Real Women

Remember the word “hobby?”  Most likely, when you were a child, you had hobbies, things you liked to do just for the sheer enjoyment.  And, just as likely, you don’t have much time for those hobbies now.

My advice:  if you aren’t already doing something fun for yourself, find some time.  Even if it is one hobby, one hour a week, when you are “off duty” to the rest of the world.  Come on, I’m sure there is SOMETHING you’d love to do….that YOU get enjoyment out of.   Love photography?  Enjoy quilting?  How about cake decorating?  Dancing?  Be brave, and fess up – it is ok to admit we have something other than our jobs and running our households & families that we like to do.

One of my BFF’s and I get together every Thursday night to scrap for about an hour and a half.  That’s right, we build & create scrapbooks.  I realize many of you have an image in your head of a “scrapper”….and that picture probably isn’t an active career woman.  That’s the beauty of a craft, hobby, or activity that brings you enjoyment on your own private time…you can ignore stereotypes and just have fun.

Now, it helps that this BFF lives right next door to me.  But I’d still drive to her house if I had to.  Our Scrap Nights have now become sacred to us.  We are set up in her basement with our supplies. Children and husbands are not allowed during our scrap time.  Calls are not taken (unless in case of emergency, and even then, begrudgingly).

Will either of us ever win some coveted “Scrap Design Award” for our efforts?  Highly unlikely.  It allows us an avenue to be creative, but neither of us will ever turn “pro.”  Will we ever join other more experienced, more “serious” scrappers at a weekend-long crop?  Not sure.  We talk about it, but are a bit intimidated by the talent of others.  However, we do dream that someday, our children will pour through these books and appreciate that we took the time to document and decorate special days in their lives.

And, more importantly, those Thursday nights are OUR time.  We vent, we de-stress, we have chick-talk, we laugh, we cry.  We hang out in our sweats, because we don’t have to be “on” or look great.   That 90 minutes speeds by every Thursday.  But we always feel better after, and look forward to the next scrap night.

Real Women clean.  And we are good at it.

Sure, there are some of you out there who (lucky ducks) have cleaning services who come to your homes weekly or occasionally.  But I won’t believe you if you tell me you don’t lift a finger on the other days.  Perhaps you are the type who cleans before the cleaning person comes, which I admit I would be if I had a Service come to my home.

What amuses me is that no matter how much any of us may complain about having to clean, we can be very territorial about how it gets done.  Certain parts of the chore can only be done “our” way.  You can’t tell me that if you had someone who was not a properly trained family member load your dishwasher, you’d feel comfortable with how it was done.  You’d have to re-arrange it, wouldn’t you?   Same with folding laundry.  We certainly all have our guidelines…. Yet no matter what it is, or how it gets done, it feels good when it is over.

For me, I consider there to be four levels of cleaning the house.

Level 1: Daily Duty.  The daily grind of doing dishes, clearing off the kitchen table, and if you have small children or pets, picking up errant toys.  This daily duty is partly what prevents us all from being ladies of leisure.

Level 2: Good Enough.  The weekly cleaning of bathrooms, vacuuming, sweeping, etc. This is to rid the house of the worst of the grime so you are no longer disgusted and wouldn’t be completely horrified if someone stopped by unexpectedly.

Level 3: Company’s Coming:  There’s nothing like the expectation of overnight visitors to kick us into high gear and really clean the house.  This is “white tornado” level, usually done at high speed, and bystanders best stay out of the way.  My husband once asked for clarification as to whether we were expecting my family to visit, or if I was instead preparing for the President of the United States.  He was lucky I didn’t suck him up in the vacuum.

Level 4:  Grand Scale:  This is the once or twice a year cleaning, (or maybe quarterly for the over-achievers out there), where you hit every nook and cranny.  Walls and woodwork washed, window treatments taken down and laundered, ceiling fans dusted, closets emptied and re-sorted, and furniture moved so those scary fuzzy creatures that lurk behind them can be slurped up and you find long-lost toys or tv remotes.  This is the level of cleaning that makes you feel like your home has been exorcised of demons and yet you are truly the only one who really notices and appreciates the level of cleanliness when complete.

