Wanda Says…On My Son’s Opinion of Green Poop.

March 22, 2015March 22, 2015 / Wanda / 5 Comments

Parenting children is so glamorous. If I’m not pulling teeth, wiping bums, or determining the source of crusty residue left on various surfaces, then I’m a scientist/medical doctor in training attempting to help my children decipher their bodily functions and the source of any problems that arise.

I apologize for the gross topic of this post, but I had this conversation with my four year old son this morning, and for a lack of anything more interesting to write about, decided to share the poop story love with all of you.

You’re welcome, world.

This morning I heard Bryce muttering to himself in the bathroom.

Bryce: Why is my poop green? What makes green poop?

Me: Is something wrong? Do you need help?

Bryce: Yes. My poop is green mommy.

(I joined him in the bathroom, and yes, his poop was a shamrock green color. WTH?)

Bryce: Why?

Me: I don’t know, buddy. Maybe it has something to do with the blue icing you ate last night on the cake. But it will be ok. Poop changes color sometimes based on what you eat.

Bryce: So the blue icing and the chocolate cake made green poop?!

Me: I’m not sure.

Bryce: What does red and green make?

Me: Probably a brownish-gray color. Why?

Bryce: Well, then to turn my poop brown again, I need to eat some Red Velvet cake! Can you get some of that for me, because we need to fix this!

LOL! Little boy problems are so fun. I heard him talking to himself a while later saying, “I never should have eaten that chocolate cake!” 😉

Update: About two hours after I posted this, my family and I were shopping at the local mall, picking up some clothes for the kids. In the middle of the girls department at Macy’s, I look over and Bryce has his pants down around his ankles, his underwear around his knees, bare-ass, inspecting the inside of his underwear! He was so worried about the green poop, he said, with big fat tears in his eyes and a sad look on his face, “I had to make sure the green poop didn’t get into my underwear.” We left the store and got him a Red Velvet cupcake just to ease his worries. 🙂

Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

March 17, 2015March 17, 2015 / Wanda / Leave a comment

Wanda Says…I can do anything for a count of ten!

March 15, 2015March 15, 2015 / Wanda / 14 Comments

I’ve got good news and bad news.

The good news is that in my attempt to increase my levels of physical fitness, I walked over 12,000 steps yesterday. The bad news is that I’m pretty sure my knees and ankles are now plotting to murder me in my sleep.

I’ve been plugging along with my diet and exercise routine with somewhat slow but still fairly decent results. The first week with my trainer I gained two pounds which she assured me was normal. Then I lost the two pounds and gained them back when my bestie came into town for the weekend. Apparently drinking gallons of wine and eating out two meals a day is not exactly healthy or good for my diet. Whatever.

Even though I’m not shedding pounds quickly, and I accept the fact that this is my fault and directly related to my weekend activities, I am getting stronger. I can feel it in my arms and legs. And I notice the difference in what I can do in my workouts.

My trainer, Carrie, is amazing. I actually look forward to working out with her. Can you believe that? I look forward to an hour of physical punishment twice a week. I describe it as punishment because after the workout I feel like I need to crawl into bed and sleep for the rest of the day. The other day I came home from the gym and went into my son’s room to play with him. I laid down on his bed and passed out for over an hour. I slept in his bed in the middle of the day while he played around me. That one hour with Carrie is so exhausting, and my whole body has been continuously sore for weeks. My armpits are even sore. I actually feel like someone punched me in the armpit, repeatedly. Who knew that was possible? But during the workout I don’t feel exhausted. I just feel strong and curious to see what I can do. I never watch the clock, either. When I workout with her I never feel like I have to check and see how much time is left before I can be done.

Prior to our workout, I do a quick warm up on the treadmill in a small, woman’s only section of the gym. This room has mirrors on every wall, so while I’m on the treadmill I can see my body from every angle. This has proved to be very motivating for me. By the time I’m done with that warm up and join Carrie in the larger section of the gym I am mentally prepared for her to put me through my paces. Seeing my body from every angle while I walk on that treadmill reinforces why I’m there. I told Carrie about this and then said to her, “I don’t care what you ask me to do as long as you help me get rid of my second ass. I only need one, and this bitch has been free-loading on my backside for long enough.”

