40 Makes Me Wet

I turned 40 this year. I can’t say it has been a groundbreaking year of self-inquiry and insight or even a freeing year of finally feeling comfortable in my skin as I have heard other women claim. I’m still wrestling with the elusive desire of a flat stomach and less defined laugh lines. I still worry about making a good impression with the other moms at school and I still want to have great hair days.

What I do know about 40 is, I cry a lot and I pee myself more.

The peeing used to just happen when I’d jump really high with my youngest at the trampoline house. I got to where I’d put a pad on to help keep the wet stain from being noticed (thank you kind mom for loaning me your sweatshirt to walk to my car that first visit. You’re my hero). But lately, I pee myself regularly.

What gets my panties wet (and not in THAT way):

• Jumping. Thank you 10 lb babies.
• Sneezing, coughing and even sometimes, hiccupping. I need panties with a permanent leak guard system – you know, something to help save the environment from landfills filling up with Depends. I think I might be on to something here…
• Working out. Oh, the joy that has come from feeling great about the fact that I am working out, only to have it shattered by realizing my cute work out pants are now darkened with my lady-bit drips. And because I am me, they’re inside out.
• Laughing. Which usually makes me laugh more (from mortification), which then leads to hiccupping. It’s a clusterf*ck.
• Crying. Yes, when I get to sobbing too hard, it’s like my girl cave gets jealous and wants to cry too.

This last one leads me into the other thing that I’ve discovered since being 40; I cry at everything. I’ve always been the woman who cries during the sad scenes in movies or when the girl and guy finally get together at the end of the book. But now, I seem to cry at the most inane things.

Reasons I’ve cried just this week:

• I peed myself. Ok, this is a regular thing as I’ve established above and given that crying also makes me pee, sometimes I feel like I should just spend my days on the toilet.
• Adele sang Hello on the Today Show and it was beautiful.
• I ran out of wine. I was sobbing and my husband went and bought me a bottle. That made me cry too.
• I punched myself in the cheek trying to get the fitted sheet on the bed.
• I happened to catch a glimpse of myself yawning in the mirror. Have you ever looked at yourself yawning?!
• I found a forgotten tub of Chunky Monkey in the freezer when looking for chicken. So happy!
• I ate the whole tub of Chunky Monkey.
• My son didn’t want to spend time with me.
• My son wouldn’t leave me alone and followed me EVERYWHERE. Even to pee, which yeah, I know could happen anywhere but this was actually a full pee stop in the bathroom.

I could go on but I am starting to get embarrassed.

I had high hopes for 40 and I still have another 6 months for things to take an upswing. I am clinging to the idea that at some point, I’ll feel so confident in myself (because life experience, right?) that I won’t care if I pee, I’ll embrace the warmth and count myself lucky to have my two beautiful (and gross) boys. What’s a little pee in my panties compared to the joy of refereeing a fart war or stopping the fight about whose name is first on Santa’s nice list? I’m hoping to finally feel comfortable in the body I have, not the body I want. I hope to hold my head high at the school carnival, as the other PTA mom’s cluster about and talk shop, even if I am the mom whose son is running around screaming, “I like pink fluffy unicorns who dance and fart rainbows!” What? Your sons DON’T like unicorns??

In the end, have hope and that is enough to get me up each morning and think, “Maybe today is the day I stay dry.” Thank you 40, for showing me what true priorities are.

I’m Failing at Pinterest

I joined Pinterest awhile ago but didn’t do much with it until today. I was looking for a cool hostess gift to make for an upcoming holiday party and started pinning away. Unlike the usual boards, I decided to be honest with what I called each of my boards:

“Crafts I’ll Probably Never Do”

“Let’s Buy These Ingredients and Forget Them In Cupboard”

“Fun Stuff for Kids Who DON’T Think Trying to Glue Each Other’s Butt Cheeks Together is a Craft”

“OMG, Is This For Real?” – This one includes a pin on “How to become a Human Table.” It’s a thing – look it up.

I decided I needed to finally get rid of the Thanksgiving leftovers tonight and so I tried out one of the amazingly simple looking ideas; Thanksgiving Stuffing Waffle.

It should have looked like this:

It ended up looking like this:

I believe this is called a, “Pinterest FAIL.”

Why Bother?

A lot is happening in our world these days that is frightening, sickening, divisive and evil. It’s made me question humanity, myself and my beliefs. It’s not just the terrorism, it’s how I see people treating one another every day. I see harshness, judgement and lack of empathy. People getting so caught up in how “right” they are, they’re forgetting how to be human. So enrobed in jealousy of what they don’t have, they can’t experience the happiness that can come from seeing someone else in a good place. People so angry there’s no room for anything else.

I’ve been seeing this and find myself thinking, “Why bother?”

Then this morning my little one woke. His hair was a jumble of crazy bed head, his cheeks pink from sleep. His eyes were still heavy from the night and I grabbed his face and kissed him. A shock went through me; right into my core. I saw my husband, who smiled at me and told me I looked beautiful. I kissed his cheek and felt it again, the electric shot through my body. And I knew; THIS is why I bother. It’s love.

I “bother” for love. For the feeling of touching someone and experiencing the shock of love. For hearing someone you care about tell you they love you, they’re proud of you or they miss you.

I write a lot of humorous pieces because I truly believe laughter makes everything better. I write about motherhood – the good, the bad and the ugly. I write from the heart about ADHD. I write to help make sense of it all. I write to reach out to all of those people I will never meet, who might be struggling with something today and need to know they are not alone. I write for those who just need a chuckle.

And today, I am writing to remind everyone there is a reason why we all bother. There is good out there. There are people who care, people who will fight for good. There are our children, who look to us to be the model of love, graciousness, empathy and kindness. There is love and there is hope.

 

It’s Magical This Time of Year

Tis the season, that magical time of year

When the Elf on the Shelf comes, to spread some cheer

His gangly red limbs, my boys do adore

His weird ass smile I do deplore

Each night in panic, at midnight I wake

Rushing to move him, so much at stake

My boys still believe, the magic is real

But I hate this elf, that’s just how I feel

Each night must be better than the one before

I’m out of ideas, I’ll scour the internet no more

Maybe this year Jingle comes with a letter

“I’m old these days and I’m not getting better

It’s all I can do to get here each night

So I’m staying put in the line of sight

No more flour angels, no more Lego scenes

I’m old, I’m tired, and you know what that means?

I’m retiring next year, this Christmas is it

I’m moving to Maui; no more Christmas sh*t.”

He’ll sign it with love, my boys will cry

“Why is Jingle retiring Mommy, why oh why?”

I’ll look at their faces, all sweet and sad

And tell them it’s because their fighting, made Jingle mad.