I Threw My Bottle of Metamucil at Her

I realize at age 40, I am an older Mom. I accept that. I'm okay with it.

But when I am mistaken YET AGAIN for my daughter's Grandmother, well, a girl gets a little self-conscious.

I wasn't even terribly offended when the nice woman at the playground who obviously WAS there with her two granddaughters asked me if Meredith was my Granddaughter.

It was the way she emitted a surprised "OH!" when I said, "No she's my daughter."

Really? Is it REALLY that shocking?

Time to dye the no-longer-prematurely gray hair.

Random Rambling

I'm hot. And not in the Cindy Crawford, Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue, Playboy Bunny sort of way.

To quote the Wicked Witch of the West, "I'M MEEEEELLLLLLLTING! I'M MEEEEEELLLLLLTIIIIIIINNGGGG!

The good news is I'm obviously compensating for the 30 pounds of lost sweat with plenty of food and drink because I've not lost one single ounce in the past two weeks. This is some sort of twisted Murphy's Law of diets.

"When one purchases an expensive dress in a slightly smaller size for an upcoming event, one can be certain they will either maintain or gain weight."

Murphy needs to kiss my ass. I'm tired of him sitting on my roof all the time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As I mentioned, it's hot. Unseasonably hot. We've reached the high 80's for the past 4 days. This is unusual for April in Pittsburgh, but certainly not unheard of. But Pittsburghers, even ones like me that have lived here all their life, have a limitless capacity for complaining about the heat, the cold, the snow, the sun, the rain, the clouds, the wind, and every other normal climate change that occurs with frequency and regularity in this region.

We also seem to have a need to comment on and discuss said weather ad nauseum.

Obviously.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

One of my favorite stupid weather comments (I promise after I write this I'm done telling you about weather - assuming I haven't bored you into a coma by then) occurred in 2001. We had a Spring very similar to this one (which of course every Pittsburgher has forgotten about since we also have a limitless capacity for weather amnesia and marvel at the weird weather every year). The reason I remember this particular Spring is because I was pregnant with my first child and pregnancy has a tendency to make me......shall we say, "temperamental" when the mercury rises?

I had just lumbered up the stairs to my office, dragging all 500 pounds of bloated baby belly with me, looking as if I had just left the shower when in fact it was just the sweat that had sprung from my pores the very second I left the serenity of my air-conditioned car. I was greeted by a cheerfully chipper, dry and smiling co-worker, weighing in at approximately 98 pounds, commenting on the heat wave.

Then she said to me with a completely straight face, "You're lucky you won't have to be pregnant through the summer when it's hot."

HELLO? It's hot now, and I AM STILL PREGNANT.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sabrina makes her First Holy Communion this Sunday. We purchased the requisite sparkly white dress, but on the night we tried on 500 different dresses I was too tired to go through yet another 2 hours of choosing an appropriate veil with Her Royal Pickiness. So I, ahem, "suggested" we come back another time to choose one.

Except I waited until yesterday and the stores have cleared away all their First Holy Communion Merchandise, no doubt so they can get a jump on putting out all the Winter Coats.

When I "suggested" we go with a simple white head band or a sparkly barrette, Sabrina calmly and politely informed me that this would ruin her life forever and cause her to be the laughingstock of the class, and spend several expensive years in therapy. Or something along those lines. It was hard to understand through the weeping and melting to the floor.

Did you know that for more than the cost of the actual veil you can have one overnighted right to your door?

Now you know. I'm nothing if not helpful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As soon as it cools off, I'll wring the sweat out of my brain and resume writing about something that is hopefully interesting and entertaining. Otherwise,

HOT ENOUGH FOR YA?

Who Is This "Perry" Guy Anyway?

I've tried to find him in the White Pages. He's not listed in any Directory Assistance.

So why does this Perry Menopause dude keep bothering me?

Up until recently I had never even heard of perimenopause. Everyone's heard of the "Change of Life." "The CHANGE." "Men-o-pause." But this "perimenopause" seems like the cruel joke before you get to the punch line. Nobody told me the fun started approximately 10 years before actual cessation of menstruation.

At 39 I thought I had a long way to go before I worried about this stuff. But it turns out that menopause is a process. A loooooooong process. And all the fun side effects of menopause that people typically think of, such as hot flashes, night sweats, loss of, um, lubrication - all start during perimenopause.

One of the first symptoms I experienced was yet another symptom I'd never heard of. Apparently in preparation for menopause, your ovaries will start firing off like an AK-47. I can almost hear the little chants of "LEFT. LEFT. LEFT-RIGHT-LEFT," coming from my nether regions. I can only imagine this is like a general housecleaning before they close up shop for good.