She also pushes me in ways that I would never think to push myself. I’ve learned to not even look at the amount of weight she hands me. My first workout I thought she was crazy when she handed me ten pound dumbbells. Now, I just trust that she knows what she’s doing and she wouldn’t give it to me if she thought I couldn’t really do it. It is hard. I have to fight through the exercises and I’ve learned what people mean when they talk about the mental aspect of pushing through physical barriers. I mentally chant to myself during difficult exercises, which is almost every exercise she asks me to do. I quietly tell myself, over and over, “I can do anything for a count of ten.” Of course, it’s actually three sets of ten, but in that moment I just need to get through ten. I focus on that and it helps me to wrap my head around what I am pushing my body to do.

My first week I could only plank for twenty seconds. My whole body vibrates with the effort necessary to hold the position. At week four I can do fifty seconds. I hate that fifty seconds. Carries says, “Close your eyes, breathe and go to your happy place.” Instead, I close my eyes and repeatedly think, “I can do anything for fifty seconds.”

And I can.

Wanda Says…Silliness, Shenanigans, and Good Friends.

March 11, 2015 / Wanda / 14 Comments

This past weekend one of my lifelong friends and her daughter, who was celebrating her 21st birthday, came to visit me here in California.

After three days of preparing my house for the festivities and four days of entertaining, along with pee-your-pants hilarity, I am exhausted.

My friend T (names will be shortened to the first initial of first names) and her daughter K are very special to me. T is one of those friends that it doesn’t matter how much time has passed since we last talked or saw each other. Every conversation or visit takes place like its been mere moments since the last. When I’m with her I feel nineteen again. And sadly, we often act like we’re teenagers when life allows us to have these brief but special visits.

T lives in my home state of Michigan so we only get to see each other once a year, if we’re lucky. We met when I was fifteen and she was eighteen. I knew the very first time I met her that we would be friends forever. We’ve been partners in crime for 25 years, and every time we’re together we seem to have these unforgettable moments that take my breath away. Like, literally, I’m laughing so hard I can’t breath. And there are tears running down my face. And I may or may not pee my pants. That may not seem like a big deal, but when you’re laughing that hard so often, it begins to hurt. Joy can be extremely painful. And embarrassing.

I love you, T!

This past weekend was filled with laughter, silliness and varied shenanigans. Here are my top five favorite moments from the weekend…

1. In our attempt to find one drink K would like on her 21st birthday, T and I got shit-faced while drinking all her cocktail rejects. We ordered her ten different drinks trying to find one she liked. We failed. K remained sober while T and I partied like it was 1999.

2. T smuggled a Moscow Mule out of the bar in her purse. Her excuse? “That drink cost $12 and I wasn’t about to leave it behind.” She pulled it out of her purse when we got home and gave it to my babysitter, who apparently loves Moscow Mules along with delivery bar service. (Yes, my babysitter is over 21 and is a part-time bar tender.)

3. On one of our cab rides, our cab driver ran every stop sign and attempted to channel his inner Mario Andretti with us in the car. I think he was showing off for K, who is an extremely gorgeous young woman. While we were clutching the arm rests and hanging on for dear life, my phone rings and it’s the dispatcher telling us that the cab we ordered has arrived at my house. I tell the dispatcher that we are in the cab, but obviously this isn’t the cab that was supposed to pick us up. Who is this cab driver? Holy shit, are we being kidnapped? I attempted to communicate my distress over the cabbie’s driving skills over the phone, but the dispatcher seemed to feel it was just a mix-up. I wanted to use a safe word so the dispatcher would know we might be in trouble, but telling the dispatcher our cabbie was fucking crazy seemed like a bad idea since I didn’t know if he was a kidnapper or not. The dispatcher then told me to have a good night and disconnected the call. Thankfully, the cabbie dropped us at our destination before we all died in a fiery crash, or we ended up at the bottom of a well with cabbie man using our skin as a cape. I’m only listing this as a top five moment because now that it’s over, and I’m not dead, kidnapped or skinned alive, I can laugh about it.

