the same time. I wish that gigantic zits were the only disturbing thing about my chin. I've reached that age that all of the other women in family have reached before me when the huge single black face hair begins to grow. If you have even one drop of Mediterranean blood in your lineage, you know this hair- it's the one that grew out of your grandmother's mole or out of her chin, and it was 3 inches long and black. As a child, you'd stare at it and wonder how the hell she didn't see that God forsaken thing and just yank it out. Let me tell you why...SHE DIDN'T KNOW IT WAS THERE! Each morning I search my chin and mole below my lip for that hair, and I swear to Jesus, it's not there. I'll be damned if later that night, I'll be washing my face and there it is...mocking me, knowing I had been to 20 places and talked to 100 people who had to have noticed that single 3 inch long black hair growing out of my face- the one that absolutely was not there earlier that day. Where does that thing come from? Does it go into hiding until I leave the house? When I'm not busy growing a beard, I'm focusing on gravity and what I can do to prevent its ill effects. If I am in fact suffering from the role that gravity plays on a woman's body, why don't my feet the size of clown shoes. Gravity seems to have stopped at my butt. I've never heard a woman complain about how fat their toes have gotten since they've turned 40. The biggest disappointment is my boobs. I used to leave Victoria's Secret with hundreds of dollars in bras, underwear, and other unmentionables, but now, I dread it like my dog dreads going to the vet. The last time, the tape measure clad girl asked me what size bra I wore and my response was "36 Long". She said "Excuse me?" So, I said "Uhhhh....D. 36D." She brought me a bunch to try on, and I immediately handed back everything without underwire. Once the girls have begun to "fly under the radar", they need the underwire for support. I used to worry about my boobs exploding out the top of my bra...now, I worry about them falling out the bottom. Underwire is like a belt for your boobs- holds them up! No more bras without a belt! Braless days came to an end after I nursed a child, and a bralette sounds like the name of the bra's little sister. My boobs are all grown up so save "bralette" for girls her own age. At this point, I would like a bra with underwire and please make the straps out of that same material safety straps for skydiving harnesses are made of so the skinny little straps quit making divots in my shoulders. While your doing a redesign, some sort of sweat absorbing fabric to soak up the boob sweat would also be handy so I don't have to keep stuffing my hand down there to sop it up with paper towels. Better yet, how about one with a battery operated fan in it? Each day, it keeps getting worse- too old for the juniors department. Even if the clothes fit, it embarrasses my teenage son when the girls he goes to school with and his mom are wearing the same thing. I can only take solace in knowing that each year gets me closer to a pair of elastic waist denim shorts and a t-shirt with embroidered kittens. At least the button won't dig into my gut...

Forty is Not Funny! : Can't they just take the gluten out of wheat?

Forty is Not Funny! : Can't they just take the gluten out of wheat?: There's an endless list of things I liked about being 21 more than I like about being 41. I liked that I could eat Mexican food and it d...

Can't they just take the gluten out of wheat?

