What’s the expression? Fool me once… We’ve fallen for the juice cleanse thing a few times. Truth be told, it wasn’t really my fault. The juice cleanse blame lies fully on my daughter. Yup, right under the bus she goes.
It all started early on a beautiful Saturday morning when we passed the sign out front. “It won’t be hard and it’s sooo good for us!”, my offspring promised. And after talking to the beautiful, skinny, glowing woman who sold the cleanse out of her adorable little store, I was a believer and I didn’t just think, I KNEW, we could do it! And that in 3 short days we too would be beautiful and skinny and glowing!! So, I shelled out the cash for a 3-day cleanse for me and for my daughter, (1 juice free since I was buying for two people) and we were on our way to a better us!
Except, on our way took more than a little effort. I had to run and get the car and bring it up front because juice for 2 people for 3 days is a LOT of heavy liquid to carry.
We gleefully made several trips past my son and their father into the kitchen carrying our juice and rearranging everything to make it fit, dismissing their comments about how ludicrous this was. We clinked our first juice bottles together and cheers-ed to how brilliant we were, and how great this endeavor was going to be. We were so happy and filled with positivity, ready for our life changing experience to begin.
By noon we were hangry (aka hungry and angry at the same time)! By 3 we were starting to make excuses. By 4:30 we decided that sharing an apple would be okay because one of the juices had apple as an ingredient in it anyway.
By dinnertime we decided one real meal would be okay – why do we have to follow their rules exactly? It’s not like they know everything! And over dinner we cracked completely, and decided this was not for us. We then spent the entire meal explaining to each other just how awful this juice cleanse idea was and how it was the most ridiculous thing we ever heard of.
But how to get rid of the evidence without admitting to my son and their father that they were right?! So, we secretly threw the juices away in groups of 4 until all the evidence was gone.
I think it was a year later that we fell for it again, sure that the problem last time was that we weren’t in the right mindset at the time. Wrong. Failed again.
And about a year after that came the soup cleanse, which was surely going to be better than the juice one. After all, there were like 5 beans in one of the soups! Surely that would be filling! It wasn’t.
And then we swore off the cleanse thing. And we decided we should just buy a juicer for home and make our own whenever we felt like it. That didn’t work for us either.
But now, years later, I dug out that juicer and I have finally figured out how to actually get use out of it.
Are my daughter and I the only juice cleanse failures out there? Advice on how to make it through? Send help :)
]]>I can’t remember anything. Well, that’s not completely true. I can sing every verse of every camp song from when I was a kid, I remember my childhood phone number and I remember exactly where I kept all of my albums in my room growing up. Yes, that’s right, I said albums, remember those?!
But now I can’t remember anything unless I make a note of it in my phone. I have my own method for doing so that drives my husband bonkers (which is just a perk lol). I mean, why does he care if I keep my to-do list as ongoing appointments in my calendar? It works for me. But I digress.
Now, if I could just find my glasses.
]]>Why was I so hot in the kitchen that day? The a/c was on and I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. Unconsciously I pressed my wrists against a glass of ice water for relief. Warm images of carefree family dinners at this same table, a fading memory. Even the usually comforting aroma of the morning coffee smelled a bit off. A water droplet on the table glistened. The late morning sun beat through the window. Did I mention it was hot? Ah, 50.
A college book sat lazily open in front of my son, and with pencil in hand, he started to answer, unaware how the pages in that book taunted me. Surely he wouldn’t disappoint. I smiled at my innocent boy, in my mind’s eye still seven, Spiderman outfit and all.
Today he wore his armor. The weathered Mets hat had seen a lot of action over the years. Like that morning after he came home from a party in tenth grade after drinking too much and knew we needed to talk. He was always a good boy. He took responsibility. We didn’t punish him. He had learned his own lesson. Surely that sort of parenting through the challenging times would pay me back in spades. We always handled the pitfalls of the teen years with a deft touch and hadn’t pushed him to want to flee like those other parents, right?
