Spring is here!

First let me say I’m stunned that it’s been over six months since my last post. Time has a way of rushing past when you’re busy with family, work, life and a little bit of play. And those of you raising a grandchild know just how little ‘play time’ we grandparents get some times! Writing seems to be a luxury these days but one I feel I need to get back to.
So, here I am again.

Spring is here!

At least the calendar says so but the torrential downpours of the past days are a bit over the top to quantify the “Spring showers bring flowers” adage. Many people in our state have been dealing with flooded basements, yards, cars, roads and trying to cope with the mess left behind by the “Ark” waters.
I’m quite grateful we weren’t subjected to any of the above and keep those that were in my prayers; hoping they have good flood insurance!
We’ve been teased, when the rains did subside, with wonderful temps that lure thoughts of warmer weather, tulips, yard work, cardinals calling, blue jays squawking and all the things that remind one of the change of seasons.
The biggest of which is daylight savings time! Those longer daylight hours at the end of each day are the best and most significant sign for me that the Mother Nature is tucking away her winter blankets of snow and dressing up in more colorful garb of sunshine and flowers.
Time to start planning a bigger veggie garden this year and think about getting the pool up and ready again.

I think I’ll leave the second one to the Spouse. ūüôā

Happy Wednesday all! it’s good to be back.

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M&M’s – Menopause and Memory

Menopausal Madness

Menopausal Madness


At 56 I’m officially ‘post menopausal’. Prior to that I was menopausal, pre-menopausal and peri-menopausal. With all those pause-als I should have known there was more to this life transition than what my elders and GYN were telling me.
I believe the word “pause” is a not so subtle warning to women of what to expect when a once quick, sharp memory takes a nosedive. In it’s place comes the long……….pause. It arrives frequently and usually without warning. The word is there, right there on the tip of your tongue, teasing your brain and playing hide and seek with your dusty word retrieval skills. Sometimes you can even see it in your mind’s eye, but articulate it? Nope. At least not without a struggle. Of course it always happens when you’re trying to engage in a conversation with the hope of an intelligent exchange. Or conversing with a co worker, friend or spouse and want desperately to make a point or at least impart a coherent thought!
Lapses in memory are a part of the aging process therefore it’s to be expected. I accept that. What is unacceptable is why I can see a coffee table in my mind but end up calling it the thing-a-ma-jig because I can’t recall the name of the damn thing! The frustration rises with every passing second until at last the light bulb goes off and I can speak the illusive noun.
Names are another topic. I’ve always prided myself on being able to recall a person’s name. Now? I confess I’ve resorted to calling most men ‘honey’, which they don’t seem to mind especially if they’re over 70. And women are gracious and accepting of a warm smile and a “so nice to see you again!” said with great sincerity. Oh. And if she’s over 45, I get that little smile of knowing in return.

It’s a sistah thang.

Happy Saturday!

Until Death Do We Part…or whoever gets most of the blanket.

The Spouse and I are coming up to our 31st wedding anniversary this June.¬† A quiet weekend away alone will be our celebration. Nothing glitzy. We’re blessed to have a condo in the mountains for family getaways and we don’t get there often enough, but I’ve booked that weekend early. For a couple to be married more than 30 years seems to be quite a feat these days; at least the reactions I receive when the topic comes up give merit to that statement.¬† I suppose in retrospect it is pretty amazing to have lived, loved, fought, argued, cried, laughed, nurtured, supported and shared the same bathroom with one person all those years. And sharing a bathroom takes great compromise and patience. There are no secrets I’m aware of that can guarantee a long happy marriage, or any other relationship for that matter. I do know that communication is key.

Dr. John Gray authored a wonderful book titled “Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus” and it’s pages are dog eared now in our house. The Spouse thumbs through it often, which makes me smile because I know he’s seeing the truth of some of Dr Grays theory and rolling his eyes at the rest. Either way, it’s caused us both to pause when we’re having discussions or muddling through our frustrations as to why the other just doesn’t get what we’re saying when it’s so very obvious!

