Monthly Archives: January 2011

Happy Anniversary, TooHotMamas!

Here's to another FABULOUS year of Hot Flashing!

  Wendy, I simply cannot believe  that we have been blogging for a solid year now!  And, what a year it’s been.  Wendy has sold three books and her husband has starred on LEVERAGE (on TNT). 

I managed to unclog a stubborn drain and my hubby cut off the tip of his finger.  What will the coming year bring?  I shudder to imagine.

At any rate, this explains Wendy’s rather sporadic contribution to the blog.  She’s working.  I, on the other hand, remain firmly attached to her coattails, dreaming of the day when I’m sitting in the front row at the Academy Awards, sobbing ala Chad Lowe, while she accepts the Oscar for best screenplay adaptation of a novel.  I only hope she remembers to thank me.  You know, for handling the blog while she works on a paying gig.

Since we are embarking on a new year here at TooHotMamas, I thought I’d like to try something I’m going to call: The Story Of Us.

Basically, it’s gonna be a soap-opera type serial blog.  Cliff-hangers, love, live, death, barf, marriage, menopause, kids, George Clooney, you know, stuff about our dysfunctional—and oddly identical—lives and how we met and forged a sisteresque friendship.  This is going to be really fun for me, as Wendy is too busy earning a real living to actually check in here, at TooHotMamas, and so, I’ll be able to really dish the dirt.

For example:  Wendy used to go to school with what musical super star??

I’ll have that juicy answer…on the next episode of THM’s!

Carolyn

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Filed under Academy Awards, Adoption, Geroge Clooney, hot flash, Humor, Marriage, Maui, Menopause, Motherhood, parenthood, Pillsbury Bakeoff, Weight gain, Weight Loss, Writing

My Tombstone

Taxi driver, laundress, chef, referee, counselor, maid... no wonder she was cranky!

  Ever wonder what your headstone will say?  My kids tell me they are going to emblazon the words OLD YELLER on mine.  Funny, kids.  Remember the last scene in the Stephen King movie, “Carrie?”  Yeah.  Stand back.

So.  Been thinking about my mortality lately.  An amazing woman I know just passed away at the tender age of 48.  Cancer.  I went to her memorial and, while I was waiting for the service to begin, I read the leaflet her family had provided.  Since she knew she was terminal, she’d written a note of inspiration to those she left behind entitled:

The Dash, by Jenni Reiling.  It was wonderfully thought-provoking and one especially cool thing that stood out to me was the following:

Most tombstones have two dates separated by a dash.  I recently heard a speaker say, “No one can control the very nanosecond they begin existence on the Earth.  Subsequently, no man can control the very moment they are to exit Earth.  The only thing anyone has control over is how we live the dash.”  The speaker asked, “Are you dashing through life or are you living the dash?”

Do you ever feel as if you are so caught up in your day-to-day routine of full throttle activities and appointments and craziness that you never really take the time to simply live?  To thank God for the simple pleasures?  To enjoy what you’ve got and stop dashing after that next…thing?  How sad it would be to never fully live the dash because we were too busy.

I think another resolution for this year will be to live the dash.  Thank you, Jenni.

Carolyn

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I’m afraid of my phone…

Hey! Carolyn! I know you're there!

 I have a very fractious relationship with my phone(s).  I need them.  I have to have them.  I hate them.  To me, the phone is a machine.  A tool.  An instrument to be controlled by me.

To other people, the phone is a companion.  A good friend on a lonely day.  A welcome break.

When the phone rings at my house, I don’t feel compelled to get out of the tub, off the toilet, out of bed to answer it.  My mother, on the other hand, will leap hurdles (and, at 78 that’s saying something) to get there before it stops ringing.

“Hello?!”  Her breathless, cheery greeting is always on the other end no matter what I may be interrupting.  “One moment, Mr. President of the United States.  The PHONE has rung!  Summoned my attention!  I will continue our conversation as soon as I have attended to the needs of the person on the line.  Yes, daughter?”

How did I spring from these loins?  The phone rings at my house, could be the President of the United States, I really don’t give a rat’s hind end.  I’m in the tub.  If it’s important, he’ll call back.  If it’s not important, I really don’t see the need to pursue it.

When the phone rings, nine times out of ten the caller never wonders, “Hey, I bet I just dragged Carolyn off the toilet.  Hope she had adequate time to attend to her personal hygiene.”  I never hear, “Hey, are you busy?  Is this a good time? Have you finished wiping?” 

