We Are What We….

Posted on April 12, 2016 by Real Women

oreo thinsLike many real women, I put a fairly good amount of effort into trying to make healthy food choices. I eat lots of veggies and fruit, I avoid breaded and fried foods, I cook with low- or no-fat ingredients, I limit eating desserts, and don’t really remember the last time I sat down to a big ol’ bowl of ice cream.

But I’m no health food angel. I’m a snacker. I have a tremendous sweet tooth. Chocolate and I have had a love affair since I was a child. I don’t believe I’ve ever met a baked good that I didn’t like. You get the picture.

I am impressed by, and in awe of, you women out there who have the strength and willpower to adhere to strict diets of no fat, no sugar, no carbs, high protein foods. This is why you look thin and muscular and will continue to feel good well into your 90’s, and why I have a progressively developing “mom shape” and will probably go to the cookie counter in heaven much sooner than you.

What I have come to believe is that even when we try hard to behave for the most part, there are just going to be times in our daily lives when we have to understand that moods, environmental influences and self-control issues will drive us to make poor choices. And we just have to be ok with that.

On a recent chick’s weekend, one of my BFFs sweetly (get it? sweetly?) brought a package of Oreo Thins to contribute to our festivities. After all, we enjoy our treats, yet we all want to watch our girlish figures. Funny thing, the container was never opened. However, we did partake of a dinner out at an Italian restaurant, and some fresh baked brownies. I found out later that my BFF kindly left me the Oreo Thins rather than taking them home with her. Funny thing, the container has still not been opened.

Out of curiosity, I compared the label on the package of Thins with the label on the nearly-empty package of Double Stuffed Oreos that happens to be in my cupboard. (Gosh, don’t know how THOSE got in there!). Surprisingly, nowhere on the Thins package is there any wording that indicates they are lower fat, or better for you, than a regular Oreo. Just by virtue of being called “Thin”, my mind had assumed they were “healthier”.   I did determine that one could eat 4 of the Thins and consume one gram less fat and one gram less sugar than eating 2 Double Stuffed. Not a whole lot of difference. So really, the only thing being taken away is the white stuff in the middle. Who doesn’t like the white stuff?  If I’m going to make the choice to eat an Oreo, let’s go all the way.

Some time ago, my son and I were on a road trip together, and we paused at a rest stop. We went in to the convenience store area to get a beverage. I was tired of drinking plain water, and wanted something else. However, the selection at this stop was limited. My options were basically either highly sugared fruit drinks or diet soda. I was torn, and said to my son that I wasn’t sure which to pick, something with tons of sugar, or something with tons of chemicals. Without missing a beat, he said “Well, it depends. Do you want to get diabetes, or cancer?”   We of course giggled about this most of the way home.   Besides proving that he and I share a somewhat sick sense of humor, I realized he was right about my choices. If I was making a conscious decision to NOT have water, then I just had to be ok with my guilty selection of something unhealthy.

I was reminded of this today when I realized I was browsing the menu sign at Dunkin Donuts, trying to pick a healthy option. When I realized what I was doing, my internal monologue went something like this: “You realize you willingly came in to a place where the word DONUT is literally in the name, right? There are no healthy options. You have already selected a beverage that likely contains a week’s worth of sugar. Just pick out that big fat muffin calling your name, recognize your lack of willpower and move on.”

After making a less-than-healthy choice, I always do the same age-old R.W. bartering system with myself. If I eat this now, I’ll walk an extra mile or go to an extra workout, or I’ll eat a salad for dinner, or….. I love how I fool myself into believing that makes it all better.

Tonight my husband is away and it is just my son and me at home. I got home late from work. I am throwing a pizza in the oven and making myself a big salad. I figure if I eat more salad than pizza, I’ll be in good behavior mode. And at least I didn’t do takeout. Ah, yes, all in the name of balance.

Who knows? Maybe I’ll finally break out one of those Thins for dessert.

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Food, friends, Health, moods, Pride, real women, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Roughly Translated…

Posted on April 7, 2016 by Real Women

sticker,375x360We live in a world of cyberslang, internet acronyms, and a whole generation of youth who communicate via abbreviations, meme’s and emoji’s. Somewhere along the way, a new language emerged, full of LOL, BRB and YOLO. Nothing makes me feel older than having to ask my teenage son what a group of seemingly nonsensical letters means.

I have news though… that generation is not the only one with a secret language. We R.W.’s of a certain age have our own particular ways of communicating. We have a deep understanding of each other’s daily challenges, and have our own code phrases and words that we use as a form of support and commiseration. My BFFs and I have developed a few key idioms which if overheard may not make sense to our male counterparts. But we get it.

In the spirit of partial disclosure, I will share a few examples of our lingo here, which will sound quite familiar to just about any other R.W..  Some day, however, our dialect could become as rampant as Textese, and at that point, the men and youth in our lives will need a dictionary to keep up:

PC:    Translation: Plot Change!   Use: During a conversation, random thoughts or loss of words will create a diversion in the original direction of the discussion. Rather than stumble with apologies in losing track of what was being said, simply declare PC!  and move on. This is also a handy reference for all of the twists and turns we encounter every day in our busy lives and our sudden need to adapt to new issues and emergencies.