4. My birthday gift to K was tickets to the Comedy & Magic Club to see Jay Leno. It was a blast and Jay was awesome! We had good seats, great drinks, and it was an awesome night.

5. We treated ourselves to massages at the spa, and it was one of my favorite activities of the whole weekend. Since I started working out with my trainer three weeks ago, my body has been in a continuous state of soreness and pain. Everything hurts, but in a good way. I can feel myself getting stronger. But I have knots in my muscles everywhere and no amount of stretching can work them all out. So I paid to have a massage therapist, aka torture artist, work them out for me, and while it was 60% pain versus 40% relaxation and pleasure, I needed it desperately.

Overall the weekend was amazing. We laughed, we danced, we had girl talk and reminisced about days past and our epically bad behavior. We laughed hard, played at the beach, ate amazing food at amazing LA restaurants and giggled as K stalked and fan-girled over the LA Clippers basketball players working out at the gym.

I’ve missed these girls, and I cried when they left. They don’t make women in California like they do in the Midwest. We are a breed unto ourselves and having them here made everything more beautiful and more fun. 🙂

Wanda Says…Ummmm, I did not order this.

March 1, 2015 / Wanda / 15 Comments

Hello, world.

I’ve been out of the social media/WordPress mix for a little while for a variety of reasons. I’ve been volunteering to help with a fundraiser at my daughter’s school and between that and the time I’ve been spending recovering from my sessions with my personal trainer, I haven’t had the time or energy to think about anything interesting to share with all of you.

Until today….

Yesterday a package arrived for my daughter. That’s not necessarily surprising as she sometimes gets small packages from grandparents without warning. I asked my husband if he ordered anything for her, or if his mother did, and he said he wasn’t expecting anything and hadn’t ordered anything himself. What was interesting was that the package came from Walmart, and we rarely shop at Walmart.

So I opened it to see what was in the box and if there was a gift message on the packing slip.

Keep in mind this box came addressed to my ten year old daughter.

Here is a picture of the packing slip…

WTF?

What a random assortment of items. Pop tarts, K-Cups, toothpaste and feminine hygiene products. Really?

I realize this must be a shipping mistake. How Bryn’s name and address ended up in the Walmart database is curious because we never order anything from them. I went to Walmart’s website and tried to track the order number so I could see who purchased the items, but because my email address didn’t match the order number the website wouldn’t let me in to see anything, which is a good thing as it protects the information of the person who actually did order these products.

Bryn thought it was funny and wanted to examine the contents of the box, and as she was looking through the box she said, “What are Pop Tarts?”

Did you hear that? Do you know what that means?

In this moment, right now, I feel like a good parent. I feel like I might have done something right.

Who knew in this moment of random, shipping mistake, box full of assorted grocery store items, that I would find validation of my parenting choices? My chest swelled a little and I smiled.

My daughter is ten years old and she doesn’t know about Pop Tarts! As crazy ass Charlie Sheen would say, “I am WINNING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Image result for images of charlie sheen

I’m a winner too, Charlie!

I grew up on the most processed, non-food imaginable. Nutrition in the 80’s and 90’s at my house was all about Hamburger Helper, Tuna Helper, Pop Tarts, Cheez-Whiz, Bagel Dogs, Twinkies, and sugar cereals. The most fruit we ever had in our house was when my mother was making a batch of her famous Sangria.

Now that I’m the parent, I don’t feed my kids that stuff. My kids have never tasted Cheez-Whiz and they have never had pasta out of a can. Now, that doesn’t mean that I’m a super-freak about everything they eat. After all, pizza is their favorite food and they act like the apocalypse is looming if we run out of Eggo pancakes. But my kids eat real food, and I try to buy organic, whole food as much as possible.

