Happy Birthday, Daddy…Kind of


It’s my husband’s birthday today.  So of course, the kids wanted to do something special for him.  Actually, I had nothing prepared so I figured I’d convince the kids make cards then at least it would seem like we had our sh#%$^t together.

The Hubs had to work an overnight shift which was perfect since I figured he would sleep in and we would have extra time to get cards made and zip to Dunkins for “breakfast in bed”.

Well, in my head it seemed like the perfect plan….until I had to actually involve the kids.

The boy was up first since his new things is trying to get up before us so he can sneak in extra computer time “on the sly”.  Apparently, he thinks I’m an idiot.  His idea of “sneaking” downstairs is to come in my room (loudly) to check if I am sleeping then bound down the stairs like a graceful elephant.  He also puts his headphones to block the sound, but then proceeds to give a play by play of everything he is doing…loudly, since he cannot hear himself with headphones on.

Once I was up and had some caffeine brewing, I dealt with Operation Fool Mom by shutting off the internet.  Who’s the idiot now?  Of course, all the protesting brought the Teen down in all her morning glory.  You know how cheery those teens are in the morning hours.

After getting everyone fed and medicated, we tackled the business of card making.  Translation: the kids fought for 15 minutes over who had first dibs on the green paper.  

Once we solved the Great Color Paper Debate of 2017, they finally got down to actually making the card.  The Teen wanted to make “the greatest birthday card ever” .  I was unaware that the event would last approximately 30 minutes.  The boy spent equal amount of time drawing every YouTuber he has ever watched on his card.  I made more caffeine.

Now that our marathon card making session was complete, it was time to head to Dunkins.  Of course, no one could find their shoes….

Shoes found.  Teen disappears.  Cannot find her.  She is upstairs dressing her baby doll and locating its car seat for the trip.

Ok, we are in the car.  Baby is in her car seat.  Everyone has their shoes. To save some time, I decide to use On The Go so our order will be ready when we get to Dunkins.  Place the order.  Realize its to the wrong Dunkins.  Cancel order.  Re order at the right Dunkins.  Finally leave the driveway.

We arrive at Dunkins and the kids spend 5 minutes deciding if they actually want to get out and go in or stay in the car.  I leave them.  Kids scramble out of the car in disgusts that I left without them.  Our order is not ready so the kids settle in to steal some free wifi while we wait.  Our order comes out just as they get involved in whatever dumb game they are playing this week.  More protesting.  Get back into car and arrive at home with our special “birthday breakfast”.

Get home, rush inside, grab our cards and head upstairs to surprise Daddy…..who is already up and making the bed.

Surprise!  We brought you breakfast in bed!  Well, I guess technically, we brought your breakfast into the bedroom so….it’s close.  It’s the thought that counts, right?

All this fun before 9am!  Who could ask for a better birthday?    Well….probably my husband.

Happy Birthday, Honey.  Better luck next year…..I hope! 



My Peri-Menopausal Self

An oldie, but goodie….

Mostly Sane Mamas


I turn 47 today which means I am officially sliding down the old age hill towards the half century mark.  On one hand I am one year closer to the 10% senior discount at Dunkins.  On the other, my body isn’t exactly being a team player any more.

Like an old car whose warranty had just expired, when I hit my 40’s, everything seemed to start to fall apart.  You silently pray that old Bessy will keep kicking for just a few more years until you can trade her in.  Unfortunately, there is no trade ins when it comes to life.  You are stuck with the body you took off the lot.  All sales final.

There are a lot of things no one warns you about as you get older. Similar to childbirth, most people are reluctant to tell you the gory details for fear of causing you to gouge…

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#Nana Just Died

I was at the park on Wednesday when I received a text from my mom.  I opened it up and there were just three words on the screen:

Nana just died.

That’s it.  Just those three words to announced that my maternal grandmother had just passed away at the ripe old age of 99 years old.

I announced to my friends that my mother just texted me to tell me that my grandmother died.  They were all shocked and offered their condolences to me and I chuckled at the weirdness of getting a text about someone dying.  Is this how we do it now?

We live in a world where everyone knows everyone’s business IMMEDIATELY.  Whether it’s Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, a blog (cough cough) or the other twenty different new fangled sites out there, people are quick to post about everything to everyone as soon as (if not as) it happens.  I can’t tell you how many obituaries or RIP posts I’ve seen in the past week, most for people I don’t know.  Hey, I’m guilty of it as well so I should not be shocked that I received a text about my grandmother’s passing.  It’s how we do things these days.

Now, my grandmother would have found this extremely improper.  She was constantly telling her grandchildren that young ladies don’t do……well, pretty much anything, according to Nana Fran.  I was told on numerous occasions that young ladies don’t climb trees, run in the house, scream in the house, chew gum, don’t tie up their sisters; pretty much anything I ever consider fun as a kid.  I am pretty sure she would also believe that young ladies don’t send a text to announce a death.

