Category Archives: aging

I Am NOT Ready For My Close-up; I Am In Menopause

I have loved being in my fifties.  Sure, sometimes I look worse than ever before in my life.  Sometimes I feel worse.  But I became a mother again.  I have cared more about what’s in my head than on my face.  I’ve cheered women like Helen Mirren and Annette Bening who have had the chutzpah to keep their real faces throughout their fifties, thereby empowering us all.  But that was then.

Helen had a “lower face and neck lift.”  And now I want one.  I want one, actually, that starts from my ankles and pulls everything up.  Everything.  Up.  Several inches.

What happened?  I am interrupting our regularly scheduled programming (How I Met Your Other And Became A Menopausal Mother), to tell you.

Yesterday, I was happily working on a book when my husband said excitedly, “Will you take my head shot?  The light right now is PERFECT for a photo.  Right now.  We have to do it now!”

Head shots help him get work and that makes him happy, and I like it when he’s happy, because I like(d) him.   So I stepped away from my own work to help him.  Out of the goodness of my fifty-three-year-old giving heart. 

After snapping some lovely shots of him looking very debonair and James Brolin-ish in the allegedly PERFECT LIGHT, he offered, “Let me take a couple shots of you.”  How sweet.  I would post the results of those shots in THE PERFECT LIGHT here, but pride will not allow.

Have you ever made Flubber?  It’s really cool.  Flubber stretches and pulls, and you can poke your fingers in it.  It’s fun to play with.  IF IT’S NOT YOUR FACE.

Not only have my cheeks and jawline turned into Flubber, a network of lines–some of them actually intersecting–have crisscrossed what used to look like skin, but now resembles a U.S. Geological Survey map of earthquake faults.  In California.  Also, my left eye is nearly completely covered by what I assume is my left eyelid (although I didn’t know eyelids could stretch that far).

“AUUGGHHHHHH!!!!!!!  Is that what I look like?  Is that what you see?  Is it?  Is it?  IS IT???????” I screamed, pointing at the giant head displayed on the jumbo tron my spouse calls a computer.

“No, no, no!” he screamed back, obviously startled, but then he seemed confused.  “Well, yeah.  I mean…yeah.  Why?  You look good.  Honey, don’t you ever look in the mirror?”

The lines on my forehead must have reconfigured to spell the word D-I-V-O-R-C-E, because he quickly backpedaled.  “No, no, you have to remember that is a photograph.”

“So?”

“So your head’s really big up there.”

“Yeah?”

“And my camera picks up every li–.  Every detail.”

“Uh huh.  So in real life, you can’t see that many details on my face?”

“Noooo.”

“And I do still have an upper lip?  And a left eye?”

He hesitated a tad too long.

I started to sniffle.  “I’m aging badly.  When I’m sixty, our children will pretend they don’t know me.”

He put his arm around me for a snuggle. “Come on, they do that now.”

I smiled.  A little bit.

“Listen,” he said, “you grow as a wife and mother and woman every day.  You make menopause beautiful.”  I smiled a little more.  He draped an arm around my shoulders and walked with me back to my desk.

I nodded against him.  “It was just such a shock.”

“I know.”  He kissed my temple. ” I think the best thing to do is to make a list of all the reasons you always tell me you’re grateful for menopause and read it regularly. That will keep your mood calm.”

“That’s excellent advice.”

“Yes.  And whatever else you do,” he murmured, helping me into my chair, “please don’t ever, ever let anyone take a picture of you in full daylight again.”

Wendy…about to Google Sublative Rejuvenation.

 

4 Comments

Filed under aging

How I Met Your Other (Too Hot Mama)

Kids, over the years, many of our faithful readers have asked the thought provoking (and thoroughly legend…wait for it…dary) question, “How did you two meet?”

The simple answer is, we were standing in line for an awards ceremony at a writer’s conference (where Wendy was—as usual—up for an award) and I offered her some anxiety meds (which she politely declined), then I blathered on about my acute stage fright, and my total fear of vomiting or fainting in public to such an extent that the woman behind us (an anxiety counselor) offered me her business card.

If Wendy had been smart, she’d have picked up the skirts to her stunning cocktail gown, grabbed her husband by the hand, and rushed to her seat. But instead, we got into this hilarious conversation about how social anxiety gives us both humiliating verbal diarrhea, and a lifelong friendship was born.

Because this story is in fact, rather longer and more miraculously wild and wonderful than either of us can recount in a single blog, I’ll be tackling it in little Bob Sagget-esque flashbacks over the next few weeks.

So, kids, I’ll be back on Thursday, with my part of the beginning. Carolyn

 

Leave a comment

Filed under 35 symptoms of menopause, aging, Bathroom Humor, Children, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, Older writers, Writing

Cleanse, Shmense.

scale cartoonMy esteemed blog partner was supposed to post, but she can’t; she’s recovering from her health-juice cleanse.

I told you so, Carolyn.

Hey, blog readers, have you ever done an “internal cleanse”? I have. They’re great. For the first five days, you are filled with energy. You’re lighter than air. Your skin glows. You glance into mirrors, eager to greet each long-lost muscle as it reappears. You love everyone.

“Hello, Happy Mail Carrier Person!”

“Good day to you, Darling Dog Groomer!”

“Love ya, Safeway Cashier! That bag of Ruffles With Ridges you just rang up is not for me, by the way; I’m juicing!”

You even think that maybe, just maybe, your new-found inner clarity and serenity could yield the secret to world peace. Does anyone have the number to the Oval Office?

On day six, you wish you could stir a little simple syrup into that kale juice. On day seven, you take a three-hour nap. On day eight you would eat the dog if someone gave you a bottle of ketchup. And on day nine, you ask your blog partner to Google Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, because you know you have it, and, oh crud, you slept instead of posting a blog.

I told you so, Carolyn.

