Tag Archives: broken dreams

Sliding Doors

Steady...steady now...

On the 4th of July, we had the kind of company you want to impress.  (My agent and her family).  Yet, my hard-working hubby saw the day off as an opportunity to strip the house of every interior door to patch, prime and paint.  I’m sure the bizarre impact of no bathroom or closet doors  didn’t occur to him when he hatched this amazing scheme.  Isn’t the closet where you cram everything when company comes?  The bathroom problem is self-evident.  Anyway, as you can imagine, what with 7 people and 3 dogs at our house, our doors can get pretty shabby looking.

He has a clever way of spreading a giant tarp over the driveway and arranging the doors (think dominos) vertically with supports holding them at the top.  In the past, on a windless day, this has worked beautifully.

Because of the barbecue, he only had enough time to get the doors in domino stance, then he had to go to work for me.  (I love this man).  After the fireworks, we all had a great night’s sleep, but woke to find that the doors had toppled.  Some broken.

Yet, my intrepid hubby (after some pithy verbiage and a moment to sulk in my arms) strode back outside to face the door dragon.  Thankfully, only 2 of the doors were damaged.  He spent the day patching them and putting them back up with reinforcements. Then, off to work to make a living the next day.

While the kids were splashing in the pool, the first row crashed.  The kids started screaming.  “Mom!  THE DOORS!”  They thrashed out of the pool and raced to the driveway only to arrive in time to watch the second row fall.  My thirteen-year-old daughter burst into tears.  “Poor, Dad!”  The boys, (including one of their classmates) all looked on morosely.  “Man, that bites!”  The older girls were mad and verbal.

“Come on, you guys!  Grab a door, let’s get this cleaned up before Dad gets home.”

In no time, the doors were stacked and sorted (only 2 more broken this time) and it was up to me to make the scary phone call.

Stony silence followed by expletives deleted.  Yet, he came home, figured out a new way to arrange the doors (like tables with short legs) sprayed them, flipped them, sprayed them again and now…taaaa…daa…I have beautiful, shiny, amazing doors in my house.

Thank you, sweetheart.  You are awesome.

Carolyn

PS:  If you haven’t seen Sliding Doors with Gwyneth Paltrow, it’s fascinating.

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Filed under 35 symptoms of menopause, Anxiety, Children, cleaning, Cussing, Humor, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, 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

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

My carpet is disgusting

Wendy!  Get Rich Quick Scheme number 197,322!!!

I am thinking of calling it Nature’s Carpet, a revolutionary new flooring manufactured with the family in mind.  Envision this in your
own home.  Orange cat?  Nature’s Carpet will incorporate random tufts of orange hair into the weave!  Have a baby?   Imagine haphazard patches of mustard yellow and baby burp white!  For you dog owners, muddy paw prints in chocolate and caramel brown and some ‘oopsie’ spots for the puppy years.  I’m thinking the ketchup and pizza stain pattern is a must for a rumpus room.  And every guy will clamor for the barf and beer stain look for his man room.

Husbands?  Go ahead and take that motorcycle apart in the living room.  She won’t care.  Not with Nature’s Carpet’s “Garage Floor Stain” pattern.

Get that new carpet smell with the user-friendly feel.  No more need to chase that wet pet through the house.  Screaming at the kids over muddy boots is a thing of the past.  Peace and tranquility abound as you ‘go green’ with our bark dust, rabbit droppings and moss chunks pattern.

Your friend’s will turn puce with envy!

Wendy, my family will easily be able to do all of the design work.  You look into the patent deal.  I’m thinkin’ we’re on to something big this time.

Carolyn

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Filed under 35 symptoms of menopause, Children, cleaning, Cooking, Cussing, Death, Dogs, Geroge Clooney, Humor, kids messy rooms, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, parenthood

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.

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wait… I got it here somewhere…

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

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

 

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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!"

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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

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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.

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Leggo of my Lego

My youngest son, age 8, is a Lego addict.  He is willing to admit that he’s powerless over Legos.  This is an expensive habit.  Needs to be fed often.  I don’t get it, but then chocolate is my drug of choice.