WLTSL:   Translation: We Live The Same Life.   Use: When texting to find out if a R.W. friend needs anything while you are out running errands, and you find out she has also just done the exact same stops at the pharmacy, grocery store, and Target. OR, you find out another R.W. is playing a similarly rabid game of beat the clock and you run into each other while ordering take out because there was just no time to make a real dinner.

INE:   Translation: It Never Ends.   Use: Somewhat related to WLTSL, INE represents the never-ending crisis management, personal calamities and time pressures we cope with. This is most widely used in reference to ongoing family emergencies and issues, like when caring for an elderly or disabled loved one, or having teenagers in the house.

WTEBAD:   Translation: Will There Ever Be A Day.   Use: When commiserating and venting, while wishfully looking toward the mystical future when everything will be easier. Examples: Will There Ever Be A Day when we aren’t tired? Will There Ever Be A Day when I’m not double-booked? Will There Ever Be A Day when we can be ladies who lunch?

ASA:   Translation: Another Sign of Age.   Use: When finding a new wrinkle or grey hair while looking in the mirror on a given morning, or trying to stand up after sitting for an extended period of time to discover your knees and back have seized up. Frequently followed by GOS: Getting Old Sucks.

And, finally, my favorite:

USM:   Translation: You Slay Me.   Use: When another R.W. has you laughing so hard you are glad to have worn a panty liner, or she has amazed you with some quirky behavior or idea that you are too shy to commit yourself. Variations include That Slays Me, and I Slay Me. Because after all, even with our challenges and craziness, life is funny. And sometimes we just crack ourselves up.

TTFN.

 

 

 

Posted in age, Chores, family, friends, Health, Kids, men, moods, real women, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Dr. Will Be With You Shortly…

Posted on March 29, 2016 by Real Women

waiting-doctors-office-s3-medium_newThis afternoon as I drove to a Doctor’s appointment, I pondered on how no matter what type of doctor, or what type of appointment we have, the process is always pretty much the same. It could be for a routine physical, it could be for the flu, it could be for an injured knee, or like me today, it could be for a pre-colonoscopy consultation. (Oh boy, I can barely contain my excitement over reaching this milestone.) Whatever the reason, the experience yields few surprises.

After finding the doctor’s office, which sometimes can be a bit like a treasure hunt when visiting for the first time, there is the fun of finding a parking spot. I try to remember that since I’m going into a medical facility, it is healthy for me to walk from the far end of the parking lot.   The next step of course is entering the waiting room and checking in at the front desk. Most of the registration desks provide the staff with some sort of germ-barrier-security-privacy sliding glass window. I’m not really sure why. Is whatever they are typing into their computers, or discussing with each other, or filing in their drawers, really that confidential that they must be blocked from patients?   Do they realize we can still hear them? And if it is to protect them from germs from the sickies entering the room, as soon as they slide that window open, they are no longer safe, so that point is mute. Anyway, after the awkwardness of standing on the other side of the glass until they notice you, the glass is slid aside with that loose-glass-against-metal grinding sound. Then come the usual questions, confirming your name, address, birth date, and the request to see and make a copy of your insurance card. Soon the clipboard with forms to sign is handed through. You grab the clipboard and pen that have probably had at least 50 other hands on them that day, and go sit down to complete the paperwork.

If this is a first-time visit, you had better come prepared with insurance information, social security numbers, family story, list of medications, health history, blood type, great-grandfather’s middle name, what you had for breakfast, and your pet’s birthdate. Also be prepared to sign your name almost as many times as you would when buying a house.   With any luck, you’ll finish your paperwork with enough time to spare to take in your surroundings.

Most waiting rooms have some sort of sparse artwork, all designed to make you wish you were wherever the place pictured on the wall is, and not where you actually are. Some of the fancier waiting rooms have soothing bubbling fish tanks for your relaxation and enjoyment. I like to glance at the selection of magazines on the side tables, but rarely pick any up to look through – again, because I figure at least 365 germy hands have held them. I’m not germaphobic by nature, but hey – it is a doctor’s waiting room. Who knows what has been through there just before you.   I find it interesting to view the variety of publications, and issue dates. Recently I was in a waiting room for an appointment for my son, and they had National Geographic on the table – current issues. I couldn’t remember the last time I saw a National Geographic, and started browsing. I realized that if someday I ever had the time to actually read through one whole issue, I would enjoy it. But that is kind of like reading a new novel every month.

The other interesting observation to make in waiting rooms of course is the other folks occupying the same space. It is a microcosm of people all there for their own reasons and needs. Today when I arrived, there were only two others in the room. One was an elderly man reading one of the available magazines, the other was a man who had fallen asleep in the corner. I took that as a bad sign. Either he had been waiting so long to be seen that he had drifted off, or the person he came with had been inside for a long time. Or, maybe, this was the first chance he’d had to sit down and rest all day. I totally get that.

Eventually someone (generally a female nurse or technician) opens a door and calls your name. After passing through the door, the very first thing they all seem to wjoke13ant to do is make you step up on the scale. I hate this part. Really? Must I? I step up and instantly start trying to calculate how much my clothing and shoes must weigh to make myself feel better about the number that appears.

