DO NOT GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOOD NIGHT

I don't say this for reasons that D.T. did; because a loved one is sick or is dying.
My reasons are far less serious.
Nevertheless, coming home today from a visit with my OB-GYN, his words came to mind.
It seems, at 46, my body is signaling me to prepare for the big "M". It comes as no great surprise but hearing it from my doctor gave it gravitas.

Menopause? Really? But I've only just begun to live! Corny, I know, but it's how I feel. I was a late bloomer after a youth pockmarked with depression and a full blown case of PPD following the birth of my son, I have finally come into my own. In my 40's, I'm enjoying life rather than enduring it. I no longer question the roads not taken or wonder about the "what ifs". I'm happy with who and where I am. I'm ready to rock.

But menopause scares me. I fear it will bring with it the dreaded demons of my past and darken the halls that have only recently opened up to the light. My time in the sun has been brief, too brief, but long enough to feel it's warmth and appreciate the difference. I can only hope that when the demons knock, I will no longer find comfort in their company. I want to rage, rage, rage against the dying of the light. I hope that I'm able. I hope that I can laugh and dance and spin my way into the long good night.

MAMA HAD A BABY AND HER HEAD POPPED OFF

Remember that tune we used to sing before making a wish and blowing the heck out of the wispy remains of a dandelion? Little did I know then how true was that childhood ditty. That later in life, when I dropped 8 lbs of baby out of my virtually virtuous vag, my brains were going to fall out behind it. I think it's the doctors' dirty little secret. During our moments of exhausted bliss, they overtly trash the placenta and quickly stash the brains selling them later on the black market.

Brains of a 29 year old Ivy League educated mom, former Wall Street banker: $50k.
Brains of a 35 year old college educated, vp of large publishing corporation: $35k.
Brains of high-school dropout, crack addict: $$$??? Maybe not, but you get the idea.

If the doctors told us about this unfortunate side effect of having a baby, they'd have no business birthin' babies, and god knows with the state of health insurance as it is, they need something on the side to make ends meet.

I remember when I was in my late 20's, on my way to a promising television career, I worked with another woman about ten years older and ten years ahead of me on the corporate teeter-totter ladder. Despite the fact that I liked this woman very much, I couldn't help privately judging how often she was late for morning meetings, how often she was battling a cold, and how often she was missing something, whether it be her notes, a pen, or her coffee. Her reliable, young assistant ran in with consistency and efficiency to save the day. This woman shared stories with me about her days before she had kids, when she was a crackerjack executive. How almost overnight she became the woman who drove off from the local Starbucks with her steaming coffee cup, or her wallet, still on the roof of her car. How some days she'd manage to get the baby safe and sound in it's car seat but would drive off with the trunk open and the stroller left behind in the parking lot. I laughed with her but my mind was full of pity. Surely, her fate was not my own.

I prided myself on my organizational perfection. What I feared I was lacking in creativity, I made up for with efficiency and intelligence. I was always well-studied, well-stocked, and on time. Having a baby would not change that.

Cut to over a decade later, this past Saturday, as I'm rushing to deliver bagels to the open house for my daughter's middle school. I've already spent the last ten minutes on the freeway checking my trip computer and biting my lips as I wonder if I'll make it to school before my gas tank hits empty. 5 gallons, 4, 3, 2.... Thankfully, the parking gods find me a spot because I'm not sure I have enough gas to go around the block again. I carry the big "nosh box" of bagels and accouterments into the school. I set it up next to the assorted Krispy Kremes and banana breads and head to the office to fill out a form. As I'm leaving, I reach into my purse for my car keys and, you guessed it, empty. No matter how many times I check that same pocket, where they should be, where they always are, nothing. I check the counter where I had been standing. The refreshment table where I lay the bagels. I look up, I look down, I look all around. I return to the street and look through my car window to the ignition. I even step to the driver's side and look on the ground near the tire (having once lost my diamond necklace and finding it an hour later in that very spot). No luck, but I did almost get sideswiped by a city bus! I walk back to the school and by this point people are staring at me. I imagine they, the frequent volunteer moms, are thinking, "Who is this bitch? She drops off a few bagels and thinks she owns the place!" I sheepishly make my rounds again, even patting the top of my head and inside my blouse, as if I were looking for the sunglasses that were there all the time. I go inside the school for the third time, hopelessly checking the same places I'd checked before, and suddenly an office worker familiar with my comings and goings says,

"They're right behind you!"