You’re de-toxing. We’re menopausal. We have so many toxins, they just pour all over the place when we try to tease them out of their hidey-holes.   Look, I get it: You were trying to rid yourself of two of the classic symptoms of menopause–weight gain and sluggishness.  But it’s a dangerous game you’re playing, my friend.

I was just at Bob’s Red Mill. Do you know that Bob Moore, the king of whole grains, is going to be 86 next month and is still working a full schedule? If he says he’s going to blog, he blogs.  I ate at his restaurant, and they serve GIANT 3-egg omelets smothered in three cheeses, with fried potatoes, whole-grain biscuits and butter. They would NOT do that if it was bad for us.

While I was at the Red Mill Store, I bought you a big ‘ol peanut butter cookie.  It’ll stop that nasty detox in its tracks. I expect you’ll be writing a blog asap.

I’ll drive over with the cookie.  First, though, I’m going to take a nap, ‘cause I’m still a little full from lunch.  Come to think of it, I feel kinda sluggish.  And I think I gained weight.

If you have any extra juice, I’ll have a sip or two when I see you.

Love you.
–Wendy

Leave a comment

Filed under aging, Diet, Fitness

This Is What 57 Looks Like–Sometimes

Would I let you people down?

Nick the stud

1 Comment

Filed under aging

In Whose Image?

Recently, my husband told me he is proud of his body, because he is made in God’s image.

God has man boobs?

Kidding, sweetie.  But we aren’t aging quite as well as some others.  Currently, we have house guests.  One of them is a 57-year-old man who looks like he is maaaybe 40.  If you cut off his head (but no one would, because it’s too cute), he looks twenty-two.

 For his 57th b-day, which was this past week, he swam 57 lengths of a pool, biked 57 miles, ran 5.7 miles (wimp), and did 57 crunches, chin-ups and other stuff.   ALL IN A SINGLE DAY.

I think he’s afraid of aging.  Obviously, I am not.  But I think that for my 52nd birthday, I will do 52 minutes of exercise a day all year.  Or bake 52 cupcakes all at once.  I have a couple of months to decide.

In the meantime, I am going to try to take a photo of our house guest as he gets in the shower.  I know that’s not polite, but for you, dear readers, I am willing to violate the Hostess Code.  Hopefully I’ll be posting his pic tomorrow.

–Wendy

3 Comments

Filed under aging

HOW KRAV MAGA IS MAKING A MAN OUT OF ME

Don’t Mess With Bubbie

Carolyn told you a bit about our foray into self-mutilation…whoops, I mean “defense.” She left out a few things.

Remember how in I Love Lucy, Lucy Ricardo would come up with some cockamamie plan and just assume Ethel Mertz would go along with her?  Every couple of episodes, Ethel, bless her heart, would try to grow a backbone and stand her ground.  But Lucy always won.

“Ohhh no, Lucy, count me out of this one.”

“But Ethel—“

“Nothing doing!”

And the next thing you knew, Ethel was standing on the ledge of their apartment building, dressed like a martian.  Well, that’s Carolyn and me.

“Hey,” I said one afternoon when I had obviously lost my mind, “have you heard of Krav Maga?”  (Never, ever EVER ask Carolyn if she’s heard of something.  EVER.  Ever.)

“No.  What is it?”

“Israeli street fighting.  It’s supposed to be a near deadly form of self-defense—  Whom are you calling?“

She had us registered for a trial class in under five minutes.  I am not exaggerating.

“We should at least think about this, Carolyn.  We don’t know these people.  What if they’re not licensed or insured or sane?  We should at least look at the studio first….”

The next day, our local Krav Maga studio –the one with the logo of the snarling bulldog—had three new students.  (Carolyn brought her 14-year-old, star-athlete son.)

The workout/torture room was dreckorated in black and gray, not a whisper of cheerful color.  The instructors and other students were dressed in black and gray, too, as the Krav Maga uniform is part of the registration fee.  Coincidentally, Carolyn had worn black yoga pants and  shirt for our trial class.  I had dressed in jeans and a pink and yellow v-neck “Peace” tee (so cute, really) with hot-pink, lace cami underneath.

Guess who got the look of admiration from Krav Maga Man, the verrrry serious owner of our new home away from home?  He spared me a glance.  “Did you bring water?”

“I don’t want to get hurt!” shot from my lips before I could stop myself.

Krav Maga Man scowled.  “Did you bring water?”

“No.”

Looking disgusted, he walked away.  “What is his problem?” I whispered to Carolyn.  “They didn’t tell us to bring water.  Did you bring water?”  She raised a quart-sized sports bottle.  It was black.

KMM returned with a tiny bottle of Kirkland H2O, which he handed to me.  “Get going, you three.  Class has started.”

I liked the warm up.  My confidence soared, in fact, as I lunged, squatted, tossed in a yoga asana, rolled my shoulders and shadow-boxed.  The nice teacher was smiling at me.  He was smaller, younger, far friendlier than Krav Maga Man.  Let’s call him Mini Krav.

Glancing at Carolyn, who looked sweaty and focused, I grinned.  Self-defense wasn’t so bad.

After teaching us a few lethal punches and kicks, Mini Krav paired us up—men with men and women with women.  Carolyn was partnered with a statuesque 20-something whose muscles appeared to be sculpted from Caesarstone.  After some deliberation, I was matched with a very quiet, much older woman whose loose tee shirt hung past her knees and whose stooped shoulders gave the impression that a trip around the block with her walker might put her into traction.

I’m not going to lie to you people:  My feelings were hurt.  I mean, I work out.  I own FOUR of The Firm DVD’s.   Okay, I haven’t played them much lately, but c’mon.  (That’s all I’ve got, just…c’mon.)

Looking on the bright side, at least I was unlikely to be injured and could help Carolyn get home after Ms. Olympia 2012 took out a kidney.

I smiled encouragingly at my frail partner and graciously held the provided padding, so she could hit me first.  “Don’t be afraid, I’m tougher than I look,” I crooned.  “You can—OWWWWW!”