What this translates to is that I get a period roughly every 20 days now instead of the traditional 28. Which also translates to two periods a month.

Do we not put up with enough shit what with the whole boobs feeling like they will spontaneously explode while they "bud"? What about the cramps and the headaches once a month that make you feel like someone stuck their fist in your uterus and twisted? And that's just puberty.

Then you move on to childbirth and, well, let's just say every time my husband told me his vasectomy actually did hurt, I informed him that after he produces a watermelon size object either from his butt or his vasectomy incision, then we'll chat about "hurt". At least I can honestly say the pain of pregnancy and childbirth is worth it because it actually produces a baby.

But all this other female crap? What does it produce other than mess and sweaty sheets that have nothing to do with an orgasm?

Boys on the other hand! When they reach puberty just have to put up with a little voice cracking and hair in new places. Which actually makes them MORE interesting to the opposite sex. We in turn have to SHAVE OFF all that new hair we get. And we all know that their contribution to childbirth involves 15 minutes of actual FUN (well, if we're being honest, it's probably closer to 5 minutes around here).

So much for equality of the sexes.

Another side effect of perimenopause is obviously a desire to bitch and moan about it.

In The Name Of The Father, And The Son, And The Holy Spirit, Amen

Was I the only one annoyed by the incessant standing ovations at President Obama's address to Congress?

I mean seriously. These people were up and down more often than a bunch of Catholics at Mass. Any minute I was expecting Nancy Pelosi to kneel down and worship.

That or pull out her pom poms.

Don't mind me. I get crabby when they pre-empt The Mentalist.

An Open Letter to Mother Nature

Dearest Mother Nature (Can I call you Mom?),

I realize this is the time of year when you have the most fun. It must be amusing to watch us mere mortals desperately attempt to predict your next move, and then completely change your course of action.

Today was an excellent case in point. We had a Very Important Doctor's Appointment today. You see, the boy has asthma and allergies. He has a wonderful doctor who attends to these things. But because he is such a wonderful doctor and pretty much the head of everything that has anything to do with asthma and allergies in Pittsburgh, and has degrees in such things coming out the wazoo (that is medical terminology coming straight from Harvard School of Medicine, I swear. I looked it up), it takes approximately three years to get an appointment to see the man. Really. We put Jamie on the waiting list before he was born. Just in case.

The weatherman, who obviously hasn't been calling you often enough like a good son should, assured me that you would be sending us less than an inch of snow today. Just in case your ruler was broken, here is a handy visual for you of what less than 1 inch of snow DOESN'T look like:That, by the way, is my van sitting exactly where I had to leave it in NOT less than 1 inch of snow after we attempted to visit the Very Important Doctor who was completely understanding of my need to cancel today's appointment and was kind enough to reschedule me for next year.

May I also point out that toddlers, after being cooped up in the house for over a week, are NOT amused by aborted missions out of the house. Again, I provide you with a helpful visual.
That amount of snot indicates a serious level of displeasure. Being a Mom and all, I'm sure you can understand that an irritable disposition in a toddler can make for a less than enjoyable day for anyone within a 5 mile radius.

By the way, I completely realize you are not responsible for this development, but just wanted to let you know that my television stopped working this morning, so your timing really sucks.

Love,
Irishembi

And......There Goes The Last Of My Christmas Cheer

I know my last few posts have been rather "cranky" in tone.

I'm not done yet.

Yesterday I was running errands in the pouring rain. December rain is the most depressing, soul-flattening rain ever experienced. I had just gone to the specialty pet store to try out a new food for the panty-muncher who seems to think that pooing on the carpet is now welcome behavior, when I spied a Starbucks nearby.

I like coffee and have even described myself as something of a coffee snob. I am particular about my coffee, but simplistic in my expectations. It has to be good, it has to be strong, and it has to be hot. You'd be surprised how hard it is to obtain the last expectation ever since the Darwin Award runner-up won millions of dollars from a fast food chain because she spilled it on her crotch and was shocked to find that it was actually HOT, like it says RIGHT THERE ON THE CUP!

But Starbucks takes coffee snob to a whole different level.

I walked in and eyed the menu board to see what was on tap so to speak. It said right there to "ask what we're brewing today!"

So I approached the 19 year old "barista" behind the counter and asked exactly that. To be precise I said "What hot coffee do you have available?"

She said "Do you mean hot coffee?"

Is there an echo in here?