But then his biting response. “Yes,” he replied. “I want to experience something new. It’s time to get out of here.”
Mother fucker… here we go again…
I can’t believe the amount of time it takes to fill out college applications - especially all those horrible thought provoking essays! It was hard enough dealing with this when my daughter went to college but now my son? My baby!
Do you know what this means? Do you realize the implications? It means my husband and I will be empty nesters! That’s right… before we know it they’ll both be out of the house. People who’ve been through it already say you really do get used to it. And I know that’s true.
I never thought I’d get used to my daughter being halfway across the country and as much as I miss her I really did find a new normal. We still talk, and confide and laugh. And I know there will be a new normal after my son goes to school as well.
I’m excited for him, but I also know how much I’ll miss him. And as if just knowing this isn’t bad enough, people are constantly talking about it. And asking him completely rude and inappropriate questions like Aren’t you excited to leave? I’m trying to keep it all together but when you’re used to being a helicopter parent that’s no easy task!
I’m trying not to scream all the things I’m thinking at the top of my lungs. I’m trying to hold onto every second because before I know it, he’ll no longer be living in my house.
My husband and I will manage our time differently now that our kids won’t need us every second of the day. Though, truth be told, I’m slightly concerned that since my son won’t be here for batting practice, I’m gonna’ find myself in the cage fighting off 80 mile-per-hour fastballs as my husband barks at me not to lift my front shoulder. Anticipating our new normal is a little scary but I’m pretty sure it will never get boring!
Anyone else handle their initial college conversations as professionally as I did?
I recently read a piece that Rob Lowe wrote about sending his son to college. Apparently, he was quite the Miserable Mom. Take a look at his take on the challenges that he faced. A great read.
]]>The other day, after getting into five squabbles before 10:00 a.m. I decided it would be best if I just stayed home. Before school, I yelled at my son for leaving his crap everywhere, I rolled down my window and sarcastically thanked the guy who pulled in so close to me at the grocery store that I couldn’t open my door and get out, I sighed, loudly, at the woman at the counter who told me they were out of what I had stopped in for, I honked at the woman who thought it was a good idea to stop in the middle of the street to chat with her friend who was walking, and I even chastised myself for not remembering to cancel a meeting that I was now going to have to apologize for. Grrrr.
When I’m even annoying myself it’s a sure sign I need a day off. So, I made a proactive decision. I was staying home alone today! Me time! And I was gonna’ do it old fashioned style!
My kids were away and my husband was at his office so here was my chance. I needed a break and I was gonna’ relive the good old days and relax in my own home, “old school style”, and I had until 6:30 at least!
The day was looking better already.
I threw on my most raggedy yet favorite sweatshirt that’s older than I care to admit and my high school field hockey sweatpants, the ones where the tie came out years ago and I replaced it with a shoe string. I put on mismatched socks, not caring they were a little holey since the hole wasn’t in a place where a toe would stick out and be annoying. Oh, and no bra, a given.
I followed up with the other good stuff – makeup off, lotion on, contacts out, glasses on, hair thrown in a bandana to keep it off my face and also tied in a ponytail on top of my head. A strong look! But I’m home alone so who cares!
I grabbed a bowl of cereal, plopped on the couch and put on a sitcom – in the middle of the day! It was awesome!
And then I heard the unmistakable sound of the gardener and thought about what I looked like as the realization hit that I forgot to close the shades. The gardener is the nicest guy, but the last thing I felt like doing was chat with him, so I crawled (yes, crawled) over to the glass door in order to close the blinds, trying to remain undetected. Our eyes met and I watched him try to contain his laughter before he turned the hose on higher and continued to water the lawn.
I closed the blinds as fast as I could and leapt back to the safety of the couch. My cell phone rang, so I paused the tv. It was my daughter, on facetime. Vanity ever on my shoulder, I thought about what I looked like but answered anyway. She’s seen me much worse so who cares, right?!