This weekend I had a goal of completing a Level 4 on my home.  However, often when I set lofty goals like that for myself, I tend to forget the time involved (I spent almost 2 hours just on my kitchen on Saturday morning), and the fact that I do have other things in my life to attend to…. Like laundry, errands, cooking, and family activities.  So I did not reach Level  4 status.   I think I can say that for at least most of the house (with a few exceptions) I hit a solid Level 3. And it feels pretty darn good.  In a few minutes I will actually pick up a magazine, put my feet up and watch some tv (besides, my knees and back hurt.)

So please feel free to stop by.  We can sit and breathe in the clean smell and appreciate the lack of dirt and dust.

But sorry, I won’t be able to offer you any cookies or snacks. I was too busy cleaning to bake.

Anyone who knows me, knows I’m a list maker.  Through and through.  I sometimes wonder if I came out of the womb making a list.  It would have looked something like this:

Day 3:

•  Cry
•  Eat
•  Poo
•  Sleep
•  Repeat

I make lists for virtually every part of my life.  At work, I have a To Do list.  This list has a system, which for any of you who may have trained with the Franklin Covey plans in the old days, may look a bit familiar. An arrow pointing to the item means a priority. A check mark next to it means in progress; an X means partially done, waiting on someone else. And, my favorite part, the cross out signifying completion.  I love that cross-out.  Yes, I caught myself today adding an item that I was about to do, just so I’d have the satisfaction of the cross-out.  My work to-do list often has sub-lists for certain projects, priority items and activities.  Every Friday afternoon at work I re-write and organize my list for Monday.

Home is not safe from the Queen List Maker either. And both my husband and son are used to this.  If I didn’t make lists, I’m sure they would rush me to the hospital for evaluation.  I think this stems from my very practical mother who managed our family of six by our bible, the calendar. We all remember the golden rule “if it’s not on the calendar, it doesn’t exist.”

There is a list/plan on my refrigerator of meals for the next 2 weeks. Subject to change of course, but it allows me to easily plan not only my shopping, but my meal prep every night.  Of course there is the grocery list, written in order of the store.   When planning for trips, either big trips or short road trips, I compile a list for packing and preparation.  Weekends?  Oh, yes, lists of chores to accomplish, calls to make,  errands to be run, and a “honey-do” lists for my dear husband.   Then there is the long-range project list for the house – big things, like paint the foyer, clean out closets, get railings for the front porch, finalize Wills.

Those of you out there who are not list makers are probably shocked and appalled and wonder why any woman would be so anal-retentive to list out her life.  To me, lists make me feel calmer, more organized, give me a sense of productivity and accomplishment – and bottom line, as I get older and life gets busier, they help me avoid forgetting something.

I had the pleasure a few years ago of attending a women’s conference where the keynote speaker was actress Rita Moreno. She was fabulous.  In her presentation, she talked about aging, the importance of keeping your mind sharp, and the value in doing mental exercises as you age.   One exercise she suggested was that when you need to go to the store to pick up a few things, try memorizing what you need to get rather than writing it down.   But don’t try to remember the words, remember the first letter the words start with, which is easier, and will trigger the word.  For example, if you need to buy milk, carrots, tissues and strawberries, remember m, c, t and s – in whatever order makes sense to you.  Then in the store, recall those letters and what they stand for.  In a valiant attempt to put down my pen and paper, I have tried this.  And it does work – to a certain extent.  But for me, I am too distracted by opportunity – for example, I’d get the milk, then think “c…that was for carrots…but it also stands for cookies… we really could use some cookies – oh, and last time I made some cookies, we were almost out of vanilla, so I better get that too….”  So halfway down the aisle I was reaching for my pad to jot down all these extra items, and forgetting all about t and s.

I have come to accept that I am a list fanatic, and embrace it.  Oh, and yes, dear readers, I even carry a list in my purse of future blog posts I want to write.