Still, I get why my mom sent the text.  We talked that morning and she told me that Nana was failing fast so she was heading down to be with her.  I expected to hear Nana had passed either that day or the next.   My mom has been driving back and forth most days to see my grandmother for over a week now.  It’s an hour one way, on RT 128, which, if you are from Boston, then you know that drive just SUCKS at anytime of day.  Now pretend that you’re a nervous senior citizen driver who hates to merge and must drive that route  to visit her dying mother.  Throw in hanging out with my six uncles, most who, when in the same room together, make my children look well behaved (which is why I love having them at parties) and you have a recipe for a full blown anxiety attack.  Or at least a full bottle of wine.   So I can cut my mom some slack for texting me rather than calling.  I wouldn’t want to talk to people after that kind of day either.

In fact, I’m kind of proud of my little white haired mother for being savvy enough to text me.  I remember when she was a young girl of 70 something and just getting her shiny new flip phone.   We made plans that day to meet at a shopping center to grab some lunch with my aunt.  I called her new cell phone and was fortunate enough to be able to listen in on the conversation between her and my aunt as they desperately tried to figure out how to answer the phone.  They even got the Old Navy cashier involved, all the while not knowing that it automatically answers when you open the phone.  Now she is a full fledge pro, using her new upgraded phone with the sliding keyboard to send out texts to her children about their grandmother’s death.  It makes a daughter proud.  So she still can’t figure out how to view a picture on her phone or send one for that matter, but boy, she has the texting part down.  In fact, she no longer calls me on my house phone anymore.  Gone are the days when we talked almost daily.  Now I get texts on a daily, hell, sometimes hourly basis.  Who would have guessed?

I did talk my mom the next day to make sure she was doing fine.  I mentioned her texting rather then calling me about Nana.  She said she didn’t even think about that being strange.  “I was so done with talking to people by that point”, she said.  “ I just figured a text was easier then explaining it one more time.”   Totally get that feeling.

My mom is heading down to make the arrangements for Nana Fran today.  Better make sure my phone is charged.  Pretty sure I’ll be getting a text about that fairly soon.   Sorry Nana Fran. 🙂  I always sucked at being a young lady.



Nana Fran and Mom – 2012

Why I Should Not Be A Role Model

WARNING: This post contains material some might find offensive.  Some may not know what the heck it means.  Urban Dictionary can tell you (and much more!)  Otherwise, I would not read past this sentence. 🙂

I am the co-leader of m daughter’s Girl Scout troop.  I m still not sure how I was allowed to lead a group of girls, but somehow I passed the muster.  Or it could be that they are just super desperate for leaders.  I’m thinking it might be the latter.

Anyway…one of the badges we are working on is the Bookmaking badge.   The other leader and I decided it would be fun to take apart a book, then use the various parts for different projects.  We found some cute ideas on Pinterest we thought most of the girls would enjoy.  All we needed were some old books.

I volunteered to hit Salvation Army and get enough books for the troop to use.  Since we were using the covers for one project, I tried to find hardcovered books with interesting covers.  I found about 7 books in the kids section, but since we have 12 girls, I had to grab a few adults books.  I stayed away from the romance novels and the murder mystery books since I didn’t think the parents would like their kids carrying around a hardcover art tote with a picture of a bare chested man riding a horse or a giant eyeball with a knife stuck in it.  (Little did I know this was the least of my worries.) Overall, I left with 13 hardcover books for under $4.   Total bargain.

After making the art tote from the covers, our next project was to use the pages of the books to make note cards.  Our original plan was to make them so the girls could give them to their moms on Mother’s Day, but since we really suck at staying on any kind of time line, we didn’t get around to it until this week.

So I’d like to to picture the following scene:

There are seven middle school girls sitting around the dining room table with the task of taking a book page, stenciling a drawing on it, then cutting out the picture and pasting it onto a note card.  Very simple. Very innocent.  See how cute these are?


My fellow leader was cutting cardstock for the kids and the girls were chatting and picking out pages for their projects.  I was doing my typical activity: drinking Dunkins and watching my friend do all the work. 🙂

A few girls were checking out what was written on the pages, but most were starting to stencil when my daughter (of course) grabs one of the pages and starts to read out loud….

“Oh nice! This says “regular sex, three-way, pussy eating, anal, anal with dildo….”

My fellow leader and I froze.  It was like one of those scenes in a movie where time slows down and the main character  sees everything in slow motion.  I could feel all the neurons in my brain slowly connecting as I processed what I was hearing.

When what she said finally registered in my brain, I immediately dove across the table and ripped the page from her hands.  Of course, the other girls are now screeching hysterically and begin to frantically dig through the rest of the pages on the table to see if they could find more.    I, on the other hand, was attempting to find any other Xrated pages before the girls got their hands on them.

Really?!  Out of the 400 pages on the table, my kid grabs THAT one.  It must be genetic.


The other leader is just shaking her head.   She’s known me for years so this is not a shocking situation for her.  Probably quite tame overall.

Leader: What the heck kind of books did you buy?