“Hi, Sharon!!!” And then giggles. She was with old friends who she bumped into on campus and they called to say hi! Holy crap! I caught a glimpse of myself in the top right corner of my screen and mortified, angled the phone away from me, lied I was home sick but was glad they thought of me and in a hoarse voice said I’d call back when I was feeling better.
Let it go, Sharon. Nobody cares what you look like. So, I returned to my cereal, now a little soggy, but whatever.
My dog heard the mailman and started barking. Maybe it’s the book I ordered on Amazon 20 minutes ago lol! I still don’t know how they do it!
My mailbox is literally right outside my door. All I had to do was stick my hand out and nobody would see me. So, I leaned out to grab the mail and heard my husband’s voice. “Hi Honey!”, coming from the doorbell! I swear for a second I wondered how he got inside the doorbell and then I remembered we put in a Ring!
If you haven’t seen the commercial - Ring is a doorbell gadget for smartphones. It lets you answer your doorbell from anywhere so even if you’re not home you can talk to and see someone at your front door. It’s a great safety feature but a pain in the ass if your husband is anything like mine.
I was amazed at how fast he answered and I wondered if he spent the whole day sitting with his finger on his phone waiting for someone to pass in front of the sensor so he could play with his new gadget. “Hi babe, you stealing the mail?” (always the comedian) and when I turned to look at where the voice was coming from I heard, "Are you okay?! What’s on your head?!"
Without a response I slammed the door shut! Somewhere between embarrassed and annoyed, I yelled, “Seriously? Damnit!”, only to have Siri respond from the counter. Was that really necessary?
Suddenly, instead of feeling like I was escaping I was feeling trapped. Change of plans. I thought I’d go for a run. Just had to find my bra…
]]>The fourth of July is coming and both of our kids are coming home! That’s a big deal when you’re an empty nester. Just the thought of having the house full fills me with extra energy! And each time they come home I go into prep mode… must get the nest ready!!
You see, they really can’t wait to be home with me and their dad. They want to spend every second telling us face to face exactly what’s going on in their lives. Of course, they’ll fit in time with their friends too – but we know it’s US they’re really coming home for. Right?! Well, surely they’ll fit us in too… ????
Ok, first things first… Time to do an ACTUAL shopping…
Now you moms who are CRAZY like me know what an actual shopping is! It’s not like the shopping you do when it’s just you and your husband at home, running in for a few things that you need for the “dinner” you’re gonna’ throw together tonight. This is REAL DEAL food shopping! Like when they were kids, not that long ago, shopping! I’m talking snacks that really taste like snacks, and steaks (real sized ones… not ones that you try to give yourself and your husband in the hopes that the smaller size will help your health and your waistline), and oh, extra alcohol because well, they’re not kids anymore… sigh… and cheers! This type of visit calls for going up and down every aisle - seeking out favorite items of the kids’, as well as their friends’. Love a full house!
My nesting also includes making sure the house is clean. Yes, I know, they wouldn’t even notice if it wasn’t, but that’s beside the point. Of course, our son could care less and wouldn’t even think about whether or not his carpet was vacuumed and if his room was dusted… but I know!
And my daughter’s room – same thing. It’s funny how when I visit her in her own home everything is spotless and in its place. You could literally eat off the floor. But her childhood room? All bets are off! When she comes home it’s let the clothes, and shoes, and makeup, and well, you get the point… fall where they may. She’s explained to me that it’s because she doesn’t want to mix up the stuff she brought home with the stuff she’s left in her closet and drawers. As if that’s a real answer. But that’s a fight for a future, longer visit…
In fairness though, other than the explosion in her room, she DOES notice everything. In fact, within moments of walking in she not only acknowledges but compliments even the smallest change I’ve made. Love the way that vase looks on the end table, mom. Lol, even when I asked my husband if he liked where I moved the vase to, I then had to tell him which vase, where said vase originally was, and where it is now. Ahhhh, daughters…
Within moments of their arrivals, their dad and I will look at each other, having a silent conversation about how the house is a mess, the food is everywhere and the friends are parked blocking our cars. The noise level will be loud and we’ll pray the neighbors, as always, are friendly and don’t get upset. And we’ll be up late listening for when they get in, worried but thankful that after this crazy year of Covid that they are actually able to be out with their friends.