Hey, guess what?  I get to cross this one off now!

“My license plate says PMS.  Nobody cuts me off.”  – Wendy Liebman

This wouldn’t be a blog about real women without at least one post about PMS.

Besides, I’m the one currently in control of the keyboard, so come on along with me for a hormone hayride.

When I was a young woman, I was lucky enough to not be too adversely affected by pms. Sure, there were cramps, headaches, and overwhelming desires for chocolate in large quantities, but I did not suffer from debilitating issues like migrains and body aches like some of my friends.

However, now that I’m heading down the road towards that big intersection with Menopausal Alley, things are getting a bit…. weird.  Now, for those of you who are younger and are still a ways back on this road, you can use this as helpful information as to what is ahead. And for those of you who have already turned the corner at that intersection, you can sit back with that knowing smirk and say “ah, yes, I remember when.”  And have no fear, I am quite sure there will be future blogs devoted to the joys of “The Change.”

The first challenge of course is that I am never quite sure when “Aunt Flo” will show up on my doorstep. Gone are the days when I could expect her at exactly 10am on a Tuesday morning.  And I know for several of you, she has started to show up unexpectedly more than once a month. That is completely unfair. It is bad enough we have two ugly weeks each month (one for pms, the other for Flo’s visit), but to spread it out even more than that is just plain cruel.  I do believe we mid-life women keep the pantiliner companies in business.   (Don’t even get me started with that lovely new thing that happens everytime I sneeze.)

The other phenomenon is that each month seems to have its own special handicap, or as my BFF and I call it, the month’s “theme.”   Of course, every cycle can include some or all of these issues…but it just seems that one is stronger than the rest.  One theme is just complete and utter exhaustion – more so than the usual, where just getting through a normal day seems to take super-woman strength after which I am completely spent.  Next is one of my favorites, issues with memory loss.  This is the pms theme where I become incapable of completing a sentence, or effectively using any big girl words.

Then there is the Clutz Mode…. I drop things regularly, bump into furniture that hasn’t moved in 20 years, and generally wonder if I’m even safe to be around.  Of course, there is the Cry-at-Anything theme.  Generally an issue for me every month, but sometimes it is so bad I can’t get through a newscast, tv commercial or song without needing tissues.

And I will lump the physical themes all together here… there’s the  Bloat Like a Whale week, the I Must be Going Through Puberty Again days when craters erupt (usually someplace like on the nose or cheek right before an important presentation), the Desperate Need for a Massage bad back days, the Please Don’t Touch Me Everything Hurts moments and let’s not forget the Ewww, My Skin is Grey days.

The truly cruel twist of irony is that for some reason my husband chooses pms week to be the most amourous.  Really with this?   When I feel like an achey, emotional beached whale is when my desire is at its lowest. Must be that he mistakenly reads my swollen boobs as “Go For It”.

The one thing we can take comfort in is that we are not alone in any of this weirdness. There is a certain pleasure in comparing notes on the Theme of the Month with BFF’s.  After all, misery loves company.

I’m going to make the bold assumption that the majority of Real Women out there don’t go out to lunch every day.  As a matter of fact, I’m guessing the majority of you don’t even buy/order-in your lunch every day.  Nor do most of you take more than 8 minutes for an average “lunch break.”

In our never-ending quest to beat the clock and save a few pennies in this crazy economy, a whole lot of us are bringing food to work and eating it at our desks  (or at the counter at home, or as you drive around, whatever your work environment may be).  Some don’t bother eating at all.  I for one can’t do that – even though it could mean I’d lose a few pounds, by 4pm I’d be either nauseous, angry, or asleep. None of which are terrible productive or friendly.

Each morning, I have that annoying task of packing lunches. One for me, one for my son, and on occasion, one for my husband.  I used to do this chore at night before going to bed.  Eventually I reached the point where it was just one more thing I couldn’t stand to do at night.  Hence why my husband now usually loses out, because he gets up and leaves early in the morning.  To say I hate making lunches may be a strong term, but it is frequently accurate.  