From there, you move to the inner sanctum, the exam room. The nurse runs through your information yet again, and checks vitals. Off she scurries, and there you are. Waiting. Alone. With even fewer magazines. Often while you are wearing a baggy johnny with a back draft. Tick Tock. You listen for noises outside in the hallway to try to guess if the footsteps and voice you are hearing could be the doctor. How disappointing when you hear the doctor enter the exam room next to you, and not yours. There have been times when the office is so quiet, I have begun to wonder if they forgot I was there. How long should I wait?   Should I poke my head out the door? What if they pack up and go home, will the cleaning staff find me still sitting here, swinging my feet, reading about diseases on the infographics on the wall?

Finally, the doctor hustles in, lab coat and stethoscope swinging. That moment has arrived when it is “all about me.” However, this by far will be the briefest portion of the entire experience. Exam done, questions answered, and the doc is on her way. After you’ve gathered your belongings, you become a bit disoriented leaving the inner sanctum because you didn’t notice so many doors as you came in. Following bread crumbs and signs, you find your way back to where you started. Time to check out, pay up, and schedule the next appointment. From this angle, the staff members at the front desk are no longer protected by sliding windows.   Must be they figure once you’ve made it that far, privacy is no longer needed. They know everything about you by now anyway, just as you’ve likely heard about what they had for lunch and which new computer system is giving them issues.

Eventually, you are on your way. As you put on your coat and find a safe place to put your appointment reminder card, which you know you will lose anyway, you feel like you accomplished something, and are hopefully feeling better. I took care of myself. I’m all set until the next appointment. Yay me. 

Then you realize you have just used up 2 hours of PTO for a 14 minute exam.

 

 

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Ready for Bed?

Posted on March 24, 2016 by Real Women

go to bed

Last night while my hubby and I were watching House of Cards (we are only on episode 5 in the new season, so no spoiler comments please!), there was a very brief scene showing Frank and Claire, in their oh-so-dysfunctional-way, going through their before-bedtime routine. It made me think of a great scene in the old movie Sleepless in Seattle, where Meg Ryan’s and Bill Pullman’s characters are very methodically going through their preparing-for-bed process. The song playing in the background is “Making Whoopee”, while they act like a stereotypical old married couple, going through their usual paces, not even speaking, before calling it a night.

We are all creatures of habit, and we all have certain routines we go through without even thinking about it – especially at the end of the day as we prepare for bed. The steps we take become ritualistic. Mess with the process, and our whole night’s rhythm can be thrown off.

In our house, when my husband is ready for bed, he heads upstairs. Like a typical real woman, that is my cue to make my last rounds. I get the dog out for his last pee stop, blow out the kitchen candle, do any last chores like switching laundry into the dryer, confirm that the doors are locked, shut off the lights, make sure the garage door is down, and check on our son.

But that’s just the start of the ritual. By the time I get upstairs, my husband is usually already in bed, either asleep, watching TV, reading, or getting his last Facebook update. Once I’m finally ready to truly get prepared for bed, I have a 7-step process, which I do in the same order, every night, without fail. (Don’t laugh, I know you all have your own procedures too. )   I brush teeth, floss, take my medication, wash my face, brush out my hair, pee, and moisturize.  I never leave a step out. Unless, of course, there is an issue like I’ve run out of floss. Since I’m a bit fanatical about my dental care, that throws me off, and I just don’t feel right. It ruins my whole bedtime feng shui. So you can bet there’s always a spare roll of floss in the drawer. Don’t mess with my routine.

Of course, once we actually climb into bed, there are other routines – like reading, tv watching, and… um, other activities. Which can also follow a certain routine. But I’m not going down that road here, because this isn’t that kind of blog. (sorry).

So we all have our rituals — our regular, every day processes. Does this mean that we are boring? We lack excitement? We are robots? On the contrary. We spend the majority of our days reacting, rushing, worrying, deciding, hurrying and solving. We need our moments when we don’t have to think. When we don’t have to hurry. There is comfort in the routine, there is a calm in the mundane.   It is our way of letting our brains and our bodies prepare for shut down.

It is easy to take our daily routines for granted, and not give them a second thought. But in a world that is too often in chaos, too often in the grips of fear or loss, when so many are battling illnesses or disabilities, or God Forbid, falling victim to atrocities, we need to embrace “boring.”   Let’s be thankful for even the little things. Tonight, when I retrace the same steps I take every night, when I kiss my son’s head, when I get ready in a clean and well lit bathroom, when I happily use my floss, and when I get to crawl under the covers in my comfy bed, I will be thankful for what I can do, and what I have.

Even if it is just a silly routine.

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Celebration or Ambivelance?

Posted on March 17, 2016 by Real Women

ShamrockI’m a bit ambivalent about St. Patrick’s Day. I have nothing against it. But I don’t whole-heartedly and excitedly embrace it, either. I figure this is mostly because, as far as I know, I have not one drop of Irish in me. Other than by relation to my husband, who has enough Irish in him to enjoy a glass of Jameson’s with his annual plate of corned beef and cabbage. I’m quite sure that if I was Irish, I’d be all in and I’d celebrate this festive day full throttle. After all, I’m still waiting for someone to create Swiss-Scottish-English-and-whatever-else day – or, perhaps, let’s just make it Melting Pot Day, so the rest of us who are made up of a veritable cornucopia of cultural backgrounds can all have a “celebrate my heritage” day.