But that is not the point of this post. The point, my dear friends, is that Walmart has inadvertently made me feel like I might be able, at some point, to claim that ever-elusive Mother of Year award. I am one step closer thanks to their misprinted shipping labels!

Thank you Walmart! Thank you, and please understand that I never shop in your store due to the lack of enforceable dress code and tendency to run into ‘The People Of Walmart.’ 😉

Wanda Says…Blogging Awards, number 3!

February 21, 2015 / Wanda / 10 Comments

It happened again!

A Girl Named Wanda has been nominated for the Real Neat Blog Award by Ray over at The UnsimpleLife. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know Ray through his blog and you should head over and check him out. He has a fun, wicked sense of humor combined with the madness that is raising children, and that makes reading his posts a real good time. Thanks, Ray!

I love blog awards, and let me tell you why…there is validation in being recognized by your peers. To receive that recognition is to know that other people ‘get you.’ They pick up what you’re putting down, and they enjoy it. I love knowing that when I write a post and throw it out there for the world to read or discard, that even if only one person hits the like button, or only a handful of people read it or leave a comment, that someone understood what I wanted to say and maybe felt the same way too. Or maybe I made someone laugh with my stupid sense of humor and not-so-artfully placed F-bombs, which is even better. So again, thank you for the recognition, and thanks for reading my Wanda!

Let’s get to the award!

Real Neat Blog Award Rules:

1. Put the Award Logo in your post

2. Answer 7 questions asked by the person who nominated you

3. Thank the people who nominated you, linking to their blogs

4. Nominate any number of bloggers you like, linking to their blogs

5. Let them know you nominated them (by commenting on their blog etc.)

Here are Seven Questions for me to answer, provided by Ray at The UnsimpleLife….

If you could be a sound, what would it be?

Have you ever been at an airshow, and an F-18 fighter jet flew overhead? Have you heard the earth-quaking sound and sonic boom as the jet breaks the sound barrier? Felt the way your bones compressed with the energy and noise? If I could be any sound that’s what I would be. It’s strong and creates an intense physical reaction. It forces your heart to beat a little faster and chills to sweep up and down your body . You can actually feel that sound moving through you and the ground vibrates beneath your feet from the enormity of it. Yeah, I would be a totally fucking badass sonic boom. (My friends who read this are probably like, “You’re more like a sparkler, or a weak firecracker, Wanda.” And I would say, “Oh yeah, screw you guys! I’m a sonic boom and you know it!”).

What is the most wonderful thing that ever happened to you?

Of course, becoming a mother is the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me. If you’re a parent, you get it. If you’re not, then let me describe it as the moment in your life when you truly and irrevocably become part of something bigger than yourself. And I think it’s the most amazing thing in the world. Everyday I look at my kids and think, “I can’t believe I made you.” (And please, God, help me not to screw this up!).

If you could travel anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?

I would go to Scotland. I’ve always wanted to visit Scotland. It’s so beautiful in pictures and I want to explore old, ruined castles and spend hours imagining the lives of the people who lived there. And I want to go to Loch Ness and look for Nessie. I totally believe in Nessie, and I don’t care what anyone says. And just so you know, Mermaids are real, too.

If you could invite any three people (living or dead) to dinner, who and why?

First and second would be both of my grandfathers. Each, in their own way were larger than life and two of the greatest men I’ve ever known. I would introduce them to their great-grandchildren and my husband. To be able to spend an evening with them, just one more time, would be one of the greatest gifts I could ever receive.

And third, I would invite Linda Carter, but only if she shows up as Wonder Woman, parks the invisible jet in my driveway and demonstrates the Lasso of Truth to my kids. Wonder Woman was my childhood hero and I still idolize her today.

What is your ideal sandwich, and why?