There's an endless list of things I liked about being 21 more than I like about being 41. I liked that I could eat Mexican food and it didn't haunt me all night long. I liked that gobbling down chips and chocolate didn't make me fat. Now,I fear that gluten may be the cause of the wicked headaches I've been getting for years so I decided to give it up. In my travels to the store and to restaurants, I see gluten free food choices all the time so it's not like it's hard to get or anything. I had heard from other people that it was a little more expensive, but if this is the answer perhaps I'll save money on the pills I'm eating for headaches. Thinking logically as I always do, I figured I'd first do a little research and throw something out there on Facebook and ask my friends about gluten food brands that are the best and where to get them before hitting the store. Naturally, everybody had a different brand they preferred so I was encouraged...if everyone likes a different one, they all must be pretty good. Off to the store for gluten free bread, waffles, pop tart type things, cereal...all of my favorite precooked foods. So, the next morning, the " blueberry" waffles went in the toaster. When they popped up, I pulled them out and could not detect a single sign of a blueberry although they seemed to be blueberry scented. Also, I could see through them. This is not the Eggo waffle I'm accustomed to and quite fond of so right to the garbage. Next, I thought I'd give the $6 bread a try. Twice the price of regular bread for half as many slices- it must taste amazing. When I took it out of the bag, it looked dense and sort like pound cake. Ooooh! It looks like cake! This is going to be delicious! Again, I took it out of the toaster, slathered some peanut butter on it, took a big bite and fired it right out of my mouth. You know that smell a sponge gets after it's been used too many times and left to dry out on the sink? Yeah well, that's what this bread tasted like- the smell of a worn out dish sponge. And the whole loaf into the garbage...all six bucks worth! Not even worthy of feeding the birds- I'd hate for an entire flock of birds to get pissed off because I fed them lousy bread and try and storm the house or peck my eyes out. Done for the day with the gluten free experiments, I settled on a bowl of good old-fashioned rice crispies. Not to be discouraged, I went back to Target to get some different brands suggested by my Facebook friends. I selected my items, which now takes twice as long since I have to read every package, checked out, which now costs twice as much and headed home for some more sampling. Here's some things I bought at Target that have always been gluten free, and I purchase all the time. Toilet paper. Toilet paper is biodegradable and septic safe and happens to be gluten free. My dogs have been tearing it off the roll and chewing it up for years and nothing bad has happened to them. A Day Planner. I purchased a gluten free day planner, and it too is gluten free. I don't suggest putting the used pages in the toaster though, but since paper is made of wood pulp,and I went to high school with a kid who used to eat paper and he's ok, paper is inexpensive and I could probably use it for sandwiches. Glade Plug-Ins. No gluten in those either. Since wheat is often used as a thickener is salad dressings and gravies, the gluten free Glade Plug in comes in many favors to replace many sauces. The box did suggest that eating it might not be the best idea, but it didn't say call Poison Control either so everything in moderation I guess. Stay away from the "collection" variety plug ins however as they cost as much as gluten free bread. The bottom line I think my friends is that if there's no medical reason why I can't eat gluten other than it making me fat and sluggish, I'll be back to real food in no time. Thanks for reading!

Swim suit shopping...my nemesis.

I know, I know...the blog is late this week. I have a really good reason. I've been trying to shop for a swim suit which has caused me to make about 10 visits to the store and make 2 attempts on my life. I hate shopping for swim suits and honestly don't know why I even buy one anymore. I haven't been seen in a swim suit by the public in probably 10 years. I won't even try them on in the store in the even that I'm in the fitting room and suddenly, there's a mall wide evacuation, and I have to go outside in the damn thing. Worse yet, I'd be wearing one that doesn't fit properly and looks even more ridiculous than its supposed to. It's my own fault...I'm over 40 and like to eat more than I like to exercise. I wish not taking care of yourself could be like denting your car...go to a body shop, get an estimate for the damage, submit it to your insurance, pay the deductible and get all fixed up and pay the price with higher rates. I may be uninsurable at this point. I get discouragedby exercise. Do you know how long you have to run to burn off just one candy bar? Far longer than the time it takes to eat it that's for sure! That, and I've never been fond of sweating. Pretty sure a person is not getting the most out of a workout if there's no sweating. But, due to my no sweating policy, I've returned 3 swim suits this week because they don't fit. My ass was hanging out of 2 and my boobs were hanging out of 1. All 3 made me look like a whale in different patterned spandex material, but at least that may get me carried into the water by an animal-friendly group in the event that I begin sweating. Perhaps a scuba suit would be a better choice-maybe then I could be mistaken for a seal. People think they're cuter anyway. My final strategy will be to go to the beach when it's clout or raining and then swimwear is really not necessary. I can't possibly be the only woman in the world who dreads this experience. When I was young, I couldn't wait for swim suits to come out in stores so I could pick out my new one for the summer and as I got into the teen years, there was always the argument with my mother about how much fabric a swim suit should legally be required to have and that a person should be able to in fact swim in it. Naturally, I disagreed. These days, I can't seem to find one that covers enough of the stuff I don't want people to see and even the covered parts look like they're trying to escape. I do draw the line at the "swim dress" though. I don't want to show up at a hotel pool birthday party for my niece or nephew only to discover my 64 year old mother and me in the same swim suit. I'd love to know why I get up during the night and share a snack with the dog and I'm fat and she isn't? Dogs don't wear swim suits? I think it might be time to become one of "those moms". You know the ones...they sit in a chair in pants and a long sleeved shirt with a wide brimmed hat and sunglasses even though it's 95 degrees reading a book and peeking over the top of it every few seconds to make sure their kids are still above the water. I always thought it was because they feared skin cancer or had some weird disease that made them feel cold all the time, but no, it's because they've given up on the swim suit and have resigned themselves to the idea that they will have to strip down to their bra and underwear to save a drowning child. Or, they're like Superman and have that hideous swim suit on underneath all those clothes...just in case.

April Fool's Day...even the dog has a sense of humor.