The old broad didn’t even wait for me to stop speaking!  Just punched me so hard I thought I lost a lung, even with the padding.  Without waiting for me to catch my breath, she pivoted, letting me have it with the other fist while shouting, “MUH!”

“OW!  Sonova–  Hey, lady!”

“Historically, women have been afraid of their full power, so we don’t hold back in class. Do we?”  Her eyes bore into mine and her lips barely moved when she spoke, making her look less Someone’s Grannie and more CIA Assassin.

“Fine, but from here on I’d like to invoke the Marquess of Queensberry rules, so–  Owww-owwww.”  She got me again.  “I was still talking! What is wrong with you?”

“Attackers don’t play by rules, do we women don’t hold back. Do we?”

“Stop asking me that.”

“Practice your kicks!” Mini Krav called above the shouts and groans.

Instantly, I dropped the pads and used the same signal my daughter makes when she’s playing tag, hoping it would translate.  “Time out.  No puppy guarding.”

I looked around for Carolyn and saw her with the owner of the studio.  He had his first-aid kit open as blood was streaming down her hand….

Part Two on Wednesday.

 –Wendy

Leave a comment

Filed under aging, Exercise, Fitness, friendship, Health, Humor, Krav Maga

The Naked and the Dead

Eat your burgers and shut up! I'm trying to drive here!

Last week, I was tapped to chaperone a field trip for my middle and high school kids at the Oregon Museum of Science and Industry.  Because my hubby was out of town and I had a pretty serious case of bronchitis I wasn’t exactly behind the eight-ball on a bunch of stuff that was going on in our household.  So, I dragged it out of bed the morning of, loaded up on cold meds and headed out to OMSI to get me some learnin’ with my kids.  Luckily—or not—I was clueless, going in and, because of an ill-timed bathroom break, managed to elude the docent’s speech on the exhibit’s particulars.

These ‘particulars’ being, that the room was full of DEAD, NAKED PEOPLE.   MY EYES!  MY EYES!  Posed in bizarre positions with their petrified junk exposed for all the world (and my kids) to gape at.  If you haven’t heard of this exhibit by Gunther Von Hagen, Google it and you’ll get some idea of what I’m talking about.  Anyhow, to say we all learned a little something that day, was to put it mildly.

And you know?  I have to admit, the human body is beautiful and magical, even as an over-sized hunk of beef jerky.  But it got me to wondering about a lot of stuff while I was there.  Who were these people?  What would compel them to pose naked for eternity, in odd positions such as a soccer player or a gymnast or a figure skating couple?

Have we met?

Did they even know how to figure skate?  Or play the clarinet?  Or steer a pirate ship?  Had the two skaters, now entwined for posterity, ever met in real life?  Did they really think through the part about being…oh, I don’t know…NAKED?  For earthly eternity?

And, if I could get beyond the nudity, would I consider donating my cadaver to such an endeavor?  And, in what position would they pose me?

The most obvious, of course, would be me, behind the wheel of my minivan.  One hand fused to the steering wheel, the other, raised and lobbing fast food into the backseat at a bunch of naked, petrified teenagers.

You know, I don’t think I saw a tribute to menopausal motherhood in that exhibit…

That would be one definite way to leave my mark on the world.

Carolyn

1 Comment

Filed under 35 symptoms of menopause, aging, Body World, Death, Gunther Von Hagen Body World, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood

Texting for the menopausal

I got a new iPhone.  Still trying to get the hang of it.   Found these handy shortcuts for my generation…

BFF:  Best Friend Fainted—or—Best Friend’s Funeral

BYOT:  Bring your own teeth

DWI:  Driving While Incontinent

FYI:  Found Your Insulin

LMDO:  Laughing My Dentures Out

LOL: Living On Lipitor

OMG:  Oh My!  Gas.

ROFL…CGU:  Rolling On Floor Laughing…And Can’t Get Up.

TTYL:  Talk To You Louder

 

Carolyn

1 Comment

Filed under 35 symptoms of menopause, aging, Bathroom Humor, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood

The Face(s) of Sixty

Multiple Choice

Pop Quiz:  What does 60 look like?

Still thinking?  Of course you are; it’s a trick question.  Nobody knows, because so few people have the chutzpah to age these days.  So who looks better–Cher, Diane Keaton or Joan Van Ark?

My husband was torn between Cher and Diane Keaton.  Not I.  For me, it’s Diane by a mile.  I look at her face and see a woman who has spent more time parenting her kids, taking photos, pondering the world and her place in it and making thoughtful movies than running to a plastic surgeon.  I see a woman with the guts to be fully herself and to challenge Hollywood to respect a woman over fifty.  Better yet, to simply acknowledge that there are women over fifty.

No wonder poor George Clooney is so confused about who his peer group is.

Thank you, Diane.  And a big shout out to Annette Bening and Jacqueline Bisset, too.

Wendy

3 Comments

Filed under aging, Geroge Clooney, Golden Girls

The Girl With The Cat-In-The-Hat Tights

You know the ditty about wearing purple when you’re an old woman?  I don’t think we should wait.  I think we should chop up our Nordstrom’s cards (all right, full disclosure: My “Nordstrom’s” card says, “Marshall’s,” but you get my drift) and start shopping anyplace that sells white tights with bold red stripes in Queen Size.

I don’t know about you, but I have spent an inordinate amount of time in my life attempting to be appropriate.  If you are a parent, you surely recognize that word.

“Sweetie, it’s not appropriate to cartwheel during communion.”    (Or maybe it is?)

“Darling, it is not appropriate to see if a person can drink orange juice through a straw stuck up her nose….   I don’t care if your if your father is doing it, it’s not appropriate in a restaurant.   Tim, stop encouraging her.”

