Dirty Little Secret

I put my sneakers on this morning in the usual spot, the tiled front entry. After I put them on, I realized that I didn’t have my keys so I started walking to grab them. I am a staunch believer in no shoes on in the house, but since I’m the one that cleans, I allow myself to break my own rule. However, I noticed all kinds of dirt on the creamy blush tile so I stopped dead in my tracks before trekking through 2 rooms to get my keys.  I was enraged!  "WHO dragged all this dirt into the house?" I wailed.

I inspected more carefully, then ever so sweetly asked my dear 17 year-old to please get my keys from the kitchen because somehow there was dirt on my shoes. When he came back with the keys, I realized where the dirt had come from and I announced, “Oh! It's from the mulch - I forgot I was watering the plants earlier.”

And without missing a beat, he sarcastically announced MY famous line, “I JUST cleaned the floors!”

Well done, son. Well done.

Midlife Bridal Shower

My bridal shower was almost 23 years ago.  

This means 2 things: 

1. I have been with my husband longer than I was alive not knowing him.

2. I am in serious need of more spoons. And a toaster oven.

I’ll never forget the comments from my aunts while I opened my ultra-absorbant dish towels, salad spinner and monogrammed water pitcher. First, the complete envy for dish towels was downright shocking. Their side conversations of wanting their own married-after-20 years- showers was bizarre. Aunt Mary said she could really use new towels while Aunt Karen agreed and added a new vacuum to the list of household desires. While friends added bows to my paper hat bonnet, I seriously pondered why on earth Aunt Mary and Aunt Karen didn’t just go to Bed Bath & Beyond and get themselves some new towels.

Fast forward nearly 23 years later and I am a wiser woman.

There are 2 reasons why Aunt Mary and Aunt Karen weren’t treating themselves to shiny new spatulas:

1. A mortgage

2. Kids

Oh, I’ll add a third reason - no online shopping in 1999.

When there is a monthly bill to keep a roof over one’s head, washing and rewashing the same three spoons because the other 13 in the set have mysteriously disappeared becomes normal.  Paying for our kids’ survival outweighs the want for bath towels that actually dry a human body.  And let’s face it, having to physically go to the store in the pre-online shopping era was just simply barbaric. 

I say we throw ourselves our own Midlife Showers!  Celebrate being married, surviving hot flashes, dealing with teenage hormones - hell, our own hormones! What’s on your registry? Keep an eye out for my list which may or may not include a gift card to help with the car insurance for my newly-licensed son.  

Special note: In memory of my Aunt Mary who passed away 11 years ago and in honor of my Aunt Karen.  These wonderful women are my mom’s sisters and were both a very special part of my childhood and growing up.

Additional special note: Actual bridal shower photo,June 1999. Who else wants the top-button cardigan over the dress to come back??

This is Me

My brain has been driving in 50 different directions lately. Of course, this isn’t unusual for a mom, a full-time working mom, wife, daughter, dog mom, anxiety-filled 40-something year old with a mortgage, a kid with a new license going to college in 16 months (oh my God, oh my God). 

About a month ago, I thought I’d try my hand at affiliate marketing. I wanted to weave my love of writing with marketing stuff that I currently own and direct my followers to some website to buy the things I love, and in turn, maybe make a few bucks. Turns out, I’m just not that person. 

Now, I love those people. I follow those people and they direct me to buy all kinds of things I love and don’t need. But when I really started to think about it, it’s just not me. I will not model in front of a mirror trying to convince the masses that a dress looks cute while popping a knee for the perfect shot. What I will do is make funny faces when I know someone is taking a picture. THAT'S me. 

You know what else I will do? I will use all my snark and 40-something wisdom to write about topics that are important to us. By us, I mean moms in the middle. We’re preparing our kids to leave the nest while caring for aging parents; scoffing at Mom Jeans because we did it the first time but have no idea what jeans to actually wear; perfectly content to go to bed at 10 on a Saturday night but forced to stay up until our teenager arrives safely home. 

Please join me on this wild ride, comment and share your ups, downs and in-betweens of this stage of life.

February and David Goggins

Run #1 of the 4x4x48 Challenge, March 5, 2021

February sucks.  It is the shortest month, but the longest.  It is a vast nothingness of nothing.  

Last February I trained for David Goggins’ 4x4x48: I prepared to run 4 miles every 4 hours for 48 hours in March. (If you’ve never heard of Goggins, look him up - you’ll immediately be both inspired and horrified). I did shorter runs during the week then multiple runs on the weekends to get ready. It helped me to have a goal to work towards and made the month go by with something to look forward to, if running 4 miles, every 4 hours for 48 hours and sleep deprivation is something one looks forward to.

So this year I needed a challenge to push me through this dreadful month.  At first I thought, in keeping with the “get uncomfortable” spirit a la David Goggins, I will get up every morning at 5:45 to do something - walk, stretch, workout, meditate. I hate mornings and I especially hate dark, cold winter mornings, so that’s the uncomfortable part. Then I laughed maniacally at the thought of me getting up 45 minutes before I actually needed to.  That’s a little too uncomfortable. 