Exhausting! But we love it! And we wouldn’t have it any other way!
And I hope you too have a happily chaotic fourth. Please let me know how you prepare for the holidays!
Be safe and healthy!
]]>Our dog was pure joy. He really was. But if I’m being completely honest it was NOT my idea to get him. Now don’t get me wrong. I grew up with a dog who I truly loved, and if at any point over the course of my life you asked me if I would get another dog I would have answered with a resounding yes.
But life has a funny way of getting very busy when you have young children, between school and friends and sports and, well, you remember. And so when my oldest began campaigning for a dog at the ripe old age of eight, promising to feed it and walk it and play with it, I tried to remain calm as I envisioned what would certainly be MY new responsibility.
I’m not sure if your kids are anything like mine, but my, shall we say, strong willed offspring, didn’t just ask for a dog. My daughter literally put together a presentation that would inspire her boss to immediately put her up for a promotion. She included charts and graphs comparing hypoallergenic breeds and good family dogs. She left no stone unturned. She had answers for every potential question their dad and I might have, and she even prepped her younger brother on how to react to any issues we might bring up.
And we caved.
I vividly remember looking at Bailey as he looked at me, sizing each other up, both trying to figure out the best way to train the other. The rest, as they say, was history.
Bailey truly “got” all four of us. He was active and rambunctious when we picked my son up from school and the two of them raced each other home. He was calm and cuddly when my daughter placed him on the couch, surrounded by dolls and blankets and then joined him to cuddle while they watched Hannah Montana. Not wanting my husband to ever eat alone, Bailey was always at his heels when the Skippy jar was opened and the two of them would have their snacks together. And me? Well, he just kinda’ helped me run the household if I’m being completely honest.
He always kept me company in the kitchen, no matter what meal was being prepped. He helped me unpack the groceries - literally running back and forth with me from the car to the kitchen. When I worked at my computer, he sat under my desk, not wanting me to be alone. When the kids were sick he stayed by their sides, while I got their medicine.
He LOVED those kids! When they swam, he swam. When they played sports, he played sports. When they had friends over, he played with them as well. And when our kids were in trouble and their dad and I had to give them a talking to, I know for a fact that my little angels would bring him into their room, talk everything out with him, and complain to him about us. He never gave away their secrets.
He was simply always there. Unconditionally. And we all loved him.
He passed away In November, right before Thanksgiving. I’m convinced he waited for the kids to come home for the holidays, to be with his partners in crime, one more time, before he was ready to succumb to the heart condition he had been fighting. It makes sense that what took him in the end was his great big heart.
I have several friends who have also recently lost their dogs, which seemed kind of odd, until we collectively took a step back and realized that we had all gotten our pets when our kids were in elementary school. And so it made sense that while they were attending college or working right after, that our pets were at the end of their lives.
My family really misses Bailey. All of us, individually and as a family unit. And now that my husband and I are empty nesters, it’s especially quiet in the house. No little Bailey at our heels when we’re walking up the stairs, or opening the backyard doors. And I guess what also makes it especially impactful is that we raised Bailey alongside our children. And now it feels a bit like an exclamation point as their childhoods transform into adulthood.
And that’s okay, even though it’s hard. Because that’s how it goes when you have a family pet. They cannot live forever. But they sure do make the ride that much more meaningful.
Bailey will live on in our hearts and in my Miserable Moms illustrations.
And we will certainly get another dog at some point. It’s a good thing our hearts are big enough to carry the continued love for Bailey we all have, and the love that I know we will have for whatever new dog comes into our lives. Wish me luck, because I will need it, as our new dog and I size each other up, both trying to figure out the best way to train the other.
]]>Our daughter lives in a house with 6 other girls and they hosted a pre-football tailgate before we went to the stadium for the big football game. (Deep breath) Let the games begin!