So, I can be in the middle of a Camp David style negotiation with two Heads of State and I’ll get, “Oh, my gosh, you’re not going to believe this!  My dog just pooped out a chimmichanga wrapper!” 

Back in the ‘pre-answering machine/pre-caller ID’ days, I never knew who was going to call.  “Hello, Carolyn.  This is your boss.  Suzie Slacker just called in sick, so you have to come in and work.”  “But I have a house full of guests in from out of town.  I’ve been planning this meal for 2 years!”  “Listen, Carolyn.  Do you WANT to keep your job?”  “Uh, yeah…”  “Then we’ll see you in ten minutes.”

To me, the jangle of the phone signals Danger, Will Robinson!  It’s knee-jerk.  I run screaming.  The unfortunate side effect of my phone-o-phobe, is that all 798 people who call me regularly take it personally.  Carolyn has not returned my call, therefore, Carolyn hates me. Continue reading

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Filed under Anxiety, Humor, i hate the phone, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood

Lost on LOST part 2

"Wait a second...is it now, or 30 years ago?"

If you were a fan of LOST, this blog is for you.

 THREE WEEKS AGO

The phone rang.  It was my sister’s daughter’s cousin.  Also known as…my daughter.

THIRTY YEARS AGO

My sister’s mother’s sister called.  Also known as my aunt.  (Dun-dun-dun!  Insert scary music here to foreshadow certain bloodshed),

TODAY

My aunt called my daughter.  I fell down the stairs.  There was blood.

THIRTY MINUTES AGO

I fell up the stairs.  More blood.  My aunt’s sister’s daughter, also known as my sister met someone I used to know.  (Dun-dun-dun! More scary music).

THREE YEARS AGO

Dodged a bullet.  Didn’t know it.  There was blood.  Not mine.

YESTERDAY

 Found a hatch.  Bright light.  No, wait, it’s just the toilet.  I’m going in. 

THREE HOURS AGO

I died.

THREE SECONDS AGO

I’m back.  What happened?  I don’t know.  The writers don’t know.  There was blood. Not sure what happened to my sister’s mother’s younger daughter. Dun-dun-dun.

Carolyn

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Filed under LOST, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood

Lost on LOST

"I'm sick of you guys calling me the Old Dude!"

   For those of you who have seen the TV show, LOST, you know there is this character called John Locke.  I always thought of him as Mr. Clean’s dad.  He’s the elder-statesman of the show, cool, edgy, more than a tad creepy.

He gets referred to a lot as “the old dude”-or-“the elderly guy”-or- “the senior citizen”.  This was fine with me, cuz he’s, you know, bald and he’s kind of got moobs (man-boobs).  More than a few wrinkles.  Before he shaved his head, he sported this really bad-comb over.

So, imagine my surprise, not to mention horror, when Mr. John Locke, elder-statesman of LOST announces his birth year on one episode.  Whu?!  Huh?!  He’s… MY AGE!  NOOOO!  Does this mean I’m not…GASP… young?!  What?!  I was still envisioning myself in the age bracket of say, Jin, or maybe Sawyer.  I wasn’t delusional enough to align myself with Clare, but thought she might be a younger sister?  Uh, no.  The actress who plays Clare could be my daughter.   The guy who plays the hunky Sawyer could be my son.  Suddenly, I’m feeling all Oedipal and slimy.

Not that John Locke isn’t attractive.  He’s got a beautiful smile and he’s very hunky for a…a…uh, senior citizen.  But I was sort of seeing him as a father figure.  My father.

Crrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaap.

Carolyn 

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Filed under aging, Humor, LOST, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, Older writers

I Want My MTV

 

My Spiritual Ducks

  One Sunday, several years ago now, the pastor of our church asked us to write down the three things that were most important to us on a slip of paper.  He waited while everyone smiled smugly and scribbled.  Knowing human nature, I can only guess that everyone’s list looked a lot like mine: 

1.  God  2.  Husband  3.  Family.  Yeah.  I’m pious.  Got the old spiritual ducks in the row.

Then the pastor asks us to write down the three things we spend the most time doing everyday.  An audible sigh rippled through the crowd and people began to slump in the pew.  My list? 