I appreciate the festive nature of those who do make this day special. I join along to a certain extent, by donning one of my only green blouses for the day, and by allowing my kitchen to smell like cooked cabbage. But otherwise, I consider this day of celebration to be just that – a fun day for those who want to make it fun, whether they are Irish or not. It is not a holiday. It is, like many others, an Excuse Day. It is one of those days of the year, like Halloween, Valentines Day, and Mother’s Day, where we have the “excuse” to have some fun, relax a bit more, dress funny, drink or eat more than usual, or profess our true love as if it is any more important on that special day than any other. It is an excuse for us Real Women to kick into high gear with our creativity. It is also an excuse for retail establishments to make more income off of cards, flowers, gifts and candy. Or, in the case especially of St. Patty’s day, for the liquor stores and bars to raise their profit margins.

Although they aren’t truly “holidays”, I do think there is tremendous value in these celebratory days, no matter to what extent we each get into celebrating them. People seem to treat each other a bit kinder for 24 hours.We smile and accept each other no matter how we are dressed, or how we are acting. Our focus shifts, even if just briefly, from daily challenges like dreary weather, stress and worries, to things like shamrocks, hearts, flowers, and special dinners.

Sometimes, life events can happen during these days that can change how we feel about them. Natural disasters, crimes, illness and personal hardships can happen no matter what the calendar says, and can dare to mess with our fun. Our automatic reaction when things go bad on an Excuse Day is to withdraw from the festivities and happiness. We begin to resent those who are still having fun and partying, or may even resent the day itself. All too easily we can let Celebratory Day become Sad Day, Sour Day, or Angry Day. And we risk losing the boost we so desperately need.

One year ago, my dad passed away. On St. Patrick’s Day. Now forever to me, this won’t be just St. Patrick’s Day. It is also unfortunately an anniversary of the day this earth lost an amazing man. And as much as I’m tempted to sit home and wallow in sorrow, and be angry at every green-beer drinking, leprechaun-looking happy person, I realize that is not the right thing to do. Even though my Dad was mostly Scottish, with no Irish blood in him either, he really liked this day. He was always happy to have a reason to party, to have fun, to get together with friends, to celebrate an Excuse Day. Would he want me crying and moping around the house? No way. Would he want me to do something like put on a silly sparkly hat, laugh a lot, pour a good drink and make a special meal for dinner? You bet he would.

Similarly, many years ago, my mom passed away two weeks before Christmas. Devastating? Yes, completely. But losing her then didn’t mean I should spend every future Christmas draped in black with a big bucket of bah-humbug. Quite the opposite. My mom embraced Christmas on a turbo-sized level. She decorated every inch of the house, she reveled in the cookie making, the gift-giving, every bit of the holiday. One of the very last things I did with mom was put together an Advent wreath. I remember her telling me that I needed to do most of the work on it because it would be up to me from now on to continue the tradition. At the time, I didn’t want to believe her. I didn’t want to accept that cancer was winning. I wanted to believe she’s be around for a whole lot more advent wreaths. But she wasn’t. And I know that what she really meant was “don’t you dare give up the fun and the celebration.” So I haven’t. I have continued to carry on her tradition of embracing that holiday on a turbo-sized level. I love it, and I think of her in everything I do, hoping she is having fun watching me.

And today, I had a very similar feeling as I did my best to pretend that I’m just a little bit Irish. As I scooped up the corned beef and poured myself a drink, I felt my Dad grinning from ear to ear. Sure, when bad things happen on happy days, we need to take time to mourn, or repair, or gain strength. But then we need to allow ourselves the chance to find joy in silliness again, take comfort in the friendliness and smiles of others, and use those Excuse Days for a bit of an escape from every day normalcy. 

“The more you celebrate your life, the more there is in life to celebrate.”   – Oprah Winfrey

 

 

 

Posted in Entertainment, family, Food, friends, Holidays, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Ritual Familiarity

Posted on March 10, 2016 by Real Women

Check mark

Today I started and ended my day with two very real, normal, female rituals. Both, in their own way, beneficial. While seemingly disparate by comparison, looking back I’m struck by some interesting and unexpected similarities.

As I got dressed this morning in easy to change clothes, I purposefully avoided putting on my deodorant and instead tossed it in my purse for later application. I took some Advil before heading out the door to my appointment. I walked into the Radiology and Imaging office at exactly 8:10, my assigned time, where the receptionist was friendly and efficient. The waiting room is purposefully welcoming and calm, the Today Show playing at a comfortable volume on a big screen on one end, a bubbling tank of colorful fish against the other wall. I had barely sat down to start checking my emails on my phone when I was called in and directed into the small closet. Inside is only a chair, a small mirror, a couple of hooks on the wall, two or three magazines on a side table, and a basket of pink nail files, free for the taking. I dutifully undressed waist up only and slipped on the one-size-fits-all mumu top.