Of course I think it’s important for parents to provide a bumper, of sorts, along the road to their kid’s maturity, bouncing them back onto the path when they stray too far, but now that my daughter is growing up, I’m already missing her little girl ways.  A recent example:

She grew a few inches this summer, so I asked her to sort through her clothes and set aside the items she could no longer wear.  She came out of her room dressed in white tights with fat red stripes.  I hadn’t seen those in a couple of years.

“From now on, Mom, I want solid colors, not stripes or flowers.  It’s more grown up.”

“Okay.”  I sighed, thinking she looked so dang cute in her Cat-In-The-Hat tights.  “We’ll get solid colors.”

“Hose, not tights.”

“Ah.  Hose.”  I nodded, the sadness undeniable.

“Yeah.”  She looked down.  Gave her striped legs an affectionate stroke.   “I could still wear these sometimes, though,” she ventured.  “But just to special occasions.  Like weddings.”

“Yes, that would be awesome.”

Do you know of any weddings we could crash?  ‘Cause I really want her to wear those tights again before it’s too late.  I’ll be wearing a pair, too, beneath my uber-appropriate wedding attire.  I may have to paint the stripes on a pair of opaque white pantyhose, but I am determined to have Cat-In-The-Hat shins.  Now that I’m forty-nine with a bullet, maybe I can let go of the correctness of my youth.  Express myself more.  Fit in less.

Sign me,

The Broad With The Cat In The Hat Tights

Wendy

1 Comment

Filed under 35 symptoms of menopause, aging, Humor, manners, Menopause, Motherhood, parenthood, politeness, Writing

Carolyn, the Queen of Everything

After Carolyn’s post yesterday, I probably should be throwing my tiara in the ring, lobbying to be Queen of the United States, or at least the area around my easy chair.  I have been trying for ages to get my family to address me as Your Highness, but they are so resistant to change.

The thing is, I’m not the queen type.  I prefer to fly slightly under the radar.  Besides, I get hat head.  Carolyn has really thick hair; she’ll look fabulous after the hat comes off–and it’ll probably be an adorable hat she made from a sweater or a dog bed or an empty Ritz Cracker box or something.  She is brilliant at making hats.  Honestly, she should have been a milliner.

So, Carolyn, you’ll have my fealty if you make me a hat.

Also, I think that when you are queen you should make George Clooney date women born before 1985.  This is really important.  With a Too Hot Mama on the throne, we can mandate this kind of validation for women over forty-five.

Wow.  I can’t believe I once stepped in human urine while walking through Central Park with the future queen of the United States.  (After the hats and George Clooney, you might want to do something about that urine situation.)

All hail Carolyn!  Long may you rain… rein…reign…    Well, enjoy bossing people around, dear friend.

Wendy

1 Comment

Filed under aging, Geroge Clooney, Humor, Menopause, Motherhood, Writing

Kids Say The Darndest Things…Part 2

“Oh, darn!”

Darn it!  Yesterday, I couldn’t remember a darned thing that my kids say for Toohotmama’s KIDS SAY THE DARNDEST THINGS segment.  I thought and I thunk till my thinker was stuck and then I remembered!  My number one daughter is learning to drive!  I’m teaching her and she has said a few darned things while we are in the car.  This is probably the darndest thing she said, right after she crashed into a boulder in our driveway.

“Gee, Mom.  It’s lucky this car is old.  I wouldn’t want to learn in a good car.”

When I relayed this to my husband, he said a darned thing.  Can’t write it all here, but the jist of it was:

“Old?!  OLD?!  That THIRTY-FOUR THOUSAND DOLLAR CAR is only FOUR YEARS OLD!”

To that, my daughter said, “Oh.  Well, it looks old.”

To which my husband said some more darned (and unrepeatable) stuff about how she and her siblings treat it like a garbage scow and he was going to buy personalized license plates that read:  MOM’S SCOW.

I said a few darned things of my own.

Carolyn

Leave a comment

Filed under 35 symptoms of menopause, aging, Anxiety, Children

12 steps for menopausal motherhood

Wendy and I are starting a support group for menopausal mothers.  This was overheard at our first meeting:
“Hey, Wendy! How are you doing today?”

“Yes!  It is windy today!”

“No.  It’s Thursday!”

“Me, too.  When are those cheap hotmamas gonna serve the coffee?”

I think we’re making great headway.

Car0lyn

2 Comments

Filed under 35 symptoms of menopause, aging, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood

Those Sexy, Sexy Graham Crackers

Sooo sexy

Menopause Symptom #7 is Loss Of Libido, and now Too Hot Mamas is going to share with you the cure!

Did you know Graham Crackers were invented by the Reverend Sylvester Graham to cure “the fever of lust”?  That’s right.  The reverend believed whole, bland foods would cure us of carnal urges.

This is a load off of Too Hot Mamas’ minds and, we bet, off of yours, too.

We are not in menopause, after all, ladies; we have simply eaten too many Golden Grahams.  Granted, the Rev. Sylvester probably wasn’t thinking about slapping a hunk of Hershey’s and a big ol’ marshmallow between his biscuits, like we do, but still graham crackers and other bland, whole or nutritious foods could be responsible for the crash of our libidos.   Also, in Sylvester’s day milk and meat were considered to be responsible for sexual appetite, so you know the top ten anti-aging foods–all those fruits and veggies and lean things you’ve been told to focus on? They don’t seem so helpful anymore, do they?

Girlfriends, we have been sold a bill of goods about our diets.  Salmon, blueberries and broccoli are supposed to kill hot flashes.  Well, they’re gonna kill your libidos, too, sisters, so tell the waiter to bring you that Mississippi mud pie, after all, one fork.

You’ve burned your bras, now open that bag of Lays and don’t you worry your pretty heads about eating just one.

Thanks for the great tips, Reverend Sylvester.  You are our new diet guru.  We’re putting a brisket in the oven, baking up a Death-By-Chocolate cake and digging the 400 thread count sheets out of the laundry, ‘cause love is in the air.  Or it will be, as soon as we’ve eaten the better part of a herd of cattle.