Yes, members of my family have spent hundreds of dollars, satisfying his Star Wars Lego fanaticism.  His latest kit is an extravaganza my sister spent at least $50 bucks on, but the joke is on me.   Seems it’s payback time for the multi-piece toys I naively gifted her children with, a decade ago.  Alas, there are over a gogillion pieces in his latest set for my new puppy to chew. 

New puppy you ask?  Yes, long story, but I digress.  Anyway, ever since my little darling has endeavored to build the Star Wars Deluxe Battleship with the triple phaser stun guns (ages 9-14) this is all I hear these days:

Him:  “Mom!  I can’t do this!”

Me:  “Yes, you can.”

Him: “Mom!!  I’m not 9 yet! Come and help me!  How do I start?”  He is staring dazedly at the directions.

Me:  “Gimme the manual.”  Hmmm. 

A HALF HOUR LATER

Me:  “Okay.  Look, I think we might have better luck if we sort the pieces.”

Him:  “I don’t know how.”

Me:  “Like this.  Dark here, small here, etc…”

AN HOUR LATER

Me:  “Son?  SON! Where are you?”

Muffled voice drifts from somewhere far away.  Perhaps from the trampoline outside?

Him:  “Are you done yet, Mom?”

Me:  “YES!  GET YOUR BUTT IN HERE AND BUILD YOUR SUPER FUN STARWARS LEGO BATTLESHIP THINGEE!”  (I get cranky when I’m stiff and in pain from sorting).

Him:  “Okay!”

TEN MINUTES LATER

Him:  “Mom!?  Where’s the first piece?”

Me:  Searching for my antacids.  “Here.”

Him:  “Mom!”  Where’s the second piece?”

TWO HOURS LATER Continue reading

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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

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THE GIRL WITH THE SEXUAL TATTOO—Part three in a jealous harangue

Had any "Drunken Chicken" lately?

 

Yeah, sure, probably another reason I’m not on the “LIST” (said with a snarky, envious, mocking tone) (besides being a non-cussing hack) (and ignorant of the proper uses of parentheses), is that I won’t do explicit or erotic sex…er…in books.  And let’s face it.  In order to break new ground in this arena, my hero would have to fall for a chicken.  Not natural.  And, as our reader(s) know(s), I don’t use offensive verbiage  (unless my hero is seriously threatened, and then only sparingly–see the DDH bomb in my last post). 

 Plus, if I stick to the old adage “write what you know” my love scenes would have to include sweat socks.  

 Whatever happened to the good old days of escapism?  Now all anyone seems to care about in their literature is realism.  Bah.  I get plenty of realism, just driving down the road.  (People really don’t seem to enjoy being cut off by a harried, menopausal mini-van driver and are very ‘real’ about expressing themselves).   

Wendy and I are always blathering about how we wish the entertainment world was still Frank Capra-land.  Mayberry.  Mitford.  And not constantly dripping with blood and demons and other such “realism”.  Excuse my French, but Fooie on realism.  I long for Lucy and Ethel.  For humor that’s not centered on the crotch for once.  For good guys who are not named Lucifer.  For a world where being a hero includes being there, staying there and taking the trash out to the can and not taking out trash, buying it a drink and having sex with it.  

 So.  To review.  Not on NYT Best-seller list because:   Won’t swear.  No explicit (or poultry inclusive) love scenes.  Find taking out the garbage erotic.   (And, of course, don’t understand proper parenthetical usage). 

 (Carolyn)

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THE GIRL WITH THE CURSED TATTOO—Part two in a jealous harangue

Okay, another reason I probably have yet to appear on the NYT Best-Seller list–aside from not having a book out in several years because of my protracted maternity leave–is that I was taught that it’s not lady-like to swear.  Shows a certain lack of class.  Even for my heroes.  Not that my heroes don’t drop the F-bomb left and right.  I happen to think “Fooie” is a perfectly acceptable adverb and shows that my heroes are tough enough to sling slang that might sound silly on a lesser man.  My sons wield the “DDH” bomb (doo-doo head) liberally on the playground and they have yet to be bullied.  I think it’s not what you say, but how you say it. 