Moments later the friendly strawberry blonde Technician brought me into the imaging room. She was approximately my age, easy to talk to, and had all my information ready to review.   We chatted about the weather, about mutual doctors we knew, and how our mornings were going so far. She efficiently got me into position for my girls to be compressed, two ways each.  I joked with her that there was really no need for her to tell me to hold my breath, as she would steal it anyway. I watched as she quickly and easily did what she needed to do, thankful for her speed and skill, and braced myself for those couple extra turns of the plate to flatten my girls into xray submission.

It was all done quickly, she gave me the usual explanation that the images would be reviewed, and if there were any concerns I’d receive a call; if no concerns, I’d receive the usual form letter. Soon I was back in the closet getting changed, adding my deodorant this time, and headed out the door to go to work. I was bit sore, but glad to have accomplished my annual ritual.

After leaving work and running a quick errand, I walked into the Salon at 6:10, a few minutes late for my assigned time. The environment was hustling and noisy, music playing, customers and staff talking. The décor is a funky black and white, built for style and efficiency with chairs and mirrors and a few hooks on the walls. A few magazines were on the side tables. Nail files with the salon name are available for the taking. I had barely sat down to start checking my emails on my phone when I saw my stylist come around the corner and she directed me to the chair by the sink. She wrapped me in a towel and one-size-fits-all poncho and started in with the most wonderful part of this regular experience, the hair wash and head massage. The Stylist is a friendly strawberry blonde, a bit younger than me, and easy to talk to. As I got settled in for my cut, we chatted about the weather, about mutual people we knew, and how our days had gone so far. She asked me how much I wanted trimmed, then quickly and efficiently did what she needed to do. I was thankful for her speed and skill and watched as her scissors flew, then as she styled and primped. It was all done quickly and I was soon headed out the door to go home. I was a bit tired, but glad to have been able to fit in this much-needed ritual.

I came home, changed into comfy clothes, got a bite to eat and took my vitamins. I felt productive having taken the time today, around a full day of work, to take care of myself in these simple ways. That’s the funny thing about our R.W. rituals. We routinely feel that we don’t have time to fit them in, yet we somehow manage to do so because we know how important they are. Luckily, there are other R.W.’s out there who help us through them. And when we are done, we end up feeling pretty good about ourselves.

 

 

Posted in assisting, beauty, Chores, Health, Helping others, real women, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Carrots, again?

Posted on March 3, 2016 by Real Women
doggie sad face

Boo Boo Sad Carrot Face

Those of us humans who share our homes with dogs, cats, or any other domesticated animal tend to be a unique breed. (Get it? Breed?)  We don’t just “own” pets. We consider them furry family members. We talk to them, we lavish them with attention. We have more photos of them on our smart phones than photos of our own human children. We will do almost anything for them, including take them on special trips, take them to pet spas for grooming, buy them special food and toys, and invest somewhat ridiculous amounts of money on medical procedures when needed. Now, I admit that I could be just a wee bit over the top with my love of dogs in particular, but I think the majority of the pet “owners” I know are just a little bit wacky about their critters too.

So last weekend, when our big, goofy, friendly yellow lab suddenly started acting very lame, lethargic and shaky, we got concerned. Ok, I got nervous. Especially when he started whining. He never whines. I started fearing all the worst possibilities, like he had contracted lime disease, or he ate some poison outside, or he suddenly had nerve damage. We kept a close eye on him, I spent a whole lot of time sitting next to him talking to him and petting him, and we agreed on Monday to get him to the Vet.   Keep in mind, I am the same mom who when my son was young, would hold off on taking him to the doctor for sniffles until it had progressed into full-blown double ear infections. I may never win MOTY (Mother of the Year) Awards, but I bet I’d be a candidate for DMOTY (Doggie Mom of the Year).   See what I mean? We pet people are a little bit off.

On Monday, my hubby (who would begrudgingly admit to being anxious about the dog too) took time off of work to get him into the next available appointment with the Vet. Worried about how he was going to get Mr. Furry into the van if he could barely walk, my husband began to realize that perhaps we were not in crisis mode when the dog got all excited about a ride, and lept into the car with little issue. Hmmm.

Come to find out that thankfully there was nothing serious, and it was determined that he simply had strained or twisted his back leg. He is fairly mature now (just turned 8), and had ACL operations on both rear legs as a puppy (remember what I said about paying for expensive medical procedures?), so it is pretty likely he’s got some arthritis kicking in. And, thinking back, I had taken him for an extensive walk on Saturday.   Ok, so I guess we could have held off on our panic.

However, the Vet did tell us one important tidbit. The most likely factor that led to this injury is the fact that he is overweight. Quite. By about 15 pounds.

Ooops.

Our fault. Completely. How embarrassing.

If he was one of his wolf-dog ancestors, he’d be out running miles a day, hunting for his own food, and staying thin and trim.   But he’s not a wild animal. He relies upon us for both his exercise and his food. And he spends a whole lot of time in lounge-mode, especially now that he’s starting to slow down a bit. Years ago we fell victim to the big brown seal eyes and have always shared some of our people food with him. Well, clearly, we’ve let that get out of hand. Bit by bit, he’s “eaten all of it” and become a tubby. The wake up call that it could actually be dangerous for him was enough for us to mend our ways.