Happy dining!

Wendy

1 Comment

Filed under aging, Writing

The Best Dessert You’ll Ever Eat…or The Best Kiss You’ll Ever Have? Take the survey and WIN

 

 

 

 

It’s time for Winning Wednesdays at Too Hot Mamas.

All righty, you’re menopausin’–pre, peri, in it, post, whatever–the point is you’re sweaty, a little ticked off in a permanent way, you’ve got kids, a job, you’re tired, so if you could choose only one of the following, which would it be:

THE BEST DESSERT YOU’LL EVER EAT (what is it?)

OR

THE BEST KISS YOU”LL EVER HAVE? (with whom?)

Reply and we’ll enter you in our bi-weekly drawing for a five-buck STARBUCK’S gift card.

Too Hot Mamas will answer this, too, of course.  We’re an open book.  But we want to hear from you first.

Carolyn and Wendy

5 Comments

Filed under 35 symptoms of menopause, aging, Children, friendship, Humor, Motherhood, parenthood

Kids Say The Darnedest Things

I’m currently in sunny (scorching) Southern California, visiting my in-laws.  I always love this trip as my in-laws are fantastic people and they all live in one ginormous, bee-autiful home.  I don’t have to travel anywhere in order to see them all, a plus as I was never a California summer-lovin’ girl, even when I grew up here.  The other reason I love this trip:  I have adorable nieces.  This morning, the seven-year-old awoke early to hang out with me and we chatted about vacations.

Niece:  It’s hard to sleep on a plane.

Me:  Not enough leg room?

Niece:  Yeah.  When we flew to Florida there was an old man behind me, and he kept kicking my seat.

Me:  That must have been frustrating.

Niece:  Oh, it was!  He was old.  He should have known better.  And he did it the whole way to Florida.

Me:  Did you ask him nicely to stop?

Niece:  Yeah.  No.  I don’t know.  He never stopped.  He was old.  He should have known it was not right and it was not polite.

Me:  True.  But if he was old, maybe he didn’t realize he was doing it.

Niece:  Maybe.  He wasn’t so old old, though.  Maybe…at least eighteen or nineteen.  Yeah, maybe he was too old to know what he was doing.

She’s so wise, don’t you think?  It just proves nineteen is the new one hundred.
Wendy

Leave a comment

Filed under aging, Children, Humor, Motherhood, parenthood, politeness, Travel

We’re Plucking As Fast As We Can

Too Hot Mamas are traveling again, and as we prepare to visit friends and relatives, we must ask this question:

Why is it that we can shave our legs today and not have to do it again until summer 2012, but if we pluck our chins at 8 a.m. we’ll have stubble before we see the bottoms of our coffee cups?

Have you noticed any startling body phenomena lately?

Too Hot Hairy Mamas

2 Comments

Filed under 35 symptoms of menopause, aging, Humor, Menopause, Writing

George Clooney is single!!

If I could only decide between the too hot mamas. Eenie, Meanie, Miney...

I know, I know, I promised that Wendy and I would be updating you
all from the Big Apple. But, we didn’t have time. As we were leaving for the
airport, the news broke that George Clooney was newly single, possibly in Manhattan… and the race was on.

It’s obvious that the boy is barking up the wrong tree with these super-skinny, super-attractive, super-young, super-models.   And, now that he’s 50, we’re guessing he’s
going to realize the error of his ways and start looking for a well-seasoned,
less-than-perfect woman to provide arm candy.
We think a little cellulite and some wrinkles are fine, because hey, we’re
not perfect, either.

So now, the question is, me or Wendy?  We asked our husbands and since neither of them seemed threatened in the least, it’s a horse race.

When we weren’t stalking Georgie Porgie Puddin’ Pie, we took a ton of pictures, visited 5 states, actually DROVE IN MANHATTAN (thank you, Darla, you rock), met with agents and editors, talked book deals, ate waaaaay too much, walked barefoot in Times Square at midnight and laughed ourselves half silly.  We came home speaking with distinct New York accents and are energized and ready to write.

Wishing you all a fab 4th!

Carolyn Clooney

Sounds good, huh, Wendy?

3 Comments

Filed under 35 symptoms of menopause, aging, Children, Geroge Clooney, Marriage, Menopause, New York, parenthood, Travel, Weight gain, wrinkles, Writing

My Fantasy Life

Muuaahahahahah! Alone at last!

I have a rich fantasy life.  But, it’s not what you’re thinkin’.  Sorry.  This time my fantasy involves planting the “Family Garden”.  Oh, yeah.  I could just see me in my floppy garden hat and a gauzy white sundress.  The kids, frolicking at my feet, digging holes and planting veggies that they would consume with relish, because they grew them with their own two hands.

(Wavily dream sequence music here).

“Oh, Mother!  Look at the beautiful broccoli plant I grew!  I can’t wait to eat of its
bounty!”

“Mommy, dearest, may I please harvest a zucchini from the lush depths of my little patch?”

“Why yes, darling, but remember, though eating from the garden is good for you, you must include other nutrients, such as sugar, in your diet.”

“Oh, Mumsie, but must we?  I prefer Brussel-sprouts!”

Sigh.  It all started so well.  “Kids! This year, I want each of you can plant your own raised bed with whichever vegetables you want!”

“Yay!  Oh, goodie. I get watermelon!”

“No!  I want watermelon!”

“What about me?  Don’t I get a watermelon?”

Heavy sigh.  “I’m sure there will be other things we might want to plant.”

Blank stares.

“Okay, kids let’s go to the nursery to get your plants.”

“Do I have to?”

“You don’t want to go?”

“If I have to…”

AT THE NURSERY

“Mom, look!  Let’s get this!”

“We can’t eat a flower basket.”

Mutter, mutter,cheapskate, economy, flowers, mutter.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, Mom.”