The Rueben is my favorite sandwich. I love it because it’s sweet, salty, and a little bit sour, just like me. 😉

What is true about you today that would make 10 year old you cry?

As a child I was painfully shy and insecure. I grew up in a dysfunctional household (who didn’t?), which didn’t help with my low self-esteem. It wasn’t until I became a young woman that I began to embrace my own inner-strength and to speak up for myself, as well as others. As an adult, I would tell my ten year old self to be patient, because life gets better. I would tell her that she has to learn that she can survive the hard things in life, because that is part of becoming who she is meant to be. I would tell her….you are good enough, and one day you will feel the unconditional love and acceptance that you so desperately wanted as a child. One day, you will feel whole instead of fractured. One day, you will be confident and happy. And it will have been worth the wait because you will be made stronger and smarter for the more difficult things you experienced in life.

What do you get out of blogging, and why do you continue to blog?

Blogging helps me to feel more connected to others. Since giving up my career and becoming a stay home parent, I’ve struggled with my sense of self and my sense of purpose. I like being a stay home mom, but it’s hard to feel connected to the world when your life seems to be centered behind the walls of your house. Being a part of the blogging community takes me to different corners of the world. I can read and share in the lives of others, both near and far. And I can contribute my own little piece to the ever-expanding puzzle. Plus, I feel valued differently when I write something that another person enjoys, finds interesting or funny. It makes me feel good to know that another person appreciates what I have to say, and also appreciates my participation in their blog, or their little piece of the universe. I also enjoy reading and gaining the insights of others on topics that I may not have much experience with. People are fascinating, even if you don’t always agree with them.

Now, onto my nominations….to the nominees listed below, if blog awards aren’t your thing, no big deal. But hopefully you’ll enjoy some new traffic based on the super awesome things I’m about to say about you.

1. I Refuse to Follow Your Blog (This blog is very funny and the mastermind behind the catchy title enjoys making fun of all things in life that he considers to be pathetic, which is pretty much everything, including himself. It’s a great read so check him out!).

2. inspired4business (I’m new to this blog, but I love it. Steve’s posts are always positive, upbeat and inspirational. Just the pick me up many of us need to regain some perspective and insight on life and how we interact with others. Check him out and I dare you not to be moved by his amazing attitude and outlook on life).

3. Ben’s Bitter Blog (Now, Ben’s blog has been around for a little while, and he’s been nominated for multiple blogging awards. But not this one, because I checked! Ben is very bitter, about everything. And I really enjoy reading his bitter ramblings, and if you like to laugh, you will too!).

Now, I could list seven new questions here, but I found the questions provided by Ray to be thought provoking and entertaining. So I’m going to mooch off his genius and save myself some time.

Thanks again for the nomination, and happy blogging!

Wanda Says…Drop and give me twenty!

February 17, 2015February 26, 2015 / Wanda / 8 Comments

Today, I had my very first session with a personal trainer.

I was nervous about it. My stomach was in knots all morning imagining the horrific exercises she would make me do. I imagined her yelling at me and telling me to get my fat ass on the ground and give her twenty. Twenty of what, I wasn’t sure, just twenty of something hard, and grueling, and painful.

And of course my insecurities about working out in a gym had me worked up about many different, ridiculous scenarios. I imagined being the only out of shape, non-muscular woman in the room, among sweaty, adrenaline high gym rats who look down on us lesser mortals for being out of shape and having imperfect bodies. I realize this is ridiculous. But that’s how insecurities get the best of us, by mind-fucking you into believe that sort of nonsense.

I arrived a half hour early for my appointment. I have a thing about being late. I couldn’t help but notice how busy the gym was at 10am on a Tuesday morning. Like, so busy, there were almost no parking spaces in the HUGE parking lot. Doesn’t anyone go to work anymore? After putting my gym bag in my locker (it only had my purse in it but I brought it anyway because carrying a gym bag might make me look like I belong there. You know, I was trying to blend in with the natives!) I found a seat in the waiting area where I was told to meet her. I had only spoken with her once on the phone and although she seemed nice I was still bracing myself for GI Jane to come charging at me in the lobby. I killed the next twenty minutes by trying to look busy reading emails on my phone. (I’d already read all my emails, but I was pretending to read them again. I know, insecurity makes me do stupid shit).