Now his daily meals are slightly smaller, and treats have been cut way back, and generally consist of baby carrots and pieces of apple. I swear he gives me a boo-boo sad face when he’s all excited to observe my meal preparations, and I share a small morsel of something healthy. He still eats it, but the look he gives me is one that says: “Carrots? Again? Really with this?” And the wacky pet owner that I am, I talk back to him, using motherly phrases like “trust me, it’s for your own good.”

His change in diet has gotten me thinking about control. What if we as adults, our pets, had to rely on others for our food and exercise?   What if the decision-making process of what we should eat was made for us, without any choices?   Sounds pretty horrible, I know….but perhaps that is a way to consider letting go of some of our excuses.

I, like many, have put on some winter weight. I like to blame of course winter, because I can’t easily get out on my bike after work when it is cold, dark, and potentially snowy. But in reality, I am a member of a gym, and have a treadmill and elliptical in my basement.   I like to blame the fact that my knees are often sore with arthritis. But I can take some Aleve and do other types of exercises that don’t hurt. I like to blame menopause for my weight gain. Sure, that is likely a contributing factor, but menopause doesn’t force me to make french fries with dinner, go back for seconds, buy a bag of Cadbury mini-eggs, or stress-eat my way through a row of oreos. That’s all me. No one is forcing me to make my decisions. Just like no one is forcing me to eat only carrots and apple slices. But perhaps I should work harder to find a happy middle ground.

After all, I’d hate to wake up tomorrow more lame, more lethargic and more shaky than I already am when that early alarm goes off. I want to be able to fit into my clothes and take nice long walks with my dog.

Because I’m realizing he’s got a few lessons to teach me.

 

 

 

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Mind Map

Posted on February 25, 2016 by Real Women

woman mind flowA couple of weeks ago, the Huffington Post shared an image and brief story about how a man had asked his wife to draw, or write down, everything that was going on in her mind. I find it a little hard to believe a husband would ever ask this, but it made for a good topic. The resulting image was not at all surprising to any of us Real Women – for any of us who saw it, our response was basically “yup, that’s about right.”   Yet it was somewhat amusing and interesting to “see” a sample of a woman’s thoughts at one moment in time, all spilled out onto a sheet of paper.

Just for fun, I decided to do this exercise myself. I gave myself just 10 minutes last night to jot down, or draw, whatever was swirling around in my head at that given moment. This is what it looked like:

mind map

It’s an interesting drill. I recommend you try it and see what ends up landing on your piece of paper. What I discovered is that I started by kind of grouping things in different areas: work, home, my son, friends, vacation, chores, etc….but very soon everything started merging and overlapping – just like it does in our minds. None of us focuses for very long on one thing. We constantly have a barrage of worries, ideas, and reminders running through our thoughts. They never really stop. Sometimes they are in the forefront…. I find that I ruminate on the mass of items when I’m driving home from work, or when I’m in the shower, or maybe when I’m preparing dinner. Other times, when we really do need to focus on something else, like a work project, the various concerns get pushed back a bit and run along steadily in the background like a consistent hum or motor.

About an hour after I created my little treasure, my son happened to notice my messy illustration on my desk, picked it up, and came to me. He said “Mom, what is this? Is this, like, your To-Do list?” I explained it was kind of an experiment to see if I could jot down all the stuff I was thinking about. He looked at me with a mix of concern and confusion, turned around, and set it back down on my desk gingerly as if it carried the flu virus.

Without realizing it, he became part of my experiment. Men don’t think like we do. They excel at focusing on one thing at a time, and get stressed and overwhelmed if pushed to consider several things at once. Plus, they are wired to find solutions and fix things. Short of giving us R.W.’s all lobotomies, there is no way for them to “fix” our brains from being on over-drive all the time.

That leads us to our over-arching concern, as the Super Hero Martyrs that we are: if we don’t worry about all of this stuff, who will? Who’s going to remember to cut a check for my son’s school lunches? Who will take out the chicken to defrost for dinner? How will we ever take a summer vacation if I don’t plan it? Who is going to get the dog out for a walk, and who’s going to notice we are low on Advil and toothpaste and stop at the pharmacy to restock? How will anyone know what we need at the grocery store, or make sure we donate items to the Food Pantry?

Like some kind of mental juggling circus act, we take it upon ourselves to keep everything flying, and not let a ball drop. Not that I’m brave enough to try this, but I’m guessing that if we DID let go of a few things, life would still go on. Sure, we might have to exist for a few days without peanut butter or toilet paper, and the dog would get no exercise, but we’d survive.

After all, this never ending flow of thoughts is exhausting. We rarely, if ever, shut it down. That motor is always whirring away in the background. The reason, I assume, has much to do with the life stages we are in. When we were kids, our brain flow was much simpler – it was all about friends and activities… like inviting my BFF to sleep over, and could I ride my bike into town?   Then, as we progress through High School and College, more gets added in. And when we reach adulthood, especially our “mid-life” years, we are on full load. Marriages, careers, family, children, health concerns, activities, home maintenance – it is all there, and we refuse to let any of it go for fear of something catastrophic happening.