I spin around like a dog after it's own tail but see nothing.

"Right behind you," she repeats. "In your pants."

And just like that, with my palm resting on my keys, I suddenly remember how I earlier wedged them inside the waistband of my sweats. I make some self-deprecating, mildly funny attempt to save face and take off.

So yeah, now I understand that working mom and I pity us both.

Mama had a baby and her head popped off. Poof!!

LIVING UP TO MY NAME

It's Friday.
Fun Fact Friday as I so creatively appointed it last week.
Well, here's a fun fact... I'm drunk.
It's 4pm in the afternoon, my kids are watching tv downstairs, the dishwasher repair man just left after 20 minutes work with $300 of our hard earned $$$, and I'm at my computer... D.R.U.N.K.

Not, if I stand up now I'll fall down, drunk. More like, having trouble getting my ass downstairs to make dinner and fingers slipping off the keys drunk.

It 's all been accumulating since last weekend. If you've been reading my blog (my Feedburner feed's not working so I have no idea whose even reading my damn blog!!), you know I've had a week of computer hell, sick child hell, and post-sickness child-in-regression hell. I've been accosted 14/7 with ear-splitting shrieks, whines, and full-out screams. I 've been a hair's distance away from self-igniting.

No amount of exercise or hot baths are helping. Even going to my usual supermarket today, the one I know like the inside of my own kitchen, the one that in that strange only mommies can understand way, sometimes gives me peace, only contributed to my frustration. I must have tranversed the market at least 6 times having forgotten this and forgotten that. Arghhhh!

So here I sit, with my glass of merlot (okay it's syrah - shhhh, don't tell anyone), reading blogs and worrying about pondering what to write. But I think I've pondered too long because my glass is near empty and so, too, is my brain. But I need to write. I need to write more than I need to mother, more than I need to run my new business, more than I need to be a wife. It's true. And feeling as if I'm giving that part of myself the short-shrift is most probably the root of my condition.

But, before I bore you with more blather...I'm going to share with you (it's Fun Fact Friday!!!) something funny a friend sent to me.

"When all creative coffers are kaput, when all you can manage is to cut and paste," I say,"steal from the tried and true, the genius." So without further ado...

"Next Life" by Woody Allen

In my next life I want to live my life backwards. You start out dead and get that out of the way. Then you wake up in an old people's home feeling better every day. You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect your pension, and then when you start work, you get a gold watch and a party on your first day. You work for 40 years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement. You party, drink alcohol, and are generally promiscuous, then you are ready for high school. You then go to primary school, you become a kid, you play. You have no responsibilities, you become a baby until you are born. And then you spend your last 9 months floating in luxurious spa like conditions with central heating and room service on tap, larger quarters every day and then Voila! You finish off as an orgasm! I rest my case.


I'm going to set myself or my house on fire now....have a nice weekend.

OUT OF THE MOUTHS OF BABES

Volunteering in my son's 2nd grade classroom today, I was helping a small group with an art project when the conversation turned to politics.

Boy1: "Clinton is ahead but I like Obama."
Girl 1: "Yeah, I really like Obama. But my mom likes Clinton cause she's a woman."
Boy 2: "Me, too. I like Obama. He likes change and we need a change."

Granted it was 8:30am and I hadn't had my tea but I had to shake myself awake to confirm that I was sitting with a bunch of 7 and 8 year olds. I was so pleased that these kids were aware and interested enough to have political opinions. I knew they were likely repeating what they'd heard at their dinner tables and that made the following statements that much more disturbing.

Girl 2: "Obama could never be the President."
Boy 1: "Why not?"
Girl 2: "Because if he was President, he would live in the White House and black people can't live in the White House."
Boy 1: "Why not?"
Girl 2: "Because then they would invite black people over for dinner and that's not allowed."

I told the girl and the group that that simply wasn't true. I further explained that anyone, no matter what color, who was worthy of being elected our President, could live in the White House and invite to dinner anyone they pleased. Anyone.

Change, you can't come fast enough...