And, if you disagree, Fooie on you, Booger-ball.  Stings, huh?

 Carolyn

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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

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Oh No!

One hot mama: The pre-breakfast routine.

 

Don’t you just love those bizarre celebrity death hoaxes?  Johnny Depp dies in freak skate board accident.  Miley Cyrus eaten by sharks.  Plastic surgery kills Kardashian sisters.  

 These goofy rumors got me to thinking that a lot of you out there are probably wondering what happened to Wendy.  The hotter of the two mamas.  No, contrary to the wild urban legends circulating Hollywood, she has not been kidnapped by terrorists.  Unless you count the PTA.  

 No, Wendy is simply busy.  Too busy to blog.   

 Why?  Because—like me—she cannot seem to bring herself to say ‘No’.   

 Why do we fear the word, No?  Hmm.  In my case?  I’m terrified I might miss out on the fun.  Couple that with my people pleasing tendencies and suddenly, I find myself in the process of making a Pioneer Costume.  For myself.  Yes.  Fitting that in before I pack my two fifth graders and me for a three day school Oregon Trail camping trip.  Couldn’t say no to their adorable doe-eyed faces, begging me to participate in all that chaperoning excitement. Neither could I say ‘No’ to the week long Marine Studies extravaganza with my middle school daughter’s class at the coast.  Thankfully I’ll have time to pack during the ten minutes I’ll be home between trips.    

     Bought the supplies I’ll need during the week I took off to get the kids back and forth to their fifty mile round-trip piano recitals.  Luckily, my husband was able to take time off work that week to get my son to his baseball games in other cities, since I don’t have a sewing machine in my car.  Yet.  As soon as they get one that plugs into the cigarette lighter, I will.   

     Fortunately, my computer has super good battery life, as my eldest daughter somehow talked me into serving as the Community Coordinator for her high school’s social network.  This way, I won’t be bored on those endless seconds I’ll have between building a Pirate set for Vacation Bible School and hosting the Spanish Club luncheon.  Thank heavens I was able to wriggle out of sewing 70 canvas field study bags—never admit you can sew—so that I can attend a college reunion, a baby shower, a writer’s meeting, enjoy TWO talent shows, THREE  plays starring my kids, and host out of town company.  

     All of this is, of course, on top of keeping a 7 person/2 dog household under some semblance of control.  I’m thinking about getting one of those digital voice recorders so that I can write novels while I’m grocery shopping, working out, paying bills, chauffering the kids, grooming the dogs, mowing the lawn and bathing.  

    Double-tasking?  For slacker weenies.  I’m coining the phrase Quad-tasking.  Why else would God have given us two hands and two feet?  

Carolyn

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Nuthin’ says lovin’ like something from the oven

We like him better this way

 

Wendy: 

Today is the day the Pillsbury winner is slated to be announced on Oprah.  The Million Dollar Bakeoff Winner.  Wonder who that lucky person might be.  I wonder if they took time away from their precious children to perfect their recipe?  I wonder if their marriage suffered because their husbands thought they were stupid to be chasing a pipe dream?   I wonder if the winner has five little tykes, every single one of which needs braces? 

Well, we do know one thing for sure. 

It’s not us. 

That’s okay.  There is always next year. 

Carolyn

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We’re not bitter…much.

Wendy…I hate to be the one to break the horrible, nay, nay hideous news, but… we were NOT selected as finalists in this year’s $#%@!! Pillsbury Bake-off 100 Finalists.  Yes, I know, last year, we spent nearly all of our savings on Pillsbury products, slaved hours in the test kitchen (okay, my kitchen), force-fed everyone we know Pillsbury products, and yes, even sacrificed our hips and thighs.  For what? 

Oprah to announce Million $ Winner!

To say I’m bummed is like saying the Grand Canyon is just a ditch.  I’m wrecked.  And the kicker in my Pillsbury depression?  The winner will be announced on… Oprah.  Yes.  Our Oprah.  The one you and I have always fantasized about being interviewed by and whose book club we aspire to being chosen for.  I am banging my head against the monitor as I write this.

Our entire year of labor is flashing before my eyes…

Remember how we put off entering our recipes until the deadline day?  Remember how your computer was broken and I drove 450 frikkin’ miles to your house and forgot to bring mine?  Remember how we got up early and borrowed your neighbor’s library card?  Remember how, when we got to the library, all the computers had people using them?  Remember how we cussed?  Remember how, when we finally got on a computer, we accidentally submitted some of the wrong measurments…and then the computer shut off, because we’d used your alloted half hour and your neighbors alloted half hour and we were locked out?  Remember how we cussed some more?  Remember how smug we were when we knew we still had one more half hour because we had your husband’s card… and then found out that the stupid contest closed at noon EASTERN TIME??  HUH?  REMEMBER?

Yeah.  Good times.

We should do it again.

I’m including the announcement below:

Although the cooking finals will be held here in Orlando, the winner of  the 44th Pillsbury Bake-Off Contestwill be announced April 14, 2010, on “The Oprah Winfrey Show.” The 100 finalists will assemble and compete at the Waldorf-Astoria Orlando and Hilton Orlando Bonnet Creek hotel, preparing their original recipes in 100 mini kitchens stocked with all of their ingredients.  The four category winners (Breakfast & Brunches, Entertaining Appetizers, Dinner Made Easy and Sweet Treats) will be announced in the evening April 12 at the Hilton Bonnet Creek.  Then, in a first for the contest,  four finalists will be flown to Chicago  to appear on “The Oprah Winfrey Show.”  On Wednesday, April 14, 2010, Winfrey will reveal the $1 million grand prize winner on her show. Visit http://www.bakeoff.com for more information, as well as past recipes.

I’m gonna go plunge a fork into my eye now.

Carolyn

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Saw II… Husband -vs- Power Tool. Oh yes, there will be blood.

I have not seen this movie.  There is something about the cover of this DVD that just makes my skin crawl.  It used to be in the display facing the front door of our local Hollywood Video store.  Gross.  I would always skip past that section.

This? Nuthin. You should see my hubby’s fingers

Anyway, this last Saturday, my hubby, Matt, was puttering in the garage.  He’s a regular Tim-The-Toolman-Taylor.  Every now and again, he’ll smash his thumb with a hammer and curse a blue streak, but that’s about it.

Little did I know, his luck was about to run out.  Notice how I’m clueing you in on the terror to come?  In the writing business, we call that “foreshadowing”.  Cool, huh?  (Insert scary horror film music here).   So, anyway, I was inside, pretending to write, but really napping (shhh), when our daughter comes screaming into our bedroom, “DAD’S HURT HIMSELF! COME QUICK!” 
 
I don’t remember getting out of bed.  I think I levitated to my feet, hit the floor once and was downstairs before I’d opened my eyes.  I’d just completed a course in CPR/First Aid and thought I was all Greg House.  Nope.  Couldn’t remember a dang thing.  Two chest compressions and 30 breaths?  uh… that can’t be right…  Stumbled out to the driveway and found my husband staring dazedly at his hand.  Blood everywhere.  The tip of his finger still in the garage I guess.
 
I shout at the kids to get my purse and my shoes.  My daughter, still screaming, throws her father’s giant clown slippers at me.  Other daughters gather towels and begin to boil water.  The sons are bawling.  The husband wanders back into the garage to…uh, who knows.  Look for his finger?  I’m in the car gunning the engine, yelling at him to get in or get left behind.  Once I’m strapped in, I’m either Starsky or Hutch, whichever one took the corners on two wheels.  My husband asks, “Hey, are you all right?”   Okay, shouldn’t that be my line?  I should have paid more attention to the “comforting the victim” portion of my CPR training.  Shouting “Shut up and let ME do the driving!” is hardly compassionate.
 
You know, I had no idea that while I’d been sleeping, my hair and make up had become so…attractive.  Couple this with the clown slippers?  Yeah.  I go screaming into the ER, “MY HUSBAND HAS CUT HIS FINGER OFF!”  They had the nerve to look bored.  Apparently, they see oh-so-attractive middle-aged clown people like myself dragging some bone-head like my husband in every single day.  In fact, you out there, reading this?  Odds are, you’re missing a digit.  I am shocked at how many people have come to me with missing finger stories.  I go to church with one lady who has THREE people in her immediate family, who are missing one or more fingers.  Hello?  Like maybe they ought to think about being, oh, I don’t know…CAREFUL?
 
Anyway, I’m not impressed with this movie poster any more.  Really, it’s nothing but a bad manicure.  I’ve seen worse.  Oh, yeah.  A lot worse.
Carolyn

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Bad Hair

Wendy and Carolyn Do Hawaii

 

Carolyn and Wendy Do Hawaii
 
The 35 Symptoms of Menopause: A continuing education.  Today, we explore Symptom #26:

Hair loss or thinning head or pubic hair.  Increase in facial or whole body hair.

So many of our friends complain about this symptom.  The hair falls off the head and seems to just explode out of everywhere else. 
 
So, girls.  How do we get rid of unwanted hair without the hideous pain of waxing / electrolysis and those horrible red bumps that come after shaving?  Well, after a LOT of debate–and experimentation–we’ve come to the conclusion that there is no solution.  Why are we fighting the inevitable, ladies? 
 
Let go of your inhibitions.  If you’ve got it, flaunt it.  Embrace your inner gorilla!  Oh, we’re not saying it will be easy.  The first time we hit the beach sporting our new hirsute look, we were a little bashful.  But as you can see by the video our husband’s shot, (above) after a couple Mai Tai’s we got into the rhythm. 
 
Carolyn and Wendy

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Filed under Anxiety, Children, Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood, parenthood, Weight gain, Writing

Lip Service

Spring is coming and it’s time to get in shape!  Toohotmamas is proud to present our new exercise video:

ANGELINA LIPS GUARANTEED!

Don’t waste money on videos that don’t address those pesky lip lines.
For the low price of only $19.99 you’ll receive our Pucker Pretty Video that focuses on 16 dominant muscle groups associated with building stronger, more youthful looking lips.  You’ll groove to our high energy, low impact lip routines that’ll get your heart pumping and your lips moving!  Don’t just endlessly flap your lips when you can be taking your oral fitness to new levels!  Learn to chew faster and with more precision.  Experience heightened sensation while whistling.  And best of all apply your lipstick with confidence.  As always, consult your physician before beginning any lip exercise program.
Void, where prohibited by law.
 

Angelina Lips: guaranteed!

 

L.I.Productions.  A subsidiary of Toohotmama’s Worldwide.

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Filed under Marriage, Menopause, Motherhood

delusions

Just got an e-mail from a college friend.  She proposed that with all the negative news on shows like CNN, people must be rushing out to buy romance novels and she pictures me “prosperous, delighted and rolling in abundance.”  I’m rolling, alright.  ROFLMAO.

I haven’t written back yet.  Printing the truth in black and white could require a Margarita drip…except that I don’t drink, so maybe a cake?  The big kind, from Costco.  The whole thing.

Being a broke artist at twenty was exhilarating.  Being a struggling artist at thirty was motivating.  At forty–a great spiritual growth experience.   At forty-eight?  It sorta bites.

Here’s the thing.  Ever since menopause and the disappearance of my jaw line (how is it you have still have a sculpted jaw, Carolyn?  If you’re getting nipped without telling me, I’m gonna get upset)…anyway, ever since menopause and, let’s face it, the myriad physical changes (and that brings me to why it’s REALLY called “the change,” but that’s another blog), I feel, well, grief when I think of the expectations I had and the reality I live.  The reality is GOOD, GREAT in so many ways, but…different.  And there is grief involved in its acceptance.   Grief in letting go of so much.  All those delicious delusions of grandeur.  I really liked those.

Anyway, I know this menopause thing is a marvelous opportunity to grow.  To find the endless summer within.  And I’ll do that.  Uh huh.  Right after we win the Pillsbury Bake-Off, hit the NYT list and join a gym to sculpt age-defying muscles.    Denial first, acceptance later.  😀

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Filed under Menopause, Writing