“Great.  Let’s load the car.”

“Do we have to?”

AT HOME

“Okay everybody!  Hang tight while I go get my floppy garden hat!  While I am changing into my gauzy white garden dress, you guys take the plants out to the beds and start digging some holes, okay?”

“Do we have to?”

IN THE GARDEN

“Hey, Liv why are you the only kid in the garden with me?”

“The other kids are all asleep.  Mom, why are you dressed like that?”

“Shut up and weed.”

“Do I have to?”

Wavily dream music here.

And so, I spent another afternoon in solitude, planting my garden.  Note to self:  Want much sought after alone time?  Ask for help with the garden!

Carolyn

1 Comment

Filed under 35 symptoms of menopause, aging, Children, Cussing, Fitness, gardening, Humor, manners, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, parenthood

Goodbye cruel world…

It only takes one complete lunatic to make the entire group look bad.  My kids tell me this all the time.  “Mom.  You’re making us look bad.”

But alas, I’m not talking about me.  I’m talking about Harold-This-Is-It-Camping. 

What? Me worry?

 

Being a born again Christian, I’m eagerly waiting for the rapture because the idea of dying has never been all that appealing.  My youngest daughter is the queen of surveys.  “Mom, if you were going to die, would you rather be frozen to death, or burned to death?”  “Uh…hmmm, I…uhhh…is there another choice?”   “Mom, if you took off all your clothes and slept outside naked, would it kill you?”  Depends if the neighbors mistook me for Sasquatch and shot me, I guess.  “Mom, what snake would you rather have kill you, a king cobra or a rattler?” 

Can ya see why having Jesus take me outta here and plant me in a garden for a feast is more attractive?

Annnyway, if today is the day, cool.  I won’t have to defrost the refrigerator because it will be lying under a pile of rubble and will take care of itself.

Unfortunately, Mr. Camping’s theology resembles nothing I ever learned in Sunday school and, since New Zeland was still standing as of 6pm (their time), I’m gonna go don the Playtex gloves and tackle the kitchen.  Pity.  One of my children was hopeful about getting out of geometry finals.  Tough luck, kid.

The one good thing to come out of all this fear-mongering is that it made me stop and think about how short this life is.  How precious every moment.  Right now, my teenagers are in our backyard tossing horseshoes in a patch of rare spring sunshine.  Think I’m going to skip the cleaning and go whup some kids at horseshoes.  Loser cleans the kitchen.

Carolyn

4 Comments

Filed under aging, Death, Geroge Clooney, Humor, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, Older writers, Writing

Cat Fight–The REAL Story

Here’s what really happened.  Four of us meet for breakfast to talk about a writer’s conference trip we are all taking to New York this summer to land agents and fabulous book and movie deals on our fascinating and hilarious lives as romance novelists/mothers/wives/slash/hacks/dog owners and, you know, a couple of other projects we’ve got stashed under the bed that we’re gonna take out and dust off and turn into gold. 

Wendy is late, as usual.  Don’t get me started.  Anyway, she comes skidding in to the restaurant, drops to into her chair, snaps her fingers for the ‘girl’ then goes off on her wrinkle jag, which we all know is a bid for attention.  The woman is adorable.  I don’t get the whole, “Oh, look at my teensy wrinkle and feel sorry for me,” deal.  But we have to humor her.  “Yeah, yeah, Wendy.  What are ya gonna do about the grand canyons on your face today?”  Furtive eye-rolling behind the menu.

In fact, while she was blathering on about the wrinkle thing, I snapped a pic of her with my phone, just to prove my point.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

wait… I got it here somewhere…

.

.

.

.

.

Oh.  Yeah.  Here.  Now.  I ask you.  Is this a face or is this a face?  I just want to gobble her up.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Clinique has this AMAZING new product that they claim firms and tightens..."

 

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Over coffee (we’ve migrated to Starbucks by now) the four of us figure out all the details of our trip to the eastern seaboard and decide to ditch the writer’s meeting we’d planned on attending that morning in Portland and hit the mall instead. 

Wendy was still nattering about this miracle stuff she was going to spend waaaaaay too much money on and I wanted to find some pants that would make me look 40 lbs. lighter.

As I was off looking for “skinny jeans” (sheyeah, what a crock) Wendy gave us the slip.  We finally found her seated in the chair behind the Clinique counter getting her upper lip spackled.  Okay.  I get it now.  The whole wrinkle cream gig isn’t about fixing your wrinkles.  No.  Oprah, are you listening, because this is the real SECRET.  Wrinkle cream IS NOT about ‘fixing a problem’.  It’s about ‘confusing the eye’.  It’s about slathering a whole bunch of gummy stuff on your lip and telling you that your wrinkles are gone and then charging you $174 + tax. 

Wendy, I’m only gonna say this once.  “The emperor has no clothes!  B-U-C-K Naked!

Of course your friends are going to tell you that the flaky, chalky, goofy crud on your upper lip looks great because we love you. 

"I can't nove ny lits cuz this stuff is sooter hard!"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Truth be told, we simply had no where else to look.  We had to avert our eyes.  That’s why no one noticed wrinkles.  A person can’t see when they’re all squinty-eyed and cringing. 

Carolyn

3 Comments

Filed under aging, BOTOX, Children, Cooking, Death, Dogs, Fifteen Minutes of Fame, friendship, Humor, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, parenthood, Weight gain, Weight Loss, wrinkle erasers, wrinkles

Toohotmamas Celebrate Mother’s Day!

Wendy may be menopausal, but she can still swang her thang!        Carolyn

Vodpod videos no longer available.

Leave a comment

Filed under Academy Awards, Adoption, aging, Anxiety, Bathroom Humor, Children, Death, Exercise, Fifteen Minutes of Fame, Humor, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, Older writers, Writing

PLEASE FIRE ME.

Did you get your Thin Mints this year?