DON'T HATE ME CAUSE I'M BEAUTIFUL

i've been held captive since friday
first by my computer
then by my son

my computer is well...i say cautiously
my son is not...well enough to go to school but well enough to think me his slave and drive me crazy

i beg my husband for a break
a small walk in the fresh air to blow out the mental dust

a few steps with my dog and I feel a change
a lighter sense
an energy flow
and I see this

and I realize
life is good


life is beautiful

and later
at the dermatologist's office
while waiting for the injections
that calm the inflamed mounds
that make me look like a teenager
and not in a good way
i look out and see this

and all is right with the world

at least for a little while

5 MINUTES, MY ASS: THE INTERMINABLE INSTALLATION

I love my MAC. I'm a devoted MAC user, never to switch back to PC. But when they, and everyone else, told me it would take 5 minutes to set up my new, gorgeous, hyper-speed IMac, even I didn't believe it. And you know what???? I was right.

"You just have to plug it in, enter a little info, and you're all set," said my husband who recently bought himself a MacBook.

"I hear it takes only five minutes to set up," said my sister who was eagerly awaiting her very own recently ordered IMac."

Our desktop is just over four years old and in computer years that's about 100. I suspect it had Alzheimer's. The once johnny-on-the-spot keyboard now clean forgot it was supposed to transmit the letters I typed to the screen. The formerly nimble scroll bar was now unresponsive and would, without warning, suddenly go screwy, driving the screen up and down at warp speed.

But this senile old coot possessed ALL our personal information, scripts and stories I'd written, pictures, everything. I knew transferring that to a young turk was going to be no walk in the park. No matter what anyone said. But I gave it the ol' college try. I even ran a firewire between the two computers to transfer everything over instantaneously two hours later. It did move everything over but nothing to the right place. Brand new applications remained childless, their orphaned folders floating aimlessly in search of home. Our wireless airport suddenly thought me a stranger and locked me out. Our trusty printer was no longer compatible with the new software.

So, 5 minutes 3 DAYS LATER!!! everything seems to be working but I've lost my entire weekend and my Monday. On Friday eve I was full of optimism and plans. I was going to chill out with family and friends and get ahead of the game on my new endeavors (one being this blog). Instead, I spent 13 hours on the phone with Apple Care. I kid you not, 13 hours over 3 days. One Apple rep even told me he was writing a letter to his boss to explain why he helped only one customer on Sunday.

I tell you this LOOOONG story, not to bore you silly as I was this weekend, not to steer you away from MACs (because I still love them), but to tell you that I'm soooooo sick of sitting at this damn computer that I'm getting the hell away from it right now! Until tomorrow...

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY

It was my one month blogging anniversary on the 30th and I let it slip by unnoticed. I was never the mother who wrote down her babies' first words, first steps, first anything. I don't keep fancy scrapbooks with decorative doo-dads and cute captions. But as I get older, I mourn not marking the milestones. My overloaded brain has taken on the practice of spitting out old information to make room for the new. It does not discern between the memorable and the disposable. It's a mental crap shoot. So these days, I'm paying more attention to life's markers, big or small. What else are we here for if not to celebrate? Life's hard work. Without the joys - WTF??? I'm patting myself on the back today and coming up with ideas to keep myself motivated improve my blog. Suggestions are welcome.

Here's my first: Fun Fact Friday
I will share with you an informational (hopefully useful) tidbit. It might be a random factoid, a tip on a good product or service, a recipe, or even a nugget of spiritual enlightenment. A chewy, non-caloric bite to take with you through your weekend. I hope that you will share with me and other readers interesting little crumbs of your own.

I'll go first:
I have finally switched most of my beauty products to clean, non-cancer causing formulations. Between the lead in lipsticks and the parabens in just about everything, my daily routines had become tainted with anxiety. Was my rich, creamy moisturizer streaming deadly carcinogens into my bloodstream? I was told about SkinDeep and it changed everything. It's a database where you type in your exact make-up and it tells you how clean or toxic the product is, on a scale of 0-10. The studies about methyl, ethyl (and all other) parabens are not conclusive as of yet (my dermatologist confirms this). But other studies have found parabens in cancerous breast tissue so I'm not taking any chances. Through this website, I found my current choice of make-up, Larenim. It is a mineral makeup sold at Whole Foods and is reasonably priced. I really like it. As far as my body lotion, I use Avalon Organics; Earth Science for make-up remover and toner; Sanitas for face cream and a great sun-block. These are all sold at reasonable prices at Whole Foods or Pharmaca Pharmacies. Other inexpensive, clean brands like J.A.S.O.N. can be found at CVS and the like. Make sure to bring your reading glasses and read the labels before you buy!

Have a great weekend.