The girls set up a table and we played a moms v. dads game of flip-the-cup. It’s basically a relay race drinking game. The first person drinks some beer from a red cup, then puts said cup down and flicks it with a finger so it lands upright and then and only then the next person is allowed to go. Like our daughters, we moms took this very seriously.
As the game was about to start, I felt it. Out of nowhere the heat started rising. Try to slow down and breathe, my doctor would say, as if that ever makes any difference at all. It was too late. The flash had begun and I was gonna’ have to ride this bad boy out.
Menopause sucks. Or I guess it’s perimenopause I’m talking about. I’ll go out on a limb and assume they both suck. And as if it weren’t hard enough losing my mother too long ago, now she’s not even here for me to be able to ask her about all the crap I’m going through now. I kind of remember her blasting the cool air at times while the rest of us snuck over to the thermostat and put the heat back on. Holy crap, mom – I get it now and I. AM. SORRY!
You see, of all the stuff I’ve been going through lately, the hot flash (or flush as my gyno likes to call it) really takes the cake. I now dress in layers. I have to. They’re good for peeling off one piece at a time – depending on how hot you’re actually feeling. They’re also good for protection, for tucking in the humiliation as beads of sweat make my makeup run, stealing my youth and leaving me uneven with no cover.
It’s embarrassing and it’s upsetting and it’s mostly goddamn hot! Gone are the carefree days of cute sweaters and tight turtlenecks and anything made of wool. Now it’s about breathable fabrics and v-necks and colors that don’t show sweat marks.
And right then I heard one of the girls yell, “Go!”. It was hot as hell in my body even though the house was cool. The living room was bright and crisp and the parents were happily smiling in their sweatshirts and beanies. Seven dads stood on one side of the table facing seven moms on the other side. Cups halfway filled with beer were on the table between each couple. Leaves that had clearly blown in when the last person entered the house could be seen on the floor by the door. Loud music filled the room and the smell of beer and vodka and toasted bagels floated in the air. A chocolate kiss sat on the floor under the table.
The first mom, blond and svelte, had on a blue Michigan sweatshirt and jeans and she had a hand on her cup. She wore a determined smile and looked like flipping the cup in front of her was a matter of life or death. Her husband, across the table from her in a matching sweatshirt wore the same determined smile.
I was next to her, sweatshirt already stripped off and on the floor behind me, beanie already on the table in front of me, and the sleeves of my thin ¾ shirt already rolled up even higher. My cheeks were beet red and the beads of sweat on my forehead and upper lip revealed the red where my concealer had washed away. I felt helpless remembering this happening many times before. My horrified eyes gave away the fact that something was wrong. My caring husband, across the table, bundled up in his blue and maize jacket, looked unsure about what to do to help.
"Don’t stop!… Take this!", I heard as the mom to my right handed me an ice cube. And without a beat we carried on, took control back from that midlife reminder (if only for a moment), crushed the dads, and made our daughters proud.
Who else overcame the dreaded hot flash and was able to persevere with a little help from a friend?
]]>She had cut her hair and complained she needed to grow it back because she looked like an old frumpy mom. She didn’t. Not a frumpy bone on her but I got it. I knew how she felt. I had just colored mine and thought I might need to go back to my natural color because it didn’t look right. Does it make me look older?
We talked about how fast time goes by and about aging, but agreed we and our friends looked better than our own mothers at our age. (Sorry ma’, every woman for herself at a time like this.)
This now, is the “new normal” for conversation when bumping into friends I haven’t seen in awhile. If it isn’t our hair, it’s our weight, or how our kids are so big and leaving our homes to go to college which makes us feel old.
I let myself be vulnerable in these situations and I see my friends doing the same. But this time I crossed a line towards an impending doom. I said something out loud that was so incredibly shocking it was like a gut wrenching death spiral into hell!
I waited for her astonished reaction. What the fuck is wrong with her? Did she not hear me? She just kind of laughed and didn’t really even seem to notice the intensity of what I had just said. I wanted to take it back but she had already moved on to another topic.