My son, a 5^th grader, is still pretty picky.  Trying to be creative with limited variety while remembering school rules against certain foods (no peanut butter for snack due to allergies in the class room) is a challenge at best.  And when it comes to my lunch, I try to eat fairly healthy foods.  Yet making a salad every morning is not only tedius but on some days, just too time consuming.  Then there are the quick “healthy alternative” heat ‘n eat microwavable meals, which I call Cardboard Food, and I doubt there are really any health benefits to eating them.  Sometimes I have dinner leftovers, but that always feels like too much of a meal.  I find sandwiches fairly boring, especially when they’ve been living in the fridge for hours before being consumed.  Then there are the “whatever” days, where I’ll throw in an apple, some yogurt, some pretzels, and call it lunch. And wonder why I’m starving by dinner.  

Is it any wonder that I get all sorts of excited when occassionally I’ll live life on the edge and run to Taco Bell for a crunchwrap?  (Yes, sad but true, I admit it.)

The one truly healthy change I have made during lunch time, thanks to a co-worker’s encouragement, is most days I get out for a power walk, no matter the weather.  Even if I only can spare 20 minutes, I get out for a bit of exercise, fresh air, and to clear my head.  And the amazing thing is that when I come back, I’m more productive and focused than if I’d let myself stay chained to my desk.

One of my BFF’s and I talk about how someday, when either we’ve won the lottery, or we finally get to retire, we will then be able to be “ladies who lunch.”  We’ll meet for a lovely little meal at a real restaurant, whenever we want to, with no rushing, no deadlines, no home-packed bags.  But until then, it is “LFH” (Lunch From Home), desk-side.   Now if you’ll excuse me, I better go rinse my dishes. 

“You better live every day like it is your last day, ‘cause one day you’re gonna be right.”  — Ray Charles

Today’s topic will at first seem rather morose, but if you’ll bear with me, you’ll see where I’m going with it.

This weekend while visiting my dad, I went to pay my respects at the cemetery where my mom is laid to rest.  Mom was a true environmentalist before it was cool to be “green”.   She chose to be buried in a beautiful small wooded cemetery on a hill with a beautiful view, in the same town where she and Dad had built their retirement house.  Ever practical, she requested a flat stone so “they can just mow right over me.”

The unfortunate part is now that cemetery is half an hour from my Dad’s current home, and it is a minimum of 4+ hours from any of us kids.  Dad doesn’t get around as easily as he used to, so her plot isn’t visited regularly and it needed some tending.  However, it was really nice to see that the daffodils we planted years ago by her stone have naturalized, multiplied, and are blooming and beautiful.

My visit happened to coincide with the fact that my husband and I are currently in the process of updating/finalizing our Wills. And as part of that, I would really like to include our wishes as to where/how we’d like to be laid to rest. (Which of course we hope is 40+ years down the road).  I’d rather not have to force my son into making that kind of decision on his own when the time comes.  One problem. ..neither of us have any idea what our wishes are on that topic!  I was hoping some divine intervention would strike while I was visiting mom.  But nope, of all the signs she sends me, this time she is apparently leaving the decision up to me.

I got to thinking how for our parents, our grandparents, and the generations before them, there were usually “family plots” in a home town.  Several generations of family would be buried in close proximity to each other, and space would be planned for future family members to join in.  While at the cemetery this morning, Eric roamed around reading other stones, and several older ones indicated several family members buried together.  From a geneological and historical standpoint this is pretty handy.  It is also nice as it gives future generations a place to go to pay their respects, and to feel close to those who have passed.  But in today’s world, we have all gotten very spread out. Not all family members live in the same town, let alone the same state anymore. As for my family, if I put an “x” on the map as to where each sibling, aunt, uncle and cousin lived, I’d pretty much cover the United States.   I grew up in Central New York – but no longer feel an overwhelming bond to the area, nor do I have any relatives currently buried in my home town.  I do feel like New England is my home now.  But if I choose to be buried in my current “home town”, will I end up like mom, several hours away from my son or any other family members?