I've never been a big fan of April Fool's Day.  Pranks, foolishness and shenanigans have never really been my thing but in the days leading up to April Fool's Day this year, I couldn't possibly make this up if I wanted to...Let's begin.
I've always had pets in my home.  Dogs mostly.  My sister wanted a cat when we were kids, but my mom told her I was allergic.  Turns out I'm not allergic to cats- instead, my mother hates cats and used that as an excuse for my sister to avoid listening to her beg for a cat.  I have four cats now.  My sister has two.  Cats are really not a problem.  For the most part, they don't listen to much of anything you say and don't care what you're doing unless they want you to clean up after them or they're hungry.  They usually don't want your attention either until they see you doing something for yourself, and then they're all over you.  Sort of like kids really except they eat the same thing everyday and you don't have to pay for their college.  I've always had good dogs too until Millie.  Our other two Chihuahuas were well behaved puppies for the most part- they didn't tear up stuff, not destructive in the house, and potty trained relatively easy for small dogs.  I should have known something wasn't right about Millie when she was only $200.  We paid far more for our other two Chihuahuas.  As soon as we got Millie home, she began terrorizing the other pets.  She tore up Alice's favorite toy, she began chasing cats, stealing food, and even peeing on the bed now and then.  All puppy behavior I was thinking...nothing that won't correct itself right?  Nothing we can't live with...until the morning I woke up to discover that Millie is a shit eater!  That's right- the worst dog habit in the history of the domesticated dog.  No dog owner can tolerate a shit eater.  This is a deal breaker!  Why in the name of all that is holy would you eat poop?  I tried to ignore it at first hoping that maybe it was just a puppy phase or a one time thing but then the day came that not only was it abundantly clear that Millie was a shit eater, she became so brazen and bold about it, she even brought her prizes up onto the bed while I was sleeping and chomped away on turds!  That was the last straw.  I called the vet.  I was beside myself.  With 4 cats in the house, she practically had a Las Vegas Style 24 hour turd buffet going, and I had gone to great lengths to try and keep her out of the litter boxes.  She had become an addict.  I even caught her scaling the baby gates to get to the poop.  After consultation with the vet, I was advised that there was an additive I could put in the cat food to make the poop taste bad and stop her from eating it.  I pondered this for a moment.  I have to buy something for $28 to make poop taste bad?  Doesn't poop already taste bad?  Now, I have to alter the flavor to make it taste worse?  By the way, how does the vet know this stuff makes poop go from tasting just bad to tasting worse?  Who has that job and where did they get the test subjects?  For 5 days, all the animals in our house had to eat the bad tasting poop powder, you know, just to make sure there was no chance Millie would get a chance to get an untreated turd.  After 5 days, we waited to see what would happen.  I know that during the two weeks after the poop powder, I never caught Millie with poop.  I did catch her though with a sock, two pairs of underwear, approximately $1.25, the cord for a lamp, Kleenex, my debit card, the cap to three bottled waters, a candy wrapper, and on unidentified item that she swallowed prior to my getting from her jaws.  Today, April Fool's Day, there was Millie in the hallway chewing away on something.  As I bent down to take it from her, first I caught the smell and then I saw it tumble from her mouth as she ran off in shame.  IT WAS POOP!  THE DAMN DOG PLAYED AN APRIL FOOL'S JOKE ON ME! She totally tricked me into thinking she was a recovering crap-aholic and then dropped a half chewed cat turd into my hand and ran off!  I scrubbed my hand up to the elbow until the skin came off.  I think the next step may have to be training the cats to use the toilet.  In the meantime, if you visit my house, don't let Millie lick your face.