I am willing to bet that if we all could take extended vacations and escapes from reality on a regular basis, our illustrated pages would have more white space, and more images of fruity drinks and flip flops. Similarly, I am hopeful that as we progress through life into our later years, reach retirement age and beyond, that our thoughts will begin to once again simplify and ease up. We are Real Women, and we’ll never stop worrying and over-thinking… but perhaps we can cut ourselves some slack at some point.

In the meantime, I think we need to fully embrace every chance we can get to cut the noise a bit. We can’t all live on a soft warm sand beach staring at the ocean every day with our feet up. So we need to find more realistic escapes. Close ourselves in the bathroom for an uninterrupted bubble bath…. Read a fluff novel…. Meet a friend for some shopping or a movie….or settle in for a favorite TV show. (I’m sure the cast of Downton Abbey have no clue how much they’ve transported me to a calmer environment every Sunday. Gosh, I’ll miss them!).   We all have to do whatever works to dull that constant drone from time to time.

And, when all else fails, and the men in our lives want to know why we are distracted, tired, or just a wee bit cranky, all we need to do is hold up our illustrations. That piece of artwork is terrifying enough to scare them away…. or perhaps spur them into action to do the dishes. And thus the hum lessens.

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Cold Isn’t Sexy

Posted on February 15, 2016 by Real Women

Cold Weather ThermometerYup. Sure is cold.

A funny thing happens when extreme weather conditions occur. We instantly start comparing our discomfort. Those of us in colder climates (which right now appears to be about ¾ of the United States) start taking screen shots and photos of thermometers showing scary negative numbers. We start reporting wind chills and talk about cars that won’t start and numb body parts, and perform crazy scientific experiments like throwing hot water in the air to see it crystalize before our eyes.

Meanwhile, our friends and family in warmer parts of the country, like California and Texas, post photos of beach days and boast how it was 75 degrees out, a perfect day to go trim roses. This then begins an odd reverse-bragging process, where the northerners combat the hearsay of sun and warmth by proclaiming they ventured out for a walk in wind chills of -25 degrees and the inside of their noses froze, or excitedly announce that the day got up to a balmy 7 and they were ready to break out their swimsuits.

Personally, I can’t tell the difference between -2 and -18. Cold is cold. And I’m definitely not a fan.

Yet there are many who truly seem to love the season. For them, there is a joy in seeing their breath, a thrill in the sight of snow, an affinity for keeping cozy and warm while battling the chill. Ah, it sounds so magical and exciting, doesn’t it?   I hate to break it to you, but there’s nothing sexy about winter.

Winter is a time for less daylight, challenging conditions for walking and driving, the threat of frostbite, vast cravings for fattening comfort food, and a loss of style in the face of big bulky clothing.

Oh, sure, we convince ourselves that cold-weather fashion is cute. And it is, if you are a toddler waddling around in a quilted snowsuit. But a full grown woman in multiple layers of shapeless bulk is not so cute. We just look thick. And that sensual snow-bunny look? Sorry guys, that only happens in James Bond movies. As hard as we try, we aren’t going to successfully pull off the snow princess look in our daily lives.

In our minds, we look like this:

snow princess

But in reality, we look like this:

RW cold

It’s hard to feel attractive when we are gaining weight from extra carbs, our skin is pale and we spend our days hiding under coats and blankets. I feel bad for our spouses and partners. Nothing says “I’m so sexy” like fleece slippers, flannel pajama bottoms and a big fluffy sweatshirt. Somewhere, under all of that, is a body that was last seen six months ago, tan and perky, in shorts and cute tops. But now it has gone into hiding…or perhaps hibernation. And its not like there’s any chance of seeing it at bedtime either. We women have mastered the fine art of moving from sweats to under the covers in 5 seconds flat.

Perhaps, in a way, this is all a good thing. These months give us R.W.’s the chance to relax a bit. We can stop sucking in our bellies without worrying that we’ll burst any buttons or seams, because we are wearing elastic. We can sneak yet another handful of dark chocolate m&m’s (just for example) because the side effects won’t be seen for weeks. We can stop painting our toes because no one will see our feet until it is flip-flop season. We can worry less about the fact that our flannel doesn’t match our fuzzy socks, because when we go out in public, it will all be covered up with boots and coats anyway. And for those of us who suffer with hot flashes, nothing feels better than stepping outside for an instant cool-down at any moment.

Best of all, we know this is all temporary. In a few weeks, we’ll see the first signs of spring. We will start to regain our energy, and start to once again care how we look. We will start to shed a couple of layers. Our partners will have renewed hope of seeing more than just our faces. And, like those butterflies who are wrapped up in ugly cocoons, we will eventually emerge and get our sexy back.

In the meantime, we’ll convince ourselves we look pretty in scarves and long sweaters that make us look like colorful penguins, and we can spend our time comparing stories of our bravery in the face of cold adversity. This is the stuff that legends are made of.

Sure, Cinderella had her fancy ball and glass slippers. But we have windburn and Bean Boots.

 

 

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Colorful Indecision

Posted on February 7, 2016 by Real Women

paint swatchesFifteen years ago, when we were house hunting to move up from our starter ranch house, we were lucky to be in the proverbial “right place at the right time” with a new construction home. We had never dreamed that we could be the proud owners of a brand new house, and here we were. We were able to make minor changes to the builder’s plan to suit our needs, and make decisions regarding things like appliances and carpeting.