When I assured her that by asking for hot coffee I did indeed mean hot coffee, she stated that they had Pike Place coffee and Christmas Blend. I'm familiar with Pike Place coffee as this is the coffee they always have available and I usually purchase, but was intrigued by the Christmas Blend. So I used my own personal barometer question by which I judge most coffee, "Is it a strong coffee blend?" She answered in the affirmative, so I asked if it was stronger than the Pike Place coffee.

"Um, it's a bold blend with spicy notes."

Well I'm relieved to hear that it's assertive enough to ask me out on a date and will probably wear a sexy outfit.

"But is it stronger than the Pike Place coffee?"

"Um, it might be."

Very helpful. I'll take the Pike Place as I'm not feeling adventurous today.

"OK, give me a medium cup of the Pike Place."

You almost heard the hush blow through the place and a slight gasp from the trendy couple browsing the Internet on their matching laptops at the nearby uncomfortable but oh-so-urbane bistro style postage stamp size cafe table.

"Um, did you mean a Grande?"

I, assuming in my unenlightened mind that Grande meant "large" because that is actually what GRANDE translates to, said, "No I mean a medium." And considering Starbucks has it's origins in Seattle, Washington, which last time I checked was in the continental United States and didn't in fact have any connection to Italy, I couldn't understand why the sizes were listed partially in Italian anyway.

The trendy couple shook their heads in disgust at my uncouth, and the 19 year old gave me a pitying glance as she plucked a Grande cup from the pile of paper cups and attempted to educate me. At which time I discovered that Venti is large - even though it actually translates to "twenty", Grande is medium, never mind that it actually means large, and Tall, in a remarkable stroke of contradictory genius, is a small.

Give me my damn coffee and let me slink out into the rain with the other unwashed masses.

Auditory Incontinence

This weekend I sat next to another Mom while our daughters played together at a birthday party. She's a stay-at-home-mom just like me. She is also one of Sabrina's Girl Scout Troop Leaders, coaches softball and basketball, active in the school's PTA, volunteers for several other school related functions, as well as our church. She made me tired just talking to her. Did I mention she has 4 kids? She's one of those Moms that you just want to hate, but she's so unbelievably sweet and kind on top of it all, you can't help but like her despite the fact that she'll volunteer for almost anything.

I, on the other hand, will never inspire that kind of hatred. Unless someone envies my lack of organizational skills and devil may care attitude toward housecleaning.

My one concession to volunteerism, is the school's emergency phone tree. I sign up for it every year. I've only been required to make phone calls twice now; once last year when the school district called a late 2 hour delay, when every other school district in the area was capable of detecting the 11 inches of snow at 5:00 a.m., and today when the school district decided to dismiss early for bad weather that apparently only they are aware of since my roads are dry as a bone and every other school district has completed a full school day.

I have been given an envelope containing a note card for each child in Sabrina's class. Each card is meant to have a list of 4 phone numbers and/or contacts for each child that can be reached in just such an emergency. It's not unusual that I have to call all 4 (or more) numbers in order to reach someone. Sometimes it is a someone that had no idea they were listed on this card, and have no idea why I am calling them. So while this particular act of volunteering occurs rarely, it takes up a significant amount of time and usually gives me a thundering headache when it does.

I had a simple message to deliver. "Hi, this is [-------------], I'm calling to let you know that [----- ------] Elementary is dismissing children at 2:55 p.m. today so [your child] will be home approximately a half-hour early."

This message is met with confusion (as it was by me, since there is no snow anywhere to be seen), annoyance, questions, and sometimes outright hostility. I guess they've never heard the saying "Don't shoot the messenger."

But the most annoying thing my call was met with today was......

.....music.

I may be about to display the fact that I am incredibly un-hip (not that this was EVER a secret), and quite possibly this practice has been around for some time.

But who came up with the brilliant idea to provide a service where people can force you to listen to a song of their choice while you wait for your call to be connected to their phone?

I do not want to wait three minutes just to be told you are not there anyway and leave a message and by the way "If you're a private caller or blocked your number, then un-block it cuz I ain't answering." This was an honest to goodness classy greeting I was met with. But I especially don't want to wait for that greeting while listening to rap for 2 minutes.

This happened three more times. I have nothing personal against rap musicians, or the other artists I was subjected to against my will. It's just not what I personally enjoy listening to.

Don't get me wrong. I love music. I have very eclectic tastes in music and there is very little that I won't listen to. But the point is, I like what I want to listen to not necessarily what you want to listen to. This is equally annoying as music blaring at me from a playlist when I open someone's facebook page or a blog where their playlist is set to auto-play. I appreciate everyone's right to their own musical tastes, but at 1:00 a.m. when Marilyn Manson blares through my speakers unexpectedly, well it's enough to make me pee my pants.

Sneezing makes me pee my pants, but at least that's self inflicted.