1. Watch TV  2. Nag Husband to turn the ESPN down.  3.  Nag children in other room to turn Disney Channel down.

I knew I had a problem when my then nine-year-old daughter came to my bedroom door wanting help with her homework and I made her wait outside while Mommy finished her show.  After all, Mommy’s show was about this rapist who was in the process of gouging out the eyes of his victim and I didn’t want to traumatize my daughter.  Just call me Mother-of-the-Year.   Couldn’t pry my eyes away from that show (sorry, couldn’t resist that pun) and, I have to admit, answering questions about erectile dysfunction commercials from a five-year-old were creeping me out.

So, we cut the cable.  The withdrawal was horrendous.  There should be a 12 step program.  Now, of course, we are that totally uncool, square family that never really knows what’s happening out there in the real world.  I hear about TV shows from friends, read about them on-line, see the articles in Entertainment Weekly, so I’m not completely clueless.  And, whenever a series catches my eye, like 24 or NCIS or LOST, I’ll go out and buy it on DVD.  No erectile dysfunction between stretches of action, and the hubby and I can watch an entire season in one marathon weekend of bloody-thirst and violence and then return to church on Sunday feeling proud that we didn’t make the kids sit outside of the bedroom door all month.  Just…you know…that one weekend.

Okay.  We still have some work to do.

Carolyn

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Filed under Humor, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, parenthood, Writing

Thurston and Me

    

Thurston Howl

 Another New Year’s Resolution I scribbled down for this year is:  To be the person my dog thinks I am. 

I am not the original author of this resolution but I like it because my dog thinks I am Isis, goddess of the bacon fat.  Unlike my children, my dog Thurston–Mr. Howl to you–thinks I’m cool when I sing super loud and off-key.  Unlike my husband, he adores me when I’ve just eaten a dinner slathered in garlic and onions.  Unlike my family, he worships they way I prepare each and every meal and cheerfully helps clean the pots.

We live out in the country and the house is set back from the road.  When we drive away without him, his face slowly collapses from his huge, Golden Retriever grin with his dolly dangling like Columbo’s cigar from the corner of his mouth.  In its place, resignation.  A canine sigh.  Not invited this time.  He flops to the front porch, props his head on dolly and waits.  Sometimes hours.  And weirdly, out of all the Toyota Sienna minivans in the universe that travel down our road, the moment ours turns the corner and heads up the street, he and dolly leap to attention and gallop to greet us, the Golden grin erupting like the rocket’s red glare, bombs bursting in air, yes! YES, MOM IS STILL THERE! Continue reading

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Filed under Children, Cooking, Dogs, Humor, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, Writing

My Sexual New Year’s Resolutions

Happy Neuter Year!

Okay, FYI:  The word  ‘sexual’ in the blog title totally gets like hundreds more hits!  (Sad, huh?) To be honest, though, none of my New Year’s Resolutions were all that sexy unless you count…Blog EVERYDAY!  Yeah.  Clearly, this is why I HATE New Year’s Resolutions. Can’t keep ‘em. That, and the fact that my life is not interesting enough to write about everyday unless you find naps engrossing.

At any rate, we had a cool Yule and a neat New Year. Spent the night at the beach with my dear friend and sister in menopause, Debbie. She and I were waxing poetic about the joys of this special passage when we discovered – gasp!- that we were both still in possession of our uteruses.  Uteri?  Whatever.

“How weird,” we said, staring at each other in amazement. Why, none of our friends had their uterus anymore. Wendy? You still got yours?

Anyway, this led me to ask Deb… “Why haven’t we had our hysterectomy?”  To which Deb (she’s a total history buff) answered, “Did you know that the word hysterectomy comes from the word ‘hysteria?’ Yes, in the olden days, when women went through menopause and started acting up, they pulled the plumbing. If that didn’t work, they sent them to a sanitarium.”

“No freaking way!”

“Oh, yeah. Ever wonder why,” she asked with her snarky-cum-philosophical expression I adore, “when a man gets a little long in the tooth, they don’t castrate him?”

“Never thought of it!” I was gob-smacked.

“Can’t ya just hear the doctor? Say, buddy. Your wife says you’ve been a real jerk lately. How about we remove those testicles? After all, you’ve had all your kids and don’t really need ‘em any more. Waddaya say?”

I just stared at Deb. I mean, her brain just never ceases to amaze me. And make me laugh like I wish I was wearing Depends.

Carolyn

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Filed under Health, Humor, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood