I sat on the couch listening to some young people, all in their early twenties, discussing their moms’ erratic behavior as they edge into peri-menopause or are drowning in the full monty-meno.

As they huddled together, I could sense them dreading their own female future. I remember feeling that way when my boyfriend’s normally quiet, introverted mother chased him out of the house one day, beating him on the back saying . . . “Are you saying I don’t feed you?” All he had said was that we were going to get something to eat.

In that moment, I hoped that there would be a cure for menopause before I reached it.

But there’s not. And the words of these young ladies reiterated my own fear as a young woman:

• OMG – she cries over the weirdest stuff. The other day she was asking if I had my laundry done and burst into tears. WTH?
• Seriously, my dad just lives in the basement, because he never knows when mom is going to go off about something. There’s no warning. She’s peeling a cucumber one minute and going berserk over our lack of help the next.
• Yeah, it’s true. My mom started raging at me in the car the other day over something that happened a week ago. I didn’t even remember what she was mad at, but she got so mad she hit the steering wheel which then honked and scared her which made her even more mad!

Now that I’m experiencing this life change, my patience has worn thin. I wanted to go all Steve Martin on their asses and say . . . “Well Excuuuuuuuuuse Us!”

Let’s see, we are only going through about a hundred hormonal changes that were put in place so they could have life. I thought about the mother character, Sethe,  in Toni Morrison’s novel Beloved . . . where Beloved’s presence consumes Sethe’s life to the point that she becomes depleted and sacrifices her own need for eating, while Beloved grows bigger and bigger.

If I weren’t gaining so much weight I’d worry about that fact.

My New Perspective

Whether you are Dame that has had children or not, we all get to go through the same change, and I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it over the last few years.

My new perspective on the whole event is . . .  I think we rock it.

I don’t care if we go a little Jekyll and Hyde. Maybe, just maybe, we are tired. Maybe we have given so much to those around us that we’ve depleted ourselves.

Our yelling and crying is simply our way of waking up and rediscovering our power. Our tears are like rain, helping us grow our spirits again. And yelling is our power released.

So, if people are little afraid of menopausal women, they should be.

Because we are rediscovering our power. We are women, hear us roar.

You can laugh at us, but don’t do it for long.

We’re fine felines, and we might just take you out.

I have these two personalities in my head that are constantly battling each other. I have the Extreme Me and the Retro Me, and they seem to have challenged each other to a duel at my daughter’s graduation.

Extreme Me

This psycho is determined to start anew. She has walked away from her stable life and decided to write the great American novel.

She has raised two amazing kids into adulthood and is ready to break into the world anew. She wants to break away from Naturalizer shoes and put on stilettos. She wants to dump her black and gray uniforms and buy bright, flowing shirts. She kind of wants to be a hippie without the greasy hair and drugs. Read more

We’re on the way to pick up my college graduate from school.

Of course there is a large group of people staying at our house – most of them look like the guys from “Duck Dynasty” – so  for those wondering if our house is empty . . . it isn’t.

There – my mother would be proud.

Now, back to point. Our trip started with my husband shutting his finger in the car door. Once we bandaged up the purple appendage, we proceeded to pack the car as my husband grimaced every time he forgot about the hurt pinkie and used it to pick something up. Read more

My daughter graduates from college this week, and I’m trying to figure out how I am going to keep from crying at the ceremony.

I’m not quick to cry. I prefer the more dangerous route of expressing my emotions through rage. However, there’s something about “Pomp and Circumstance” that drives me to my emotional knees. I have no idea why.

At my son’s high school graduation, I thought I would be fine. I sat in my little fold down chair looking around the convention center, chatting with friends, and having a pretty good time. My son never really liked school (that’s putting it nicely) and probably should have gotten his diploma from McDonalds since he informed me (after graduating) that he spent more time there than in class.

I was happy for him and happy for us. Then the band began playing “Pomp and Circumstance” and I lost control. I could see my sister elbowing my brother-in-law who elbowed their daughter who elbowed their son. They weren’t used to seeing me get emotional, and I was sucking in air like a donkey right before a really good bray.

So, how will I avoid the tears when my youngest gets her send-off into the world? Here are some things I thought I could do to keep the tears away:

• Count the number of hot flashes I have and rate them on a scale of one to ten.
• Add up the amount of money I’ve spent and the amount I will now save every month.
• Tear my program into small strips and fold them into footballs that I can shoot at the mothers who appear to weigh less than 120 lbs.
• Twirl my wedding ring around hoping that the motion will erase the indention in my finger caused by fluid retention.
• Pull my shoulder blades together for five seconds and hold. Repeat 30x. Set off the next hot flash and record.
• Try to remember what I was just trying to remember a few minutes ago.
• Act as if I am a medium and try to send the message “scratch the back of your head” to the person sitting in front of me and see if it happens.
• Start to laugh inappropriately like Mary Tyler Moore in the “Chuckles the Clown” episode.

Or, I guess I could just be proud and happy. Who knows? Menopause will probably decide my mood for me.

For now, I’m planning to be a Grand Dame on a grand day. Many of you have gone through this – any suggestions?

I have watched “The Biggest Loser” and follow Jillian Michaels fitness tips. I have brought in our own fitness (Lorri Hanna).

These people have a gift for helping people stay fit. I started pondering what my gift might be in this area, and I’ve finally uncovered it.

I can gain weight without even trying.

So, what do I do with a gift? I share it with you all. Below is a link that offers a free download containing 50 Effective Tips for gaining weight. It includes some of my best suggestions, like:

• Decide to go on a diet. You will gain 5 lbs. before the decision is fully formed in your mind. This might have to do with the multiple evenings you party prior to the diet with the belief that “This is my last night before my diet, so I’m going to enjoy it.”
• Buy five Lean Cuisine lunches to get you through the week. Put them in the freezer and label them for each day of the week. Then eat them all in two days.
• Next time you’re eating at a restaurant, order water with lemon rather than the sweet tea that you would prefer. Once the water arrives, squeeze the lemon into it. Next, add three packets of sugar. Stir vigorously.

There are 47 more along with some great dieting quotes, and it’s free!  Please feel free to download it, share it with friends, share it on twitter, join our Facebook Fan Page, or offer it on your own blog.

To get my free gift to you just click on the link below:

How to Gain Weight Without Even Trying 05.02.12

Once you read it, I really, really want you to comment and/or share your own tips.

If I get more than ten tips I will update the material every couple of weeks with your thoughts and ideas (and credit to you and your blog if desired)!

So, good luck. By the way, if you follow my tips I can guarantee weight gain within the next few days.

I’m getting ready to make a week long trip to watch my baby graduate from college. I am so proud of her and excited that she is going to have a lifetime of new opportunities. I am also a little relieved that college payments are OVER.

So, what am I going to do with my newfound wealth? With that extra money each month? Here are some ideas:

• Take a class on how to apply false eyelashes. Weird, I know, but something I want to learn.
• Spend one night watching QVC and spend $1,000. That should buy me at least 900 things.
• Go to Disney World and see every show that I want to see and avoid the teacups at all cost.
• Try to make a movie that will get me to the Sundance festival so I can meet Robert Redford.

Read more

I really want to judge the mothers in “Toddlers in Tiaras.” Their headlines continue to horrify me. Here are a few I saw today:

• Contestant wants “To dance on the pole.”
• Mom burns her daughter’s eyes while trying to dye her eyelashes
• Mom gives daughter straight sugar to perk her up

I was ready to really go all judgmental on these mothers in this blog. What kind of mothers are they? How could they do this to their own children? My feelings are true, but they must be balanced by a few of the headlines that could have been written about me when I was raising my two children.

Here are a few that could have shown up in Huffington Post:

• Pregnant mom falls asleep while two-year-old opens the gate lock and wanders down the road with his bottle, ending up four houses away – watching a man with a chainsaw.
• Mom gives her infant daughter a dose of paregoric (upon doctor’s instructions, I swear) to get her to sleep, but forgets to dilute it with water, so her infant chokes and foams at the mouth.
• Mom puts her baby in his love bucket, and places him on top of the car,  gets in the car and starts the engine before remembering the baby is still on the roof.
• Mom breastfeeds the wrong baby after giving birth.
• On a day following no sleep, Mom calls her screaming toddler a “little piece of crap.”

Yea, I think I’ll keep my judgments to myself.

What about you? Any baby-raising media headlines that might have appalled the reading audience?

Last night I watched “Long Island Medium,” much to my husband’s chagrin. He refused to look at me as he passed by, actively shunning me.

I don’t care — I think the woman is thoroughly entertaining. Maybe it’s because she’s loud and I live in a world of quiet introverts.

I am a strong extrovert, which means I like to bounce my words off other people much like a bat uses radar. Many of you are like me. Until we put our words out there and hear them come back to us, we’re not sure if they should be said at all. You can immediately see the liability in this approach, but we can’t help ourselves. Read more

When my kids were little, I never thought they’d grow,

The late nights, early mornings, and the fits that they would throw.

How many hot dogs cooked? How many trips to Chucky Cheese?

Hours spent each long, long day finding new ways to please.

The fish that were bought and the God forsaken tank,

Who knew such quiet, small creatures could put out so much stank?

Hamsters running in their wheels, squeaking all night long,

My parrot Chaucer, moon walking and singing M.J.’s song.

The smell of  strong B.O. that accompanied Middle School,

The rolled eyes declaring I was no longer cool,

High school brought the O.C. and too many trips to the mall,

As kids grew they wondered – when did I get so small?

Now they’re grown and I can do what I want to do,

Problem is I have forgotten how “me” works without “you.”

So, I’m going to eat and watch t.v.a while,

Until I locate “me” again and start down that new mile.

(The following is a STORY, not an actual account. A note for those of you with imaginations like mine . . .)

I have my own Charlotte. For the past few years, my own spider has spun messages in her web to encourage me each day, as I step into the garage to get my morning Diet Coke out of the spare refrigerator.

Unfortunately, I missed the first message entirely because I grabbed a broom and knocked the web down. It took a while for Charlotte to forgive me for that one.

However, within a few days I noticed the intricate web was re-spun, showing the word T-E-R-R-I-F-I-C. The spider waved her little leg at me, and I smiled.

For the next year and a half she met me with words like: Read more