The devil is hiding on Pinterest

I am convinced that the Devil is hiding on Pinterest.  It is for stay at home moms what Glamour Magazine is for well, normal looking, real women all over the world.  Pinterest creates these unrealistic expectations of what moms are supposed to be.  I joined the at home mom gig late in the game so I'm even more disadvantaged than those who have always stayed home with their kids, but even those moms are not likely crafting up a  new living room sofa out of bags of cotton balls, some old t-shirts, a glue gun and Popsicle sticks.  These types of things make those of us who aren't so talented with crafts feel like failures as mothers.  It's not just the over achieving craft projects- it's the recipes too. I've tried these homemade biscuits twice now.  In the Pinterest photo, they are fluffy and golden brown...ingredients and instructions are simple enough so I should be able to nail this right? I mean come on, I used to manage 70 employees and 2 offices when I worked and most days found myself looking for something to do. I should be able to make biscuits.  Well, apparently I can't make biscuits because baked goods don't respond to my management skills.  They looked like sugar cookies and not the fluffy, golden brown ones in the photo.  Epic fail #1.  I'll blame the Cream of Tartar I've had since before my 14 year old son was born.  Attempt #2 included a fresh Cream of Tartar and an easier recipe yet and an assistant- the kid has Home Ec at school so maybe he can bring some skills to the table that I don't posess.  Again, it's a no go.  Although the flavor was much improved, the fluffy, golden brown biscuit from the photo still looked more like a sugar cookie.
Pillsbury Grands it is.  I blame my lack of cooking skills on my own mother who poured my cereal for me until I was 17 and still cuts my meat.  I wish the baking and cooking was the worst of it though.  The other moms are making these fantastic memory quilts of the years of Little League and soccer shirts that belonged to their kids throughout the years or marvelous scrapbooks to record the years of them growing up.  I depend on others to take pictures of my kid- like the school for example.  Each sport he signs up for also sticks me for $45 worth the photos in the form of key chains, buttons, and magnets.  If you visit my home, it looks like a shrine to my son.  Every useable wall space and table top displays a photo of him.  My next Pinterest effort will be to "up cycle" old hockey sticks into picture frames.  I guess it will be a good way to get them to the dump when that project too is a miserable failure.  Today though, today takes the cake as far as the failure to top all failures as a stay home mom.  Most of the other moms I know are up and out the door by 8am doing yoga or Zumba then home to shower and plan some kind of gluten free lunch and make their own greeting cards while French braiding the dog's hair.  Me, I got up at the crack of 9:30am.  I used the water bottle I normally would use to spray the cat when she gets on the table to wet down the parts of my hair that were sticking up.   I applied some additional deododorant since a shower was not in the cards today, washed my face, did what I could with make up in 5 minutes and then got dressed.  This is where the flaw in thinking comes into play.  I broke one of my own very important rules and decided to go out of the house wearing leggings and a shirt that did not cover my butt.  I checked myself out in the full length mirror at the bottom of the stairs and surprisingly, I wasn't horrified.  So, a little lipstick and off I went to my favorite coffee shop, feeling so confident that I even chose the short jacket- also not covering my butt.  I blew into my favorite coffee shop, chatted up some of the other customers and the employees, got my coffee and my little donut and off to my next destination- my doctor appointment.  I arrived home later that afternoon and naturally had to pee like crazy from the giant coffee only to discover that I had been prancing about town WITH MY PANTS ON BACKWARDS! How could this be?  How could I have left my house even after looking in the mirror in a pair of leggings that have this intricate seamwork on the front of the legs and not on the back with my pants on backwards?  Clearly, I have lost my mind.  You know, these Pinterest moms are tie-dying Easter eggs and underwear, knitting a scarf with their arm, making shelving units out of old doors and I can't even get out of the house with my pants on the right way.  Who does that?  My grandpa was 85 years old and had Alzheimer's, and he never went anywhere with his pants on backwards.  I will close this week's blog with a word to other moms who also feel that sense of inadequacy when comparing themselves to other moms- Pinterest has yet to raise a child and we're all doing that in the best ways we know how, and I consider it a good day when nobody gets killed, lost or goes to bed crying.  That, and nothing good comes from leggings...nothing at all.

When Even the Queen Size Bed Gets Too Small...