If not, then you are the only person within a 100-mile radius of me who didn’t get a box.  Or twelve.  Yes, folks, we have passed that time of year, that more-American-than-Thanksgiving extended holiday known as GIRL SCOUT COOKIE SALES.

Some of you probably read that and experienced a personal moment, the memory of peanut butter Do-si-Dos exploding on your taste buds as if you were biting into the real thing.  Good for you.  Me, I wrote that sentence and heard the Shark’s Theme from Jaw’s.

If you got your Thin Mints, there is one thing I know for sure:  You didn’t get them from me.   With our collective troop sales rocketing into the four digits, my precious child, aided and abetted by yours truly, sold a whopping four boxes.  Why?

BECAUSE I SUCK AT BEING A GIRL SCOUT MOM. In the 99-year history of our venerable organization, I am, I am quite certain, one of the worst Brownie moms the scouts have ever suffered.  The blustery (read: hurricane-like) day we sallied forth to sugar-coat our city drove the point home.

My daughter and I arrive at our assigned post–outside a local market near dinnertime– to take over from a harried-looking mother and four soaked scoutlets who have already sold out of Thin Mints, Tag-Alongs and Samoas.  “More are coming!” she says as she thrusts the crammed money-box into my hands.  Her gaze shifts to my daughter.  “Where’s her sash?”

I look at the other girls, decked out despite the impending flood in their Brownie regalia, patches marching proudly across their uniforms.    Crap. Totally forgot about the sash.  (Full disclosure:  Totally lost the sash.  Not a clue where it could be. )

“Um, she gets cold so easily.  She’ll probably keep her coat on.”  I glance at my daughter, who is in the process of flinging said coat to the sidewalk so she can play in the rain properly with her friends.

Harried mother ushers her girls home for dinner as we prepare to take over.  Almost immediately people line up for their annual Girl Scout Cookie fix.   “How much is a box?” asks the first woman in line. Continue reading

1 Comment

Filed under aging, Children, Girl Scouts, Humor, Motherhood, parenthood

Goodbye Teddy Bear…Hello Tiger

I have Carolyn’s youngest son at my place for a sleepover.  He’s one-day younger than my daughter.  Carolyn and I adopted the kids when we were mere seconds from menopause (a great story we’ll have to share sometime).

The two kids adore each other; they get along famously.  Always have.  Like brother and sister without the fights.  So, when they asked if they could sleep in my daughter’s room on the same bed, Carolyn and I decided that would be okey dokey.  They’re a few weeks away from turning eight, and not the most sophisticated flowers in the garden.  Very innocent.  Lucy and Ricky Ricardo are their media marriage role models.

My DD, however, upon hearing that they could indeed share the twin bed and kick each other silly all night long, suddenly turned coy.  “But that’s so romantic,” she giggled.

Romantic?  She just dared him to eat a caterpillar. Continue reading

1 Comment

Filed under Adoption, aging, Children, Humor, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, parenthood, Young Love

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 

Leave a comment

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

My Hot Body

You know you’re out of shape when you get winded doing Kegels.

Carolyn

2 Comments

Filed under aging, Exercise, Fitness, Health, Humor, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, Weight gain, Weight Loss, Writing

Another Get Rich Quick Scheme Down the Toilet

Heeeeeellllppp meeeeee!

Ohmigosh, Wendy!  Last night I had a dream that J. Lilly, President of Pillsbury wrote us a letter.  It was so terrifying!  So real!  I woke up in a sweat (could have been a hot flash) and scribbled down what I remembered on a candy wrapper I found lying near my bed: 

To TooHotMamas:

(Whoever you are and whatever your racket is)  

 Stop harassing me about winning my contest, or I’ll be forced to take out a restraining order against you both.  The only reason I haven’t contacted the authorities yet, is because my sister is menopausal and tells me you are both out of your minds. 

In answer to a few of your many and varied accusations:  No, the contest was not rigged, nor am I related to the winners and yes I eat Pillsbury products in my home and have no signs of these ‘pathogens’ you allude to.  

Also, since Jack Bauer is a FICTIONAL television character (24), I cannot take the threat that you would report my contest to the Counter Terrorist Unit seriously.  I can’t believe Jack Bauer would take it seriously.  In a shoot out, everyone knows the doughboy has no vital organs and can withstand intense heat.  Jack Bauer, though impressive, would never survive a pre-heated 350 oven for more than 30 minutes. 

TooHotMamas, I will not be bullied into, and I’m quoting here, “Taking you to the stars with your two-ingredient Pancake Sauce”, and must reiterate: Winning my contest will not solve your myriad problems.  In fact you both may wish to consider counseling.  I’ve heard this stage of life is hard on many women and can lead to delusional behavior.  

Thank you for including the pictures of your children in your missive of terror and yes, aside from needing braces, they are all exceedingly attractive. 

You will be contacted from my lawyers for your issues with our contest protocol, and must sign sworn statements to hold Pillsbury harmless, if you wish to participate in the future. 

Sincerely, 

John Lilly, CEO Pillsbury Corporation

Leave a comment

Filed under aging, Anxiety, Children, Cooking, hot flash, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, Pillsbury Bakeoff, Weight gain, Weight Loss

I want my…I want my…I want my PMS…

Never thought I’d say that.

Menopause been belly, belly bad to me.  In less than a year my legs have morphed into my mother-in-laws legs.  I vowed I would never let that happen. 

And the appetite?  Horrific.  We used to have a loveseat in the family room.  Gone.  It was delicious.

The other day, I was attempting to describe the joy of hot-flashes to my husband (after I’d slapped his loving hands away as he was trying to comfort my distress).  “Honey, it’s like that feeling you get when you are in the sauna about ten minutes past the moment you know you should have left, to avoid heat stroke?”  “Ooo,” hubby tsks in sympathy.  “I swear, this morning, I was holding an iron skillet during a hot flash and… it bent.”