Me: I certainly didn’t think I bought this type.

Me: This is definitely not a page you want to be putting on a card to your mother.  Unless Girl Scouts has a badge for this?

Leader: Ummm…no.

Girls: Come on Miss Sue!  We know all about that. Let us see the page.

Me: WHAT?!?!?  How the heck do you know what ANY of that means?!  You’re 11!  You shouldn’t know these things.

Daughter: Mom, we’ve all heard about this stuff before.  We know a lot of 7th graders.

Girls: And we read the bathroom walls.

Daughter: yeah, people draw lots of pictures of balls in the stalls.  They are all over the school.

Well, its good to know kids are still learning about sex ed the proper way – though rumors and graffetti.  I’d hate to think the kids today are missing out on the same type of education we got.  I’m not sure if it is sad or pathetic that these kids know a whole hell of a lot more then I ever did at 11.  Of course, we only had older siblings and Benny Hill.  They have social media and YouTube so they definitely have an edge on us.

My daughter could not wait to get home and tell her dad about this.

Daughter: Do you think dad will get mad at me if I tell him what happened?

Me: No.  He will probably think its as hysterical as I do.  Which is why we are still married.

I can’t say that the other seven girls’ dinner conversations about today will go over as well. Most of the parents know me and still continue to send their kids to Girls Scouts every week.  I’m thinking this incident will not be a shocker.  So I have that going for me.   Also, I think I actually did some adult-ing, which is rare.   I mean, I did take the page away at least. (Is it bad, that I kept it?)

Other then getting booted out of Girl Scouts, the bonus of this event is that apparently, I now know that my daughter has way more knowledge about the subject of sex then I was aware of….and I really need to start catching up!








Sometimes I Get It Right

This parenting gig is hard work and most of the time, I feel like I am failing miserably.   Very often, I end up regretting something I said or didn’t say.   My parenting line up is often filled with mistakes and a long list of things I should have done better.

But sometimes, I get it right.

Tonight, my daughter was practicing her piano.  She had been doing quite well with practicing daily and was getting so much better with her new song.  Then we had a hectic week and she kept forgetting to practice.  I forgot to remind her as well.  So when she sat down tonight to play, she had forgotten a lot of song and it was choppy.  After the fifth time of trying to get the last piece down, she burst into tears.

“I’m a failure!  I was doing so good and now I can’t play it.  I keep forgetting to practice and I’m making mistakes.  I’ll never be able to play in the recital.”

At first, I just let her sit with me and cry.  Hell, when you’re that frustrated, sometimes a good cry can really help.  I tried to remind her that she did have it down at one point and with a little more practice, she would get there again, but when she gets this upset, it is often futile to attempt any type of reasoning.  So I waited.

Luckily, the boy was downstairs doing backflips off the exercise ball onto the new couch and miscalculated.  The screaming from downstairs was enough to snap my daughter out of her misery and focus on her brother’s.  Once it was determined that the boy was not injured badly (scraped knee) and we were all in agreement that he was a bonehead, things seemed back to normal.

My daughter came up to me and said:  Sometimes I just get so nervous when I have to play in front of people.  I can feel myself start to cry and shake and I am so afraid I will screw up.

Me:  Remember that story we just read about the girl who was afraid of making mistakes?  And the old man helping her said if you are uptight and afraid, the music won’t flow?  We all get afraid about making mistakes, especially in front of other people.  But music should be fun.  You should play it because you enjoy it and it makes you feel good.

Daughter:  I do enjoy it.  I mean, I don’t want to do it when I grow up.  I already know what I want to do when I grow up.  I guess I’m lucky because I already know.

Me:  Just because you don’t want to play music professionally, doesn’t mean you can’t do it.  I love art, but I don’t make money doing it.  I do it because it makes me happy.  And you may know what you want to do now, but that could change.   Growing up and knowing what you want to do doesn’t mean just how you want to earn money.  Life is about how you want to make a mark on the world.  Its about finding what you want to do to make a difference in the world while you are here.  I wish I had figured that out earlier.

Daughter:  But you are making a difference in the world.  You’re my mom.

Insert harp music and soft radiant light here.   She really made me take a step back and pause.

Parenting is like performing on a stage.  You are constantly afraid to make a mistake in front of a crowd.  We often feel judged about how we raise our kids.  We are bombarded with people telling us how to parent.  Don’t feed your kids this.  Teach your kids that.  If you don’t do this, your kid will never succeed, get a job, go to college, learn to self regulated, be responsible, (insert whatever other the guilt trip you’ve heard here).  How the hell are you suppose to ever feel good about the job you’re doing with so many voices out there saying you suck?  I do a perfectly good job on my own with the negative talk, thank you very much.  I don’t need a whole backup band adding any more to the melody.

After she went to bed, I was cleaning up the kitchen and notice something on the frig.


She had written down what I had said to her.  Even put my name down as the author.  When I saw that, I did a double take.  I was truly shocked. That one thing I said had meant enough to her that she stopped and wrote it down so she could remember it.  It was one of those Lifetime movie parenting moments you never really think happen in the real world.    Most of the time, my words fall on deaf ears.  I’m constantly wondering how the hell my kids are ever going to be productive adults in this world when most of the time, they can’t find their way out of a paper bag.   Then something like this happens and all the little pieces fall into place.


That’s when you finally realize….. I got one right.






Why my kids don’t have traditions


My kids desperately want traditions… well, at least my daughter does. She will try to make anything into a tradition.  “Remember when we went out for pizza that night it rained really hard?  We should do that every year.”  The boy could care less about traditions.  He just follows along, hoping there is a toy at the end of the journey.

I think traditions are great.  Creating magical memories your kids can remember then pass on down to their kids is such a cool concept to me.   I envy those who flawlessly provide their kids with Kodak moments on a yearly basis.  Honestly, I would really love to have some more creative traditions other than the ones created for me – Christmas, Halloween, etc.  Unfortunately for my children, most traditions involve two things that I lack the necessary skills for – preparation and memory.  Now, its not like we don’t have any traditions, its just that I really suck at following through with them.

In order to have traditions,  you have to remember the traditions…every year.   I barely remember what month I am in, let alone the day so most of the man-made traditions like holidays seem to sneak up on me when I am not looking.  I check the calendar, see I have a few weeks, and then BAM!  Suddenly,  I find myself putting up the Christmas tree so the f&@^$% elf will arrive and I can’t remember where I hid the F@%$#$ elf the year before.  So I’m just about to head to Walmart at 10:45pm to buy a new F%#^$ elf so the kids don’t have to continue therapy into their senior years when I find it wrapped in a dish towel in my sock drawer.  The sock drawer.  WTF?!


Then there is the preparation involved in traditions.  I hate prep work.  I won’t eat tuna because it involves more then two steps.  The idea of opening the can, draining it, breaking it up, adding mayo THEN making a sandwich is mind numbing to me.  Since most of the time I have forgotten to eat and now I am at mach 10 on the hunger scale, my only option is to eat whatever is within reach and has a shelf life of two years. Preparing for holidays is right up there with tuna making – exhausting and most likely not happening.

My attic is filled with decorations for ever holiday known to man.  I could decorate the entire neighborhood for Halloween, Christmas and Easter with the crap up in my attic.  I keep buying stuff hoping that this year will be the year I will get my act together and actually set the stuff up.   Then I turn around and Halloween is tomorrow so it seems pointless to drag seven plastic totes out of the attic to set up a myriad of spooky skeletons for just 24 hours.  This year, I actually bought pumpkins to carve.  One disintegrated into a pile of mush on the railing while the other is still hanging in there.  I put a santa hat on it so it looks like it was all part of the plan.


I would love to give some traditions to my kids that they could pass on to their kids.  Something that bring backs those warm fuzzy feelings of their childhood.  As of now, the most I can give them is a pain in the ass elf who, more often then not, forgets to move, rotten pumpkins in santa hats, and a cache of nerf guns to use for an epic post Christmas day nerf war.   Maybe it will be enough for them.  Who knows.  Or maybe one day, when they are grown, they will realize just how exhausting creating magical memories (and making tuna) can really be. And they too will say “Screw it!”

Happy Holidays





Missing the “Girl” Gene

I really SUCK at being a “girl”.

Somewhere along the line, I missed receiving the “style” gene in my family.  Both my sisters got it, but not me. Therefore, I am very fashion challenged.  My closet is filled with hoodies and baseball hats.  The clothes I do have that are dressy and stylish were most likely bought by my personal shopper -my sister, Caryn.  It is pretty much guaranteed that if an outfit I am wearing matches from head to toe, then either my sister bought it, I bought it off a mannequin, or it was a total fluke on my part.  My friends know which outfits are “Caryn approved” and which are not. Every outfit I own for any occasion has been bought by my sister….even my wedding dress.  True story.

I really don’t have the time or patience to shop and honestly, I have no clue what goes with what.  I just want to be comfortable.  The problem with dressing up, especially dresses, is the limitations that come with it.  You have to be careful about what you eat, how you bend over to pick up a napkin, how you sit, whether a big gust of wind or a hasty trip to the bathroom will cause an embarrassing wardrobe malfunction….and any desire to do a spontaneous cartwheel or be part of a human pyramid is completely out of the question.  Another true story.

The same holds true with hair and make up.  Other then my brief mullet stage during the 80’s, I have mainly kept my hair short.  There is little to no maintenance involved with short hair.  Drying time is minimal and you never have to worry about accidentally eating you hair during a meal.  Over the past two years though, I have successfully grown out my hair to all one length.  To me, this is equivalent to Congress balancing the budget – next to impossible.  But I did it.  Maybe there’s hope for Congress.  Although I have long hair, I have no idea how to style it. I know two hairstyles – the ponytail and the baseball hat.  If I am feeling sassy then sometimes I’ll go with the baseball hat and a ponytail, but that is my extent of hairstyle knowledge.

This was cool back then?

This was cool back then?

So you can imagine my dismay when I found out we had a wedding to go to and I would therefore, be required to dress up.

Now, the easiest thing to do in this situation would have been to call my sister, inform her I needed an outfit and voila – my problem would be solved.    Of course, doing the easiest thing is not always my forte.   Honestly, in my head, I kept telling myself to call my sister, but something always prevented me from actually calling.  She was at work, or the kids were fighting, or I was in line at Dunkins.

Slowly, the weeks ticked away until the wedding was 3 days away and I had zero plan.  So I did what any sane person would do….I panicked.  I rummaged through my closet, through every past outfit my sister had every bought and came up with a turquoise sun dress that I wore to a wedding in Jamaica.  The wedding was before the boy was even an idea so the dress had to be over 7 years old, but everything comes back into style, right?  I no longer had the shoes so of course, I waited until the day before the wedding to tackle that problem.


We loaded up the family and headed out to look for shoes.  I ran into Payless, found a $10 pair of white sandals (white goes with everything, I think) and a flowery head band that matched the dress.  Accessorized for 15 bucks!  Well, it actually cost me $34 because the boy insisted he needed a new pair of basketball shoes, even though I just bought him new sneakers.  “But those aren’t basketball shoes, mom!”  Sigh.

Since my husband is the same way as me, we had to run into Kohl’s to find him a shirt and tie.  Amazingly, he found a shirt that matched my dress color and a snazzy tie right off the bat, so I took this as a sign the fashion gods were in our favor.  While I was keeping the kids busy in the toy section, my husband had to jump on a call so he checked out without us.  I had a 30% coupon I wanted to use.


A 30% coupon at Kohl’s is like hitting the lottery!   So I had to go back in and return everything and rebuy it with the 30% off.  (You’d do it too)

Outfits complete!  On to hair!

I got a quick appointment with my hair dresser to get my hair trimmed and my unibrow waxed back to two defined eyebrows.  While discussing the upcoming wedding, I mentioned it would be nice to have a little wave in my hair, but I lacked the skills to do it.  She said it was easy and began to explain how I could do it.

Instructions: separate your hair into sections. First the sides and clip them up, then the back – one section, clip, second section, clip, third section, clip.  Take one inch section of hair and begin…..zzzzzzzzzzzz.

OMG!  How many steps?  You lost me at the second section.


I figured I would spend Friday night practicing on my hair and, because I was still high from our sweet shopping finds (at 30% off), I decided to give myself a pedicure too.

I really tried to follow all the steps my hairdresser explained to me.  I tried to section my hair into 4 sections, but I couldn’t seem to keep the hair together long enough to put the clip in.  Eventually, I had one massive glob of hair on the top of my head, with 7 clips sticking out and hair was still popping out in all directions.

How do people manage to do anything to the back of their heads without any visual guidance?  I was trying to get 1 inch sections just from feeling around my head.  I ended up either pulling hair out of my hair clip contraption or, if I was lucky enough to get a section, I’d end up burning my fingers trying to get the curling iron around the hair piece (and yes, I was wearing the little protective glove that comes with the iron).  Finally, frustration won out and I just started grabbing chunks of hair and curling it.  In the end, I looked like Medusa, with crimped pieces of half curled hair sticking out every which way.  I tried brushing it out which just made it worse.  My last saving grace was to try on the head band to see if it would tame the mess.  It was then I realized that the head band made me look like an overaged mermaid, having really bad hair day.


F%#$k the hair.

I decided to move on to the pedicure.  If anything, the water might relieve the stinging sensation in my burnt fingertips.

Normally, whenever I tried to paint my nails, they end up looking like a drunk toddler got loose with the nail polish.  After the hair fiasco, I was almost resigned to the fact that I would be going to the wedding with unpainted toes and a baseball hat on.

I am still not sure what happened, but somehow I managed to stay inside the lines and my toes came out pretty nice.  Definitely not professional grade, but I only had to get through the day and as long as no one was crawling around by my feet, it would pass as acceptable.


I went to bed feeling somewhat optimistic.


Time to get serious.

During the night, my hair disaster had flattened down so I thought I’d give the head band another try.  Still looked like sh@$#t.  Really, I do have a baseball hat that matches my dress….

After getting everyone fed, dressed, packed for aunties, and medicated, I thought “hey, maybe I should paint my finger nails too.”  Freaking idiot.  I didn’t do a bad job.  I just kept forgetting that I couldn’t touch anything for a while.  After the fourth touch up, I decided I’d just keep my hands in my lap or talk really animated so no one would actually see my nails for more then 30 seconds at a time.

It was then my husband asked if we had a card.  SH@#$T!

Off to Walmart I go.  Got a lovely wedding card, picked up a sweater in case the AC was blasting during the reception, picked up a few more hair accessories (still have no idea what I’m doing) and grabbed some lip gloss.  Did I mention I never wear makeup?  Any makeup I have is from my wedding – 14 years ago.  According to my friends, I should not be using this makeup for fear of getting some bacterial infection that could make my eyes look like I’ve been in a really bad bar fight.  I decided to take my chances.

So I rushed home, got cleaned up, dusted off my special occasion only thong, put my straight hair in a somewhat side pony, threw on my 14 year old makeup, my new sweater and…….CRAP!  I look like a dowdy librarian for a low budget porn film.  My husband thought I looked hot (due to the thong and the porn reference).

I have to admit, we both cleaned up nicely.  We received a lot of compliments about our matching outfits, which we told everyone was due to the Garanimal matching system.  No one noticed my hacked up finger nails.  My eyes didn’t swell from a raging bacterial infection.  There were no wardrobe malfunctions and I managed to refrain from any cartwheeling.


The wedding was beautiful and I am so happy for the bride and groom, but the best part of the day was going home and getting back in my hoodie.

Some things never change.



My Peri-Menopausal Self


I turn 47 today which means I am officially sliding down the old age hill towards the half century mark.  On one hand I am one year closer to the 10% senior discount at Dunkins.  On the other, my body isn’t exactly being a team player any more.

Like an old car whose warranty had just expired, when I hit my 40’s, everything seemed to start to fall apart.  You silently pray that old Bessy will keep kicking for just a few more years until you can trade her in.  Unfortunately, there is no trade ins when it comes to life.  You are stuck with the body you took off the lot.  All sales final.

There are a lot of things no one warns you about as you get older. Similar to childbirth, most people are reluctant to tell you the gory details for fear of causing you to gouge your eyes out and run screaming from the room or curl in a sobbing ball in the corner of the room.

Fortunately, I am not one of those people.  I will tell you straight out some of the suckass things that happen to you as you climb the hill of old age towards “the Change”.  Hey, misery loves company


Say goodbye to your luscious locks.  Your hair will slowly begin to convert into straw.  Sorry ladies, but no amount of highlights are going to hide those steel like grey hairs that keep popping up on your head.  You will also be blessed with your hair starting to fall out.  I don’t mean an occasionally stray hair.  We are talking shedding like a sheep dog in winter.  I cannot tell you how much hair I find at the bottom of the shower drain after each washing.  I could probably knit a 3 piece suit out of the sh*t.

While your hair is shedding from your head, mysterious hairs will begin to pop out in places you never knew could grow hair and those suckers will be industrial strength.   I have one hair – just one- that keeps growing underneath my chin. I have affectionately named it “splinter” ever since my son commented that poor mommy has a “splinter” in her chin.  In order to get “splinter” to vacate my chin area, I must position myself with a firm grip on my tweezers as I brace my feet against the vanity and pull with all my might.  I believe the feeling is close to having your fingernails ripped off and it brings tears to your eyes.


Ah, those lovely breasts.  Remember how cute and perky they used to be?  You could throw them in a lacy little number and they would stand up at attention.  Two plump melons peeking out of your shirt.  Now, thanks to breastfeeding two kids and gravity, mine look like two dried out tangerines hanging in a panty hose.  Rather than peeking out from the top of the shirt, my cleavage is more in the vicinity of my belt buckle.  Bras are no longer for looks, they are for support so I can give the appearance that my boobs are still up near my chest, not part of my waistline.  Somewhat horrifying is I now wear the same bra that my mother wears because I need the full coverage or those puppies escape out the front when I lean over.   My mom tells me their underwear is super comfy too.  Aaah thanks, but I draw the line at bras.  Im not ready for granny panties…yet.


My “temple” is becoming more like an ancient ruin.   What was once a strong, solid column, providing support and protection, now has begun to show wear and barely keeps me upright some days..  Things have begun to shift and settle.  Where there was once smoothness, now has wrinkles.  Parts of me are spreading outward, mainly my a$$.  Other parts are drooping downward.  Things jiggle when I wave and often creak or snap when I move.

Now, I never really expected for my body to not change as aged, I just thought I would be able to keep it in check a little better.  How stupid was I? Especially after having two kids.  Right there was cause enough for my midriff to go to pot.  Add too many iced coffees and my love of french fries and I’m lucky I’m not confined to a Lark.  These days,my midsection looks more like the Pillsbury doughboy, soft and pasty.  Only difference is, if you poke me in the stomach, I will not giggle.  I’ll punch you in the f@*^%ing face. 🙂


While this subject could fit well under the last section, I felt it need a whole section on its own.  Yeah, its that important.  When my doctor told me after having my second child “Things will never be right down there again”, he was not joking.  I no longer have any control over that area of my body.  It’s like after the second kid, they snipped the important nerve that signals your brain as to how your muscles work.  I can no longer sneeze, laugh, or do a frigging jumping jack, without having to pee.   Even if I just went.  And forget holding it.  That’s freaking torture.  As soon as I see a toilet, my muscles start to fail and I am jumping around like a stripper with a wardrobe malfunction trying to get my zipper down.   I used to make fun of my mother for having to use the bathroom every 5 minutes.  Now we are racing each other to the first open stall.  First the bras, now the bladder.  I am not sure what to expect next.


I go to bed freezing my ass off but peel off the layers as I sweat out of my clothing during the night. My side of the bed is soaking wet and gross, so I scootch over to the husband’s side. This only irritates him with my clamminess, so I end up back in the waterbed area, although we clearly only bought a regular mattress. Now I wake up an hour later and I’m shivering because I am freaking freezing again. Don’t worry – this cycle will repeat itself after I find something else dry and warm to put on


So remember when you were first waiting for your period and you had to be prepared at all times because you just never knew when it could possibly just arrive? This is just what peri-menopause is like. Some months, I have my period 3 weeks out of the month. Some months go by and nothing happens at all. Tracking? This is a waste of time. It just shows up whenever it decides to, stays on a while, maybe goes away and comes back next week. It’s like seasonal coffees at D&D… you never know when they are coming and/or going away.

Moral is: don’t leave home without your supplies.

Or in white pants.

I can’t be too upset though.  My body may have some wear, but it still manages to get up everyday and get me to Dunkins.  As long as I have some caffeine and a boatload of Depends, I guess I’ll hang on to the old girl.  We’ve been through so much.  And if the other side of 50 is as much fun as the hills of 40, then I pretty sure I am in for a wild ride.

I just hope the ride doesn’t involve a Lark…or do I? 🙂


PS  I must give a shout out to my dear pal, Cindy, who helped me with late night editing and her funny addition about night sweats and periods.  I swear we share the same brain…which explains a lot.  I love you and your saggy uterus with all my heart. 🙂

Five Reasons Everyone Should have an ADHD Friend

1958452_10204703030489229_5528013608169813191_nWe all have a circle of friends that we rely on.  Your support group.  The friends you hang out with and laugh till you cry.  The friends you vent to or seek out when you’re having a bad day.   I call these friends “the A list”.     The list is usually short, but although small in quantity, it is rich in quality.

I am sure just as your group of friends is rich in quality, it is probably also rich in diversity.  While most friends have similar personalities and things in common that draw them into that friendship, it is our differences that add the spark to the relationship.  That is why every circle of friends need at least one ADHDer in their group.  Let me tell you why.

 1. We are very entertaining

One of the best qualities of an ADHDer is our sense of humor.  We love to laugh – at ourselves, at the world, at life in general.  We love to make people laugh and love it when people make us laugh.  If you have a party, an ADHD friend should be first on the list.  We will talk to anyone who will listen. We’ll talk even if no one is listening.  We make great ice breakers.  Cousin Joe in from town and knows nobody?   We’ll make him feel right at home.   We are the ones at the party with the bucket on our head and the first in line for the Conga.  We love to feel happy and we want everyone around us to feel happy too.  We will make it our personal mission that you have a good time in whatever situation you are in with us.


2.  We are good in a crisis

A crisis is all about spontaneity, adeline rush, and chaos.  Everything we ADHDers thrive on.  When the chips are down, we are at our best.  It does not have to be a big crisis.  Any crisis will do.  Car breaks down and you need a ride? You have to bring 450 cupcakes to a fundraiser by tomorrow at 8am?  We’ve got your back.  We aren’t wishing for anything bad to happen, but when it does, your ADHD friend will be the first one there to help. We think outside the box and come up with a plan most would never consider. You can rest easy when we are on the job.  It will all fall into place.

3.  We love a good project

Routines are boring.  Most daily living activities are boring so if you have a project you need help on, we ADHD friends are where to look.  We welcome anything that will distract us from doing the boring things in life – cleaning, food shopping, laundry…we will take any excuse to avoid the mundane.  Need your living room painted the day before Thanksgiving?  We’ll help.  Moving furniture or digging a ditch for a new swimming pool?  Totally into that!  Projects are thrilling and exciting. Our super hyper focus abilities means we will not stop until the project is complete.  Projects let us work with our hands and be around people we love.  What more can you ask for?


4.  We rarely sleep

Up at 3am and need someone to talk to?  Want company on Black Friday or standing in line all night for concert tickets?  We are the people to call.  We hardly ever sleep and when we do, it’s for small periods of time so chances are we are up and looking for something to do.  We are great listeners and we hardly ever gossip since we usually forget the conversation once you are out of sight.  We will keep you company at night when your kid is up all night with the croup.  We are the ones to call at 5am when your sitter bailed and you need someone to get your kids to school so you won’t be late for work.  Give us a chaotic situation and we will be happier then a swine in sh@$t”.  (That’s a Nana quote)

5.  We are game for anything

Going on an adventure?  Please take us along!  We love adventures.  No idea is too crazy for us ADHDers.   We love all things novel and shiny and bright so excursions are a world of excitement and wonder for us.  Whether you are taking a random road trip to NYC to see a play or stalking your favorite celebrity outside his hotel dressing room, you can bet we will be right there by your side.  Be careful though.  We do have a tendency to go too far so make sure you can rein us in or at least have bail money for us.

After reading this, I am sure you are just itching to go out and find yourself an ADHD friend.  In all fairness, I must point out the fine print that comes along with an ADHD friend.  We’re not known for having a very good filter and we have some impulse issues so we often say or do things that can hurt another person.  When we go to far with a joke or we stick our foot in our mouths, please don’t think we meant to hurt you.  We didn’t.   Our brains are moving so fast that things come flying out before our brains can figure out what we said was wrong.  Believe me, we do figure it out.  When we do, we will be crushed at causing you pain.  We are very sorry so please forgive our momentary lap in judgement.

Our compassion, loyalty, and generosity run incredible deep.  We are prone to gigantic highs and crushing lows.   We can run through more emotions in 20 seconds then most people feel in a week.  We feel all emotions so deeply which is why (I believe) we can have such deep empathy for all people.  So don’t take our mood swings personally.  Most of the time our moods have nothing to do with you.  The good thing is our moods are like New England weather, they change every 15 minutes.  If you wait a moment, we will probably come back around.

We are obnoxious, loud and exhausting, but we are also fiercely loyal, tremendously generous with our time and our love, and we can always find the sun through the clouds.

So you are probably wondering how you find an ADHD friend.  It is really not that hard.  Just look for the adult who is rolling down the hill with the kids or throwing herself down the inflatable slide at the Fun Zone.  There’s a pretty good chance that’s one of us. If you jump on the slide and ask to race us, you will be taken into our fold with a booming hello.  Then just hold on and enjoy the ride!



The Only Thing I’m Really Good At Cleaning Is A Colon


I haven’t written in quite a while.  The reasons behind that are long and I won’t bore you.

In short, I haven’t written anything because I’ve been up to my elbows in sh@$!%t – literally

If you have read any of my past posts (My House Smells Like Ass, Kicked Out Of Poop Camp) then you are familiar with my professional career as a potty trainer.  If not, then let me just say that for the last 3 plus years, I have been potty training my son and we seemed to have come back full circle to the beginning.

If someone had said that one day, I would know everything there is to know about human excrement, I would have poo poo’d them (no pun intended).

But here I am, currently back on poop patrol, doody duty, sh@#!$t stakeout – trying desperately to end this seemingly endless cycle of potty training.

Let me tell you, I have read every book, internet article, watched every youtube video, and seen every pediatric GI doctor on the East coast in an effort to help my son gain control over his bowels.  At this point, I should have earned a doctorate in poop.

Tell me your bodyweight and I can tell you the exact ratio of Mirlax to Gatorade you need to drink to clean out your colon.  Want to use Ex-Lax or Ducolax?  I can give you those doses too.  I can tell you how many hours after your “poop” cocktail that your first poop will arrive and all the stages that little bugger will go through till you’re regular again.  Show me a picture of poop and I can tell you what type it is according to the Bristol Stool Chart.  Want to know the inner working of the colon?  Know that too.  I know when a colon is stretched too much, it loses it’s ability to sense a poop.   You can sh$@!t your pants and truly not know it was happening.  I can tell you the difference between true diarrhea and just leakage.  Let me feel your belly and I’ll tell you if you’re constipated.  Do you know the difference between a “skiddy” and a “shart”?  I do.

My whole household revolves around poop.  While most people hang pictures of their kids’ artwork on the frig, mine is covered with poop charts, reminders to poop, and X-rays of colons.   Dinner conversations are not about “how was your day?” or “what did you do?”, it’s more like “did you have an accident today?” or “do you have a poop stuck?”.  My phone has more pictures of poop on it than any one person should have.  I have downloaded more poop tracking apps then I have mindless games.  We own enough Mirlax and Ex-lax to keep a small country regular for the next two years. We share our poop escapades with others like most share summer camp stories.  We are actually quite proud of our poop and will cheer on anyone who is pooping regularly as well as sympathize with those who are not.  We compare our poops to see who as the healthiest poop and we show our friends what their poops should look like.


I consider myself the Professor of Poop, the Logger of Logs, The Doctor of Dumps.   Our motto is “a good poop in the morning makes for a great day!”   Achieving regularity is the ultimate goal of our house.   They say no one has ever gone to college in a diaper, but some days it feels like we might just win that prestigious award.   At least by then, my son will be seen as a hero at his frat house for never having to lose his place in the keg line to go use the bathroom.  Right now, kids are not so forgiving and so I am determined to help my son through this.   To see him achieve success this time.  It could take up to a year for his colon to get back to knowing it’s proper job, but we cannot give up.  We are in it for the long haul.  We’ve lost 3 couches, 4 rugs, and countless pairs of undies to poop.  I’ve had poop on my hands, on my clothes, and on my floors and I’m fully prepared for more of the same.  As my husband often says, “sh!@$t wipes off”.  So I will continue to log the logs and mix up poop cocktails until we can one day look back at this all and say….”we nailed that sh!@#!t!

Peace and Poops