When it came to the interior paint colors, we simply went with BBB throughout the house. Basic Builder Beige. You know the color, that neutral, safe hue that goes with everything when you first move in, looks clean, and is easy to paint over when you are ready to customize to your own liking.

As the years have gone on, we have painted, and often re-painted, much of the interior. The kitchen was the very first to be painted, a bright sunny yellow – which now, 15 years later, needs to be redone again. That’s the funny part. The illusion is that you don’t need to do a thing to a brand new house. No repairs and updates needed like when buying an old home. It is clear sailing for years to come, right? Wrong. Sure, we don’t have the same issues as a historic home owner faces, but there are still projects that pop up regularly. There are cracks from settling, there are the room changes to meet the needs of a child growing from infant to teen, there are equipment failures, and after many years of being well-loved, there is plenty of wear and tear.

So bit by bit, we are doing what I’d call “refreshing and refluffing” the house. Being on a typical real family budget, I figure we’ll have the house exactly the way we want it 10 years from now, just in time to start all over again. Thus the joys of home ownership.

Deciding on themes and paint colors for each of the rooms really has been a fairly easy, quick process. The dining room went through a couple of changes before landing on its current sage green. The living room, a lovely lavender. My son’s re-done bedroom is a cool-teen-guy-pewter. The guest room is now periwinkle. And, as I’ve mentioned before, the love of my life, my office/writing room, is pink. Each project has been fun to imagine and bring to life.

Until now. There are two areas of the house that still, 15 years later, are adorned with the original BBB color: our master bedroom, and the foyer/hallways. I have had a vision for our bedroom for at least half of the time we’ve lived here…but it always slides to the bottom of the budget priority list for two reasons. First, because my husband and I (and the dog) are really the only ones who see the room regularly, so no rush to update it, as much as we want to. And secondly, once we start on the bedroom, it will require more than just a fresh coat of paint. It needs new carpeting. There is an attached bathroom that will need new paint, and repairs made to a stained ceiling. There are settling cracks that need filling and sanding. And my vision includes extras, like borders or mouldings, and my husband’s vision includes all new furniture. Therefore, bottom of the list.

That leaves the foyer and hallways. Still BBB. And I’m sick of it. I declared to my husband in a bold, determined R.W. way, that this winter we will get it repainted. We decided long ago that unlike some of the other rooms, this project we will not take on ourselves, we will hire a painter. I made up my mind on that after the first terrifying image popped into my head of my husband trying to balance a ladder on the stairs to get the overhead wall space painted. So, we have been saving our pennies, we have a painter in mind, all that’s left is choosing the color. As I said, every other room has taken me about 10 minutes to pick out the new look.

Yet something is different this time. I have just not been able to find the perfect color. I have gone through piles of swatches, and have now purchased three different sample paints to apply to the walls. Each time, I’ve thought “This is it, it will look great!” only to put it up on the wall, and instantly say “nope. Not it.”

Now, every time I walk through my halls, those swatches taunt me. And because I’ve swiped these color stripes on my surfaces, I’ve made that commitment that we must finish this project. My husband the other day paused to look at my veritable rainbow and said “sure glad we don’t have any plans to host guests anytime soon.”

Today, as I added the third “nope, not it” color, I began to get a bit philosophical about why this time I’m so challenged. Perhaps it is because it is such a large area and I’m intimidated. Perhaps it is because they are interior walls with little natural light, and every choice looks worse in reality. Perhaps it feels like a bigger commitment, as I don’t see us re-painting this area again any time soon, so I’m afraid to make a mistake. Perhaps it is because I’m not an interior designer and just plain lack the skills for design.

Or, maybe, it is more akin to something like writer’s block. I’ve been so looking forward to getting these walls updated and refreshed, now that it is go-time, I’m stuck.   Like when I excitedly carve out time to do some writing, but get mired in the “where do I go from here?” quandry for my novel. Or I have a thought for a blog post, but it just doesn’t work.   Maybe, it is like when you’ve been saving for so long to purchase that special dress, the day comes, and when you put it on, you start doubting its appeal.   Or possibly, it is just a matter of hitting tilt. We R.W.’s spend our days making so many decisions, it seems reasonable that at some point we will reach our limit. I remember the same thing happening when we were picking out our appliances for the kitchen, all those years ago. I was standing in an appliance store, and I no longer cared what color or style my stove was going to be. I cook. A lot. I do really care what features my stove and oven have. But that day, I had hit tilt. I looked at my husband and said “I just don’t care. Pick something.”

And so, I may have reached that same place with my hallways. I have one more color swatch I’m going to try. And if it turns out to be a “nope” as well, I’m going to just choose a fresher newer version of BBB and we’ll go with it. I need to get past this block. I need to be able to figure out where I’m going next, get those words down, that paint on the wall, and feel great when its done.

In reality, when it is all done, very few people will ever notice those particular walls. Those hallways are just a part of the whole house.   Just like a written chapter, or a special purchase, or yet another decision, is just a part of our very full lives. Best of all, if something doesn’t come out quite right, we can always re-paint, re-write, re-consider, return, and eventually reach the point of satisfaction.

For now.

 

 

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