To sum things up, ongoing communication is vital. Open, honest, heartfelt sharing of feelings brings any relationship to a more intimate and bonded level. Learning what your communication styles are and prioritizing your marriage, committing to grow together to insure understanding and empathy for each others feelings will be the best foundation you can lay to have the joy of looking back over, oh say..30 years.

And not hogging the blankets is second on the priority list!

Happy Saturday!

Wrinkles indicate where the smiles have been!

big_girl_panties

One thing I hear a lot when acquaintances and friends are told we’ve adopted our 7 yr old grandson is “oh well he’ll keep you young, that’s for sure!” I’ve always been one to feel age is a state of mind, a number, an attitude. Having to keep up with a 7 yr old boy doesn’t change that, though I admit when the Grand Prince needs lessons on his new bicycle this Spring, sans training wheels, it won’t be Nana who’s running along side; my knees will protest.

Our society is so obsessed with the aging process or better yet keeping it at bay for as long as possible. I figure at 56 I’ve earned every crease, creak, groan, sag,¬† gray hair -the ones not professionally colored- and age spot that graces my face and body. Gravity is what it is, said Mr. Newton, why fight it?¬† Our faces and bodies will never look as they did at 25. Have you seen women who’s cosmetic surgery¬† leaves them looking¬† like a cartoon character¬† because they are desperate to dive into the fountain of youth over and over? Oy! Not a pretty picture.

It’s called midlife for a reason. Our youth is gone, but our living is not and there’s lots more to come. In fact the wisdom garnered over the years far outweighs the fleeting¬† pleasures of youth. My Dad always said, “oh to be 22 and know what I do now!” Of course I didn’t ‘get’ it until I was much older but truer words were never spoken. However, if we could have that we’d miss out on learning to live, making the necessary mistakes and gaining the wisdom over the years that ushers us into the magnificent creatures we are at 50 or 60 or 70 and beyond.

Could you, at 25 or 35 wear crazy hats or stripes and plaids or sweat pants to the supermarket and not bat an eye or cause eyebrows to raise? Could you at 25 or 35 wile away the day just reading, sipping tea, take a long walk, paint a watercolor, play with the cats all while the laundry was piled high and the dust bunnies were running rampant? Could you, at 25 or 35 have a second helping of dessert just because or relive memories of those wild escapades and travels in your younger days? I’d say the latter was unlikely since you’d probably have had those experiences as a child…with your parents overseeing them all!

Bette Davis is quoted as saying “Old age is no place for sissies”.¬† If we’re spending time trying to recapture what once was we’ll never enjoy the experience of that which seasons us for the second half of¬† life.¬† I know I’m going to enjoy the next phase in life’s journey without a care for or a look back¬† toward the ‘old days’. I’m too busy living life in the ‘not so fast lane’. And it suits me just fine.

Happy Tuesday, all you Big Girls!

Time is not on my side


Contrary to the lyrics of the Rolling Stones hit, “time is on my side, yes it is”, there are many days when I wish for 28 hours instead of 24.
Here’s the schedule for the end of our day, not even factoring in the eight plus hours prior.¬† Bet there’s a familiar them here for you as well.