Some of you don't remember when the Flintstones slept in separate beds and so did Dick Van Dyke and Mary Tyler Moore even though both were TV married couples.  When I visited my great-grandparents, they too had a bedroom with two twin beds.  I don't know at what point it was determined that married couples had to sleep together.  When I first met my husband, we would snuggle up right next to each other in my full size, post divorce bed, and sleep that way all night long.  Nobody got sweaty, woke up with an arm completely numb or felt the need to roll over 18 times.  Then, we got married and upgraded the full size bed to a queen size size and still felt like we should meet in the middle and hold each other all night long...that was several years ago now.  Fast forward to about a week ago...it was approximately 2am, and I had now been listening to my husband make animal impressions from his nose and mouth for 2 hours.  The moose call was new.  I hadn't heard that one before...it was some mixture of a snore and a puff of air at the same time.  This, accompanied by the gymnastics routine he had been putting on that was enough to make a 65 pound Russian girl jealous was call for the People's elbow right to the middle of the back.  He wakes up from his slumber that was peaceful to only him and looks at me and I say, "if you can't lay there and sleep quietly, I swear to God, I will smother you."  This is a change from the first year we were married of sleeping together when I would have said, "I'm cold, will you snuggle me?".  These days, I stay warm in pink fleece pajamas with cats on them. The root of the problem is that he can't sleep on his back without singing the songs of his people, and I cannot fall asleep in a room that sounds like a logging camp.  If he rolls over onto his shoulder, then he insists on sleeping on top of me causing me to sweat like a beast.  There's also the 3 chihuahuas- they will not sleep next to him for a few reasons 1) fear of getting sucked up in the wind tunnel 2) being crushed when he sticks the landing of his floor routine 3) the sleep farting (which he will go to the grave denying even though I nearly had to give one of the dogs CPR after a sauerkraut meal).  Because they won't sleep by him, they stuff themselves up against me.  You must be thinking "Big deal, how much room can a chihuahua take up? " A 250 pound man and 3 chihuahuas can take up enough room so that you are left hanging onto the seam of the mattress for dear life hoping against hope that a sleep fart doesn't blow you onto the floor.   I had come to the conclusion that perhaps a bigger bed could offer a solution to at least the overcrowding problem we were suffering from, that and some dietary changes.  Off to the furniture store to shop for a king size bed.  I measured it in advance to make sure it would fit in the bedroom so we didn't have another "couch incident".  There was about 7 inches to spare on each side of the bedroom with a bigger bed so that will also be a weight loss incentive. This purchase involved moving and assembling not one, not two, but three beds to three different rooms and hauling two up and down a flight of stairs.  I did what I always do when my husband and I have a project such as this to do together and got the divorce lawyer's number ready along with alerting my son to prepare for the 911 call for the injury that will be inevitable.  Surprisingly enough, neither were needed and all beds ended up in the intended locations.  All people and dogs are sleeping better in my house as a result.

It's only forty they said...the best is yet to come they said...

So, this is my first blog...inspired by many friends who insist that I'm the funniest person they know.  It's not funny really though because these stories are true accounts of shenanigans and foolishness that occur in my life on a regular basis.
I began my forties a year ago...along with the "mid-life crisis" I've heard so much about.  I spontaneously quit my job and insisted we sell our overpriced house by a golf course for a 100 year old "charming piece of small town history".   I was 40 now- time to reflect on my life and my accomplishments...my successes and failures and where I expected to be at this place in my life. I remember when my mom was 40- I was 16.  She looked like a mom, and I did in fact believe that she was too old for a number of things even though she would likely disagree.  Now it's me...40 years old.  Do I look 40?  What does 40 look like anyway?  Elastic waist pants, fuzzy perm and a pastel colored crew neck sweater?  Ugh, the thought of it made me feel sick but the cold hard fact was that I was too old for a handful of things.  Leggings are a great example.  Every morning I drop my son off at school and I see these teenage girls walking into the school wearing black leggings and little flat shoes or Uggs and most of them are not making any effort at all to cover their back ends with a long shirt.  For a second, it crosses my mind to sell my soul to the devil to be 17 again and have a tight little butt like that.   This is not a look that is advisable for women over 40 and if you don't believe me  go hang out at a Walmart on a weekend.  Leggings are not forgiving in any way.  I'd even go so far as to say that they might be holding a grudge.  Every lump, bump or unsightly fat roll will be out there for everyone to see so if you must wear leggings, your shirt better come down to your knees.  Bikinis do not belong on me anymore- I've had a child.  I breastfed that child and my boobs require a tremendous amount of support not to escape.  No bikini top with nothing but strings to tie it together is going to offer that.  Nobody is going to want to see that when the girls get out. I am also too old for loud crowded bars full of kids who just turned 21. They are full of drama, spilling drinks and inevitably one of them with throw up before the night is over.  The last time I went to a bar, one of those twentysomething drunken jackasses threw a quarter at me and when I began to yell at him he said "I just wanted to get your attention so I could tell you you're beautiful and I love your look". My look was jeans and a t-shirt and my response was "it is the ultimate insult to throw money at a woman in an effort to get her attention..."  Oh my God, if I was 23 years old, I would have swooned for a stupid move like that and saved the quarter for our wedding.  At 40, a verbal assault instead and a refusal of the drink he offered to buy to apologize for throwing the quarter.
I'm 41 now. I've had to purchase a pill minder and traded my subscription to Glamour magazine for Good Housekeeping.  My cholesterol is a bigger worry than contracting an STD.  Instead of being a kid, I'm raising one and there are days when I wonder when his parents are going to come and get him and then I remember that's me.