Oh my god! What was I thinking? Why did I go there? So, I continued to talk about the kids and husbands and summer plans too. But now I couldn’t get it out of my head. My universe had shifted.
And then I couldn’t get out of there fast enough. I had work to do. I needed to make a list!
And here I am now, drinking lemon with hot water. As if that’s gonna’ make a damn bit of a difference to the impending cataclysmic events. But it might! Of course, there’s always the chance that it will eat away the enamel of my teeth and then, according to that commercial, you can’t get that enamel back. And that would really suck. Like, what do you do then? Just eat like normal without any enamel? What am I a barbarian? But I digress.
Where was I? Oh yeah…
50! I said I was about to turn 50! I said it out loud. For the entire world to hear.
If I had just kept my mouth shut I probably wouldn’t even be drinking water with lemon right now. I might still be carefree and be drinking actual lemonade with sugar!
But I did it. I said it out loud. And now not only does my friend know but the whole damn universe knows. Not only does my friend know, but, holy crap… now I know.
Positive me: Amazing 50? A young 50? Still hot at 50?
Negative me: Fucking 50! Hide the wrinkles 50! Start wearing spanx everyday 50?
You know what?! Screw it! I’m gonna’ be fine! I’m gonna’ be a cool 50, like a Power Ranger turning 50! Ummmm, okay, maybe forget the Power Ranger part. And please be advised, I’m open to any suggestions about how to maintain a 50+ coolness factor! How, pray tell, are you dealing?
]]>Let me get this right - someone was lying around their house and thought, “What the world needs is another mirror. Not just the same old mirror, one that makes everything look much bigger and much worse than in real life. Probably a man, right?
And let’s market it to women! For women over 50, who may be starting to have trouble seeing, it’ll help spotlight their imperfections and make them super self-conscious. We’ll make a fortune selling all the products they’ll then go buy to solve all the issues they can now see in their reflections. And to make sure they don’t miss anything, let’s light it up as well!
Now don’t get me wrong, I know my magnifying mirror is really good for some things. It’s true, I couldn’t live without mine. It’s amazing for putting in my contact lenses, and making sure I didn’t miss anything after flossing. And back in the day, pre-COVID when I used to wear makeup, it was great for that too.
But here’s the problem. I didn’t know just how many issues I had until I got this even more powerful mirror. That mother f***er made it all very clear. I saw imperfections I previously and happily didn’t know I had! I was able to see a looooong hair growing out of my lip! (Even though I thought I had waxed my mustache.) I had more gray hairs than I thought – not just on the sides, but on top and in the part, as well. I had splotchy cheeks, dry looking eyelids and dark spots, ummm, everywhere?!
Now, I know in my heart that all of these problems are AMPLIFIED via the mirror, and nobody’s looking at me through a magnifying glass! And I know it’s even dangerous to start picking at your skin or using harsh treatments that could be even more destructive. So, I choose to just know that my magnifying mirror has asshole potential and try to ignore it when it’s not being nice.
But just for fun, I’m gonna’ go google best tweezers for removing a looooong facial hair.
And now, I’m honestly feeling better after that rant. Feel free to try it. Would love to hear that I’m not the only one fighting modern technology.
]]>I remember my first time! Don’t all women? I was nervous, and excited. Would I feel different? Would people notice?
I had so many questions. I went to my friends for advice. Some were experienced, others not so much…yet, but I talked to them anyway because most of them would probably have to make this decision too, one day. The lucky ones would never have to worry about it.
I had a friend who was going through the same thing at the same time and we spent hours debating the pros and cons. I was beyond happy that I wasn’t alone in this and that I had someone with whom I could both laugh and agonize. We even went to my mom for advice and she lovingly sent us to a place where we could get help without judgement.
It was kind of embarrassing. What if we saw people we knew there? But my mother was usually right about these things, so my friend and I went, hand in hand, closed our eyes and stepped in and…
...onto the scale. And for the first time we let the women at Weight Watchers into our lives!