How unfair that this burst of heat does not melt unwanted pounds away.  What good is a personal summer, if you can’t get a good tan out of the deal?

On the up side, should we have a power outage this winter, the family will all be able to gather round me, for warmth. 

Carolyn

2 Comments

Filed under aging, hot flash, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, Weight gain, Writing

THE GIRL WITH THE DEAD TATTOO

I just finished reading The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo by Steig Larsson.  Have you heard of this book?  If not, you live under a rock. 

Anyway, I’m always a day late and a dollar short with my plots, it seems, for  I could not believe my eyes.  I just wrote a book exactly like it!  Well, okay, there were some variations.  My hero was a cat.  And I didn’t do that whole computer hacking subplot, although there was some hairball hacking at one pivotal point.  Another difference is how my cat didn’t, you know, cat around with the astounding frequency and variety of Stieg’s randy characters.

 But come on!  Why 27 bazillion books in print?  Why #1 on the best seller list?  Why not us, WENDY?  I’ll tell you why!  We’re ALIVE, that’s why.  (That, and I’m just returning to my writing career after a rather protracted maternity leave, but that’s beside the point).  Apparently, now days, it really helps to hit the lists and get those movie deals if you’re dead.  Yeah.  I’m talking about you, J.R.R. Tolkien.

Sadly, Stieg Larsson died of heart failure at the tender young age of 50, before he ever had a chance to enjoy his amazing success.  Or…did he?  Hmmm.  Let’s see.  What would be his cut of 100 gogillion dollars be?  Even if it was only 6 %, we’re talking 6 gogillion dollars, give or take.  Certainly enough to retire on.

 So Wendy, I’m seriously thinking about staging my death in an effort to give my career a much-needed boost.  (Don’t worry.  I’ll still help with the blog).  Others have successfully done it.  Remember D.B. Cooper?  I’d never heard of him before he “died”.  And how many of you out there have seen Elvis at Wal-Mart?  Yes?  I thought so.  I’m not certain yet, how I want to “go”.  I’m sure my hubby would cheerfully help.  My teenagers, too.  I see the dollar signs in their eyes when I’m particularly menopausal.

 I’ll keep you posted from the ‘great-beyond’ at Wal-Mart.

Carolyn

Leave a comment

Filed under aging, Anxiety, Changing Genre's, Making Money, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, Older writers, Stieg Larsson, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Writing

Leverage Wrap Party, part II, and…George Clooney is MY Boy Toy, Carolyn

Wendy here, continuing with my report on the Leverage Wrap party.  First, though, a note on Carolyn’s most recent post:

While I am somewhat saddened by my blogmate’s attempt to pull the wool over our reader’s eyes attention whore, I can, I suppose, understand where she is coming from midlife crisis and forgive her this single aberration pattern in an otherwise eminently sane menopause descent into madness.

Carolyn, I love you, sweetie, but please–George Clooney posing with a pug?  PIG. He likes pigs. Can we admit right now that your picture was photo shopped?   Maybe you were feeling a little, oh I don’t know…sick with envy?  But I can’t help that my life has turned so freaking glamorous.

For those of you not eaten alive by jealousy….

My Fifteen Minutes of Someone Else’s Fame, Part Two

Okay, so Tim and I got out of our car at the Governor Hotel.   On the way in, he pretended to pick more dog hair off my butt.  [He’s such an animal.  Obviously my 10 Minutes-A-Day To Firm DVD has been working wonders.] We took the elevator to the fourth floor, where two very nice normal-looking girls put paper “Leverage” bracelets on our wrists.  They were the last normal-looking people we saw for four hours.

Feeling giddy, we walked into the party, where lights created giant “flames” that licked the walls beneath the word LEVERAGE.  Images of the cast and crew were projected on a large screen, an incredibly complete bar was set up, and tables of food lined either side of the room.  I get the reason for the bar, but why bother with food?  The place was packed with young actors and actresses.  No way were they gonna eat anything remotely resembling a calorie.  Apparently size zero actually exists.  I had no idea people could look like that without being airbrushed.  Flawless.   And that was the men.  The women?  Remember I told you that my husband sat in the makeup chair next to Elisabetta Canalis?  Well, he kept pointing her out to me at the party…except that it was never her.  Elisabetta Canalis is otherworldly gorgeous; Google her if you don’t know what she looks like.  Several of the women at this party looked like her.

The Leverage Cast stood right in front of me during the blooper reel that was shown.  I could have pinched Timothy Hutton’s tiny bottom.  (I didn’t; I was saving myself for George.)  They seemed like a very nice group of people. Continue reading

Leave a comment

Filed under aging, Menopause, Writing

I Will Wax For George Clooney

My husband’s a guest star on the TV show Leverage. He informed me several days ago that we are going to the wrap party, which is tomorrow night.  For the past week and a half, he’s been telling me how beautiful the women and men are on this show.

Deciding to walk my talk, I opted to approach this party very differently from the way I have approached similar celeb-studded parties in the past.  I used to make sure my makeup was fresh, my hair was highlighted, and my wardrobe was new.  This time?  I have one Maybelline eyeshadow duo with a broken plastic lid and gouges in the little cakes of color from my daughter’s attempt to apply the stuff to her dolls with a bobby pin.  That stubborn gray in my hair will simply have to be appreciated as Mother Nature’s highlights.  And those wrinkles–hey, some of those lines are vertical; they might be slimming.  As for my boring wardrobe:  I’m a work-at-home mom on a budget.  Cotton will have to do.

I felt really good about my decision to go au naturel and simply enjoy the view and the company.  No one’s going to be looking at me, anyway.  That last realization is one of the sweet gifts of no longer being twenty.

And then…

Today, with fewer than twenty-four hours left, my darling husband mentioned that the gorgeous Italian woman he’s seen on the set is Elisabetta Canalis, George Clooney’s current extraordinary  squeeze. Continue reading

5 Comments

Filed under aging, Children, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, Writing