I have considered of course being cremated and having my ashes tossed poetically in the ocean or along a beach.  But then I wonder if that “robs” my son and his future children of having a “place to go” to remember me.   It has really left me in a quandry.  My husband has partially-joked that he’d like to have his ashes put in a small container to hang from the rear-view mirror of his ’68 Charger so he can still go cruising with our son.  I think in a way he may be on to something.  Perhaps instead of being put into an urn, I’ll either be included in the soil around a pot of daisies, or be encapsulated in a really fabulous, stylish high-heel shoe.  That way, while my son is trying to figure out where to put me,  I’ll be pretty to look at.

Some people socially smoke.  This has never been the case for me, as I’ve always been an avid anti-smoker.

Some people socially drink.  Sure, I enjoy a few drinks with friends, but gone are my college days of drinking to the point of incoherence.

However….social eating?  Yup, I’m all over that.  As a general rule, my day-to-day dietary intake is pretty healthy and under control.  But put me in a social environment with friends or family, and it is like I become hypnotized.  Everything tastes better, is more fun to eat, and my willpower flies out the window.  Sure, I know all the suggested tips and tricks… have a healthy snack first so you feel full before the other food comes out; drink water first; exercise portion control; stop eating after 7pm; brush your teeth…. Those are all nifty ideas. Too bad I completely ignore them in these situations. Especially if I have not had to prepare the food – it magically tastes even more delicious when prepared by someone else, and I can’t stop.

Today while away from home visiting family, I started out well with a light healthy breakfast and a decent lunch.  But by late afternoon, all h-ll broke loose.  Appetizers started around 5pm….followed by dinner….then dessert.  And now, as I type, I am literally in pain and wishing I had packed tums and feel the need to go bike 20 miles.  But instead I’m snuggled into a hotel bed while the calories ravage my body.   And, true to any good food splurge, I am promising myself that I won’t eat anything for a long time…..well, until we all meet up again tomorrow for brunch.

One of my BFF’s daughters turned 16 today.

Sixteen.  How is that possible already?  I told her that I remember so clearly meeting her for the first time at a new job, and she was pregnant with that same baby girl.   She confessed to me that her daughter held up her old Brownie’s sash last night, and my BFF started sobbing.  Our children don’t understand when we have meltdowns like that, but it is just gonna happen, we can’t help it.

It is hard not to look at any of our quickly growing kids and immediately remember them as those adorable little toddlers, clinging to your hand, climbing in to your lap… when you were their world.  I tell my son that it will be so hard for me when he no longer wants to spend time with me.  He sweetly says “don’t worry, mom, I’ll always love you. And I’ll always give you hugs – just not in front of my friends.”

My stepsons are both now in their late-20’s.  My nephews are all teenagers. Most of my friends, including me, have children ranging in age from 10 – 20.   What hits me the hardest is that our kids are now at the ages that I most easily remember BEING myself – and it doesn’t feel that long ago!  I remember my teen years so clearly, my college years crisply (well, mostly!), as if it really wasn’t that long ago…. And now our kids are that age, experiencing all those things we experienced?!?!  WHAT?!?

Of course, I cling to the belief that we have not aged as fast as they have.  We still look young, hip, and cool.  (Yes, I do realize I have aged myself simply by using words like hip and cool).  A few things have changed of course, like our taste in music, our clothing styles, our sleep habits, our hot flashes, and the fact that now instead of checking out cute young men, we are checking out their hot fathers.  Even though I complain about the visible and physical effects of aging on my body, inside I really don’t feel that much older.  Except for the fact that I am calmer, much more at peace with who I am, clearer about what is important in life, and much more confident.

There is that great phrase “youth is wasted on the young”.  Yes, in so many ways, that feels true.  And yet, you couldn’t pay me to go back to that teen angst, the internal/emotional struggles of “coming of age.”

Nope, I’d only want to go back to being young knowing what I know now, with the confidence I have at this point in my life.   So, to all of us Real Women out there with kids who are growing up MUCH too fast…. Let’s hug those teenagers and tell them to enjoy their youth while they have it, squeeze all they can out of life….and reassure them that guess what, it really does get better.