After a full workday, I pick up the Grand Prince from after school care, which for me is in the same building I’m employed. That’s a huge plus. Next it’s off to run a few errands, maybe pick up something from the market. If it’s not a karate class day or a tennis lesson then we finish up and head home. Upon arriving we greet the menage of animals and then doff the winter attire to appropriate places and tackle the backpack. Homework, notices from school, permission slips, all to be signed, read or filed on the fridge. Next it’s homework and a snack. I’m very fortunate he’s a conscientious kid and one who enjoys learning, so there’s very little balking about getting homework done. The GP is very on target about snacks too and what’s okay and what’s ‘are you kidding me before dinner!?” sort of snacks.
I start tossing in a load of laundry or swapping one to the dryer while answering questions about spelling, grammar or math (Gods, I hate the math part and beg for the Spouse to handle that. Yes, I’m math phobic). Usually the Spouse is home before me and starts dinner. I’m in love with him all over again every day for that!. While dinner cooks, the GP must do 15 to 20 minutes of silent reading and I get the same time to check email, scan the newspaper, sort the mail and reconnect with the Spouse to share the days events. Multitasking? Parents have done it for decades without a fancy title.
After we share dinner and discussions of our day, it’s time for cleanup, load the dishwasher and a shower for the Prince. While the grandson sings in the shower, I get clothes ready for the next day and pack lunches and/or snacks and remind him over the din of singing and splashing to make sure homework is safely tucked in the backpack.
Toothbrushing and pajamas come next, a little television and/or snuggle time and in a blink of an eye, the clock strikes eight and it’s up to bed and a story. I have managed a few breaths in between. I love you’s are exchanged as are hugs and sweet dreams wishes. All within a three hour time span. Whew!
When coworkers at our lunch table excitedly rehash their favorite episodes of Scrubs, CSI:Miami or Law and Order I nod, smile and listen; totally and blissfully clueless.

I’m asleep by 9:30.

Happy Thursday!

Me Time

beach timeOne of the things I and most parents put aside is ‘me’ time. There’s always an excuse as to why we can’t read a book, go for a walk, exercise, take a night out, (a whole weekend!? forget it!) or simply pamper ourselves in whatever ways help us to relax. Yes we all know we should schedule time for ourselves; we all watch Oprah and Dr. Phil who herald the importance of taking care of ourselves first, make YOU a priority they say, but it’s the other shoulds that never cease whispering in our ear that keep us too busy.
Should clean that closet.
Should finish that yard work.
Should visit Aunt Sheila.
Should get the dog to the vet.
Should catch up on those emails!
We should ourselves into biting off way too much of the proverbial chore pie and usually end up cranky, irritable and tired; hungry for an hour of …nothing. And unfortunately our children and significant others sometimes bare the brunt of our good intentions.

With the shift into the Fall routine in our house, I claim Sunday afternoons. The morning is spent first with a later rise than usual, followed by time with the Grand Prince and a special breakfast of some sort. Fried dough brushed with melted butter and sprinkled with powdered sugar and cinnamon. My doctor doesn’t read this blog so I toss cholesterol concerns to the wind. Next, we sort out the Sunday paper. Comics to the GP. Front page and sports to the Spouse and I begin with the North Weekly section. As the pre game hour of Sunday football begins around noon, my darling of a husband takes to the kitchen and simmers, roasts, bakes and stews the most delectable comfort foods to be enjoyed for supper that evening; all done in between quarters and during half time of the game. He cooks and cusses at Brady (always out of earshot of course) and does the male bonding thing of football fundamentals with the GP.

Meanwhile, I blissfully write, read, nap, email, play Rise of Atlantis (my current computer game obsession. Hey, I’m on Journey 7!) listen to music or whatever strikes my fancy. Now many would argue this isn’t real me time, however I beg to differ. Yes, I could go out for a walk, or a bike ride, or shopping, or visit a friend, or get a pedicure and on occasion I do some of those things. But if me time becomes stressful due to the very definition of it, then it’s no longer ME time. See? Makes perfect sense.
I’ve learned not to overextend me time into a frenetic foray of events that only serves to exhaust me more and leave me feeling like I should relax.

The Grand Prince is learning this important lesson too. When I asked him recently about signing up for fall soccer, rationalizing we could fit it in on Saturdays since karate and tennis were after school activities, he paused and looked at me very thoughtfully and said, “Nan, I have enough things to go to all ready. I’m gonna skip soccer this year.”

Out of the mouths of babes.