This thought process brought me to my answer, 2022’s F**k February Goal. Too often (like, too too often, like every night) I am just too tired, too mentally drained from herding cats all day (I’m a teacher).  Although I almost always get in my workout,  I can then sit in front of the television for hours so that not one more brain cell needs to function. My goal: I will not watch television on weekday nights so that I can write, workout and meditate.  Instead of making excuses that I don’t have the time because it’s being eaten away by Real Housewives and Cheer, I will spend my weekday evenings productively not being attached to my couch. I am not giving up weekends because a girl’s gotta live…and catch up on what she’s missed all week.

I’ve been wanting to bring this blog back to life so here’s to 2022’s F**k February Goal.  Check in, keep me accountable and let me know what gets you through your "February!"

Isn't It Ironic?

Yesterday, as I rested my arms between sets of triceps and shoulders during my weight training, I found myself Googling the hours of our the local ice cream shop for date night.

 

Hanging in There

Completely forgetting that my equilibrium gets thrown off by going on a playground swing did not deter my 40-something old self from signing up for an aerial silk class. 

Twice.

Honestly, when I thought this was a good idea, I forgot that I have an equilibrium issue.  Because I’m 40 something and if I didn’t write that nugget on a Post-it, it’s lost and gone forever.

 

I came across this studio near me that describes itself as “circus, aerials, pole, lyra, silks, burlesque” so basically, it screamed to my middle-aged self that this establishment was clearly something I had to look into. I decided on the aerial silks class because why wouldn’t I want to hang from the ceiling of a warehouse flipping my “don’t have the flexibility of a twenty something any more” body through brightly colored fabric? 

 

Did I mention that I’m also scared to death of heights?

 

I hope that by now you checked out the link above to see this amazing art. It is beautiful and powerful.  The ways in which bodies become gracefully entangled in these vibrant silks is magical.

 

And looks nothing like I did my first time.  And definitely not my second. 

 

I signed up for the beginner’s class for obvious reasons.  The first class lived up to its name.  The instructor taught us beginners slowly and methodically how to flip ourselves through the fabric in order to get that beautiful silk wedged right up the lady parts or to squeeze our thighs like a tourniquet.  I actually did everything and had fun, but as the minutes ticked on, I felt the nausea come on followed by body parts beginning to bruise.  By the time I got home, I had a headache, was sick to my stomach, and couldn’t walk up the stairs because of that damn material squeezing at the back of my knees as we playfully hung upside down like a bunch of monkeys.

 

Naturally, I went back a week later. 

 

This time, the beginner’s class catered more to the advanced students.  Why were there advanced students in this class? Great question with absolutely no answer. I spent most of this class standing my with mask-covered mouth open in awe of my classmates’ talents.  This instructor had us attempting to climb up our silk like a rope in middle school gym class, turn horizontal, then flip ourselves a few times up our silk.  Having a hard time picturing this? Understandable.  The doing was way worse.  Then we were to FALL out of this contraption in which we put ourselves.  Even though I didn’t participate as fully as I did the first time,  it was still enough that I was nauseous again, went home with a headache again, and felt the beginnings of more bruises - again.  It was extremely difficult, I was extremely frustrated but this class taught me an important lesson. I’m a quitter.

 

What’s that saying - fool me once…Well, I’m over aerial silks. But I bought a 4-class pass and still need to use 2 more classes.  

 

So, I’ll keep you posted on how burlesque goes. 

Midlife Musings

When I started this blog about 13 years ago, I had a preschooler.  A three-year old boy who wielded a light saber, believed in Santa, and resisted naps like it was his job.  Our days were filled with park visits, playdates, reading books and singing silly songs. 

Fast forward, and here I am with an almost 17 year-old young MAN (and a yellow lab that behaves like a preschooler).  Hubby and I are on the cusp of an empty nest.  The Legos have long since been put away and have been replaced with mailers from colleges near and far.  Gone are the days of getting a babysitter so that hubby and I could go out to dinner and get a little break.  Now, we beg Monkey Man to go out to dinner WITH us.  

While Monkey Man continues growing inches over me, I watch as my midsection tries to creep inches over my waistband. Monkey Man is barreling on towards adulthood and all of the exciting adventures that await him, and I’m here in the throes of midlife, perimenopause, who the hell is that reflection in the mirror “adventures” - if that’s what we want to call sweating through our t-shirts in the middle of the night.  I no longer need to get up every few hours to feed a child.  No, no - instead,  I get up every few hours to pee.

This blog’s title is still aptly named, though.  You are kidding me continues to be a phrase I use daily, only now I might add in a few expletives since Monkey Man is older and we can laugh at mom’s potty mouth. 

Caught in the middle - We’re raising children and caring for parents; seasoned in our careers but not quite ready for retirement (mentally, oh yessss - financially, not quite yet), done with the clubs and bars but not quite ready for weekly bingo and dinner at 4pm.

Come along with me on this wild ride of midlife. Because misery - and menopause - love company.