We allowed them to write the number down as they handed us their magical booklet (back then it was a booklet, not an app online) with all of the secrets about which foods would make us skinny and which would make us fat. And we trusted them – we had to – because sharing your weight with someone requires a complete leap of faith that they will not break into laughter, making you sorry you ever shared, or shriek loudly out of disgust and berate you for letting yourself go, or rush you to the circus so all the world could unabashedly stare at you in disbelief!
Our relationship with this diet, I mean lifestyle, has come and gone. Over the years, in our quest to be skinny bitches my friend and I have tried countless diets and various workout routines. Little did we know that over the decades we’d often return to the very diet that we started with, chanting, “Oprah, don’t fail us now!”.
We’re not doing the Weight Watchers thing right now, but I reserve the right to return again when I feel the calling. Until then, I’ll continue to try whatever gets me through. Please, for those of you with other ideas, share. And if Weight Watchers is still your thing, let me know how it’s going. Sending you all healthy thoughts…
]]>Upon arrival, we hugged as friend’s do, ordered drinks and started catching up! "How are you guys, how are the kids, how’s work?" The usual, the fun, the comfort of old friends, the… provocation?!
“So,” my friend began… “We were talking the other day, you’re finally 50, right?!”
Wait, what? Why would she start with that? I can’t believe I’m 50! Sensitive topic somehow.
My issue, not hers, but somehow it felt like a body blow to the gut. I said yes, that I had just recently turned 50, and took a sip of my greyhound to try to suppress the lump that had quickly formed in my throat.
She followed with “And how do you feel about that?”
In my head I demanded, “How the f**k do you think I feel about that?!” and when she laughed and said she felt the same way when she turned 50 I realized I hadn’t kept that inside, I had said that out loud.
She was actually older than me so I knew she wasn’t trying to be hurtful but I was in this weird place thinking about how fast time goes by and was clearly feeling sensitive.
So, in order to save myself, I went for a diversion, their son, a senior in high school, and since they are currently in application hell (as all seniors in high school are) it was easy to move the conversation to essays and grades and such. But then my friend re-diverted. She asked me another question that felt like a jab to the chin.
“Wait a minute”, she said… “You guys are almost empty nesters! Can you even believe that?”
WTF? Did she REALLY just say that?
No! I cannot believe that! How is that even possible? Just yesterday my kids were home with the babysitter and I was happy to cut dessert short to go home to them.
This time I was able to keep my true reaction inside (though I could feel my right eye twitching) and responded that “Yes, time really does go by too quickly”, simultaneously thinking, screw my diet, and I reached for the breadbasket.
Next up - their little one. Safe ground. She was loving sixth grade and doing well. She really is absolutely adorable and I was thrilled to hear that she was thriving. I remember when she was born thinking how crazy it would have been for me to have another child then, six years younger than my youngest. But now, approaching the empty nest years it really didn’t seem so crazy anymore!
Back to us. “Is your daughter still loving college? Is she going to come back after she graduates?” In my head I continued this line of questioning, or will she move far away and get a job and raise a family and you’ll never get to see her? This one felt like a full-on punch to the face!
At this point I decide my friend must really have a death wish. Gritting my teeth, I waived down the waiter for another cocktail.
As the three of them moved on yet again, discussing work and summer plans, I got lost in my own thoughts. I wondered why a normal, run of the mill conversation felt like I just got jumped at the mall!
Why was I reacting this way to my friend? And then it dawned on me. I wasn’t fighting my friend. It was time that I was fighting. I was sensitive about these topics because there was so much unknown and because I didn’t have the power to slow things down. There wasn’t anything wrong with the questions and the comments. In fact, I’m sure I threw quite a few punches as well without even realizing it.
She was 50+ too, her oldest is in application hell and they don’t know where he will be going yet. And their younger one I’m sure provides her with other insecurities, after all she is a mom, isn’t that our specialty - feeling unsure at times. And I thought, I should enjoy this time because this too will go by too quickly! So, I leaned on Dan, put my head on his shoulder and snapped back into the conversation with a real smile, coaching myself to get over it and take a chill pill.