I got my son off to school, went and worked a 9-hour day (oh, wait, 8.5, I ran to the bank at lunch time), went for a workout right after work, then picked up a pizza for dinner. (Yes, I recognize the irony of working out then eating pizza… however tonight I have a lot to do and it was the quicker and easier option.)  As we are sitting down to eat, I see the mail has brought me two of my magazines — one of my favorite cooking publications, and a “health”-related publication.  On the cover of the magazine is of course a flawlessly beautiful young blonde.  Even my husband, who is wonderfully supportive of my blog said, “and look, another magazine with a perfect fake woman on it.”  The headline next to her photo, with an arrow pointing to her abdomen, encouraged readers to find out her tricks for getting a perfectly flat belly.

So as I ate my unhealthy pizza, I flip to the feature article.  Sure enough, this woman is a “model turned actress.”  She is 25.  She is exhausted by her two careers.  She is married to a tennis pro.  The inside spread photo HAD to be altered, because I’ve never seen a real live human who’s ass is smaller than her waist.  And some of her helpful tips about how she stays fit on the road included such things as hiring a pilates instructor for a private lesson with friends, and hiking with fellow cast mates while on location in…. HAWAII.

I ask you, how are ANY of us supposed to identify with this?  What is the point to the article?   There is no chance that I, or really any of the REAL women I know, could have the lifestyle, age, and body shape this woman has.  Are we supposed to pull out small nuggets of helpful information that we can apply to our lives?  Ok, so like I didn’t already know that I should eat vegetables and stay active, and have a positive outlook on life?

I’d love to stay online and keep chatting about how fabulous this young woman is, and how she should be our idol and mentor.  But I’ve got bills to pay, laundry to do, school work to review…..and, oh yes, I need to go cancel a certain magazine subscription.

“Mirrors lie. You are much better looking than that in 3-D.” — Merrill Markoe

I stated in my very first post, and have referenced again since, that I truly believe that Real Women have a very real beauty.  We don’t need to be photo-shopped, airbrushed or enhanced.  We are who we are.

That said…. We all have certain “tricks” we do to feel good about ourselves.  And I don’t think that is a bad thing – I wouldn’t even necessarily call it vanity.   If we can take small steps to boost our egos and help ourselves feel confident and beautiful, then why not?  Now, I’m not talking here about what I consider more drastic “tricks” like plastic surgery.  I tend to think we should all just work with what God gave us.  More power to you if you have gone down the road of collagen injections or liposuction or nose jobs.  That’s just not for me.

What I’m talking about are the daily little things we do.  Most of these “tricks” we do in private, our own little secrets.  Well, guess what, I’m going to fess up to a couple here.  Because when I stop and think about them with an objective eye, they make me laugh.  And maybe a few of you will be brave enough to share your tricks too!

1. When I weigh myself (which is not often) I only do it in the morning. Because the number is always a bit lower than if I wait until the end of the day.
2. I don’t mind seeing myself naked in the mirror – as long as the light is dim, or I don’t have my contacts in – it all looks much better a bit fuzzy. And guess what?  I suck my stomach in.  I’m the only one looking, and I STILL suck it in!!
3. I use self-tanning lotion on my legs.  Not just because I like the look of a hint of tan, but because I believe it tones down the spider veins I hate with a passion.
4. I get my hair highlighted.  I have highlighted my hair for so many years, I’m really not sure how dark it would be if I let it go completely natural.  I was born a blond, and I’ve wanted to stay that way.
5. I wear at least some makeup virtually every day.  Since I have a pale complexion, if I go without makeup,  I can guarantee that someone will ask me if I’m exhausted or sick.  I have a couple of BFF’s who wear little to no makeup and I’m jealous of how good they look without it. (You know who you are).  But for me, a little concealer, blush and mascara is never far away. Just ask my girlfriend who caught me wearing it during a camping trip.

Photoshop? Nope.  But a couple tricks of the trade?  You betcha.