As we hugged and said our goodbyes we promised to get together again real soon and as I walked to the car, holding Dan’s hand I thought, and maybe we can discuss my colonoscopy.
]]>Can someone please tell me why we can’t figure out a more, oh, I don’t know, gentle type exam? I mean, come on… why are my delicate breasts still being crushed in the same way that my mothers were mashed when she was my age.
Even though it sucks, at least I know what to expect after all these years, but add Covid and the fun was taken to the next level. Usually I go into a dressing room, put on one of their stunning gowns and wait to be called into the room, where the technician and I do this really crazy dance of taking out one boob at a time, while keeping the other modestly covered up. Because clearly if only one is out at a time it’s much less embarrassing. Wacky, but it always kind of made sense to me.
But this year all bets were off. I was sent directly into the room, ordered to take off my shirt and bra and was immediately pulled towards the machine. No gown, no foreplay.
My nervous smile apparently gave me away, so the technician told me this is how we do it now as she explained there’s less stuff to touch, and wash, etc. The truth is I really didn’t care… I mean, I used to nurse my baby in public after all, I just wasn’t mentally prepared for this added abuse, I mean, protocol.
I’m wondering if now that things are starting to return to normal if the added changes will return as well. I guess I’ll find out soon.
]]>Trying to hold onto those more innocent times isn’t so easy, and it’s definitely not productive. But I do it sometimes. And that can make even the most normal of mothers bat shit crazy. I mean kids are supposed to grow up, right?! Isn’t that what we want?!
Of course that’s what we want.
I’m thrilled my kids are doing exactly what they’re supposed to be doing. My daughter is a sophomore in college in the Midwest and my son is a junior in high school. Both are smart, kind, loving and fun. That makes me proud because I think my husband, Dan, and I did a pretty good job – despite neither kid actually coming with an instruction manual.
But sometimes it feels like it’s all happening too damn fast, like a snowball that is moving at warp speed and gains more and more momentum as it rolls down the hill. It’s hard for me to keep up. I mean, I’ve always been able to keep most of my shit together. But then last year my daughter ran away! Ok, she didn’t run away – she went to college. Even though Dan and I supported and encouraged her and lovingly helped her trade in her high school soccer jersey for a Michigan football jersey, I’d be lying if I didn’t admit it was a little bit traumatic.
As she went off to college I had flashbacks of her as an excited little girl in her Snow White costume at the kindergarten Halloween parade. I kept asking myself who the hell is this poised, strong and excited woman I’m driving to the airport and why did she kidnap my baby? But she was ready to go off into the world as she should be and I was strong for her - even though it almost killed me.
And now as my son prepares to escape, I mean starts looking at colleges himself, it’s Dan and I who suggest certain schools that might be a good fit even though they’re so far away I want to literally throw up.
If only I could get our children to sign contracts assuring me that they will move back after college. Dan, who is very reasonable, said I can’t do that. Can I do that? No, I can’t do that! But I would like to.
And that kind of thing happens all the time. I generally act rationally on the outside, but often have these internal urges to do or say things that are, shall we say, a little less appropriate. It’s inside where all hell breaks loose. We all love our kids and isn’t having them around an unbelievable gift? But change can be challenging and having one already in college and the other preparing for the same makes me a little lonely. And the intensity of this time, conveniently coinciding with raging hormones as I prepare to turn fifty sometimes makes me a little insecure.
Sometimes my ‘crazy’ slips out. And I’ve seen it happen to my friends as well.
But you know what I’ve noticed? When that crazy slips out it can be pretty damn funny when you take a step back and examine those feelings. And laughing at the insanity can make it a little easier to process and a lot more fun!
All us Miserable Moms need to stick together as we watch our babies go out the door. Our misery needs company. Please feel free to share your own mid-life craziness. I’d love to hear from you.
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