And then, there she was….and she was….pretty normal. She was nice and friendly and made me feel very comfortable. I’m guessing she’s in her early 50’s, but I could only surmise that based on the natural lines in her face. Her body was rock solid and there were no typical tell-tale signs of physical aging outside of her face that I could see that would allow me to say for sure how old she was. Except when she was writing down my information, she asked for my age and when I told her I was forty, she said, “Oh, you’re just a baby!” LOL! If she thinks I’m a baby at forty, she’s got to be at least ten years older than me, right? Oh, and I want to look that good at fifty!

Anyway, she put me through a fitness assessment and after talking for awhile about my metabolism and my multiple failed diet and workout routines, she determined that weight lifting was what we should focus on. She felt that was the best way to amp up my metabolism and get everything firing on all cylinders again. She said I could focus on cardio on my own, but she would work with me specifically on weight training.

So we began to work out, and she warned me that she would challenge me a bit because she wanted to see what I could really do. And I was like, “Sure, let’s take this girl out for a test drive and see what I can do!”

In times like these, I really need to remember that I’m not as much of a badass as I’d like to think I am, but she had me feeling comfortable and confident and like I could do anything.

And then she handed me ten and twelve pound sets of weights.

WTF????!!!!!!!

When I work out at home, I never use more than five pound weights, and after a few reps, I can really feel my muscles working. She wants me to use ten and twelve pounds? Is she out of her mind? Oh, okay. Here’s where the crazy kicks in. Here’s where she turns into a sadist and starts screaming, “No pain, no gain!”

Except, she didn’t, and I could do it. I could and did lift that much weight over various exercises and sets. Who knew? Who knew I could successfully lift that much weight with the right guidance and form? I certainly didn’t! There was only one exercise she had to modify for me and that was toward the end of our workout. She wanted me to lunge up on a platform box, but my legs were jelly at that point and crumpled under me on my first attempt. And I didn’t have time to be insecure about myself while working out among real athletes because she had me so focused on what we were doing, I was barely aware of anyone else in the gym.

It was great. She was great, and I have to admit, I’m a little bit excited about going back. I’m excited for the possibilities. I’m excited for the realization that I am stronger than my fears. You would think that at the age of forty I would be past that sort of thing. Past being a victim to the ‘what ifs’ and doubts that complicate something as simple as going to a gym to workout. But insecurity is an asshole, and I just have to keep reminding myself not to listen it.

Of course, even after my great workout with a great trainer, and after realizing my own potential in this foreign land of exercise machines and athletes, reality decided I need a quick slap to the face. As I was walking out, a woman stepped into my path to walk in front of me. And it was impossible not to notice her bouncy butt-cheeks hanging out of her skin tight panty shorts.

(Insert gusty sigh and eye roll here).

Wanda Says….Random thoughts on a Thursday.

February 12, 2015February 12, 2015 / Wanda / 11 Comments

I spent five hours working on a blog post today and I still wasn’t happy with it. Am I overthinking this? Probably. Does it happen to you?

I ignored all the volunteer fundraising work I was supposed to do today so that I could work on a blog post. So that means I didn’t accomplish much of anything.

I went to Target to do some shopping and left part of my purchase at the store. What the hell is wrong with me? I just walked away from the cashier’s counter and didn’t grab one of my bags. Now I have to go back tomorrow with my receipt and hope that they believe me when I tell them I’m a moron and left without my toilet paper. Nice.

Today my kids were arguing and Bryce said, “Stop being a douche bag, Bryn.” He is four, and he called her a douche bag. I am a terrible mother.

Dan’s been in NYC for two days, and I’m so ready for him to be home. He gets to run meetings with high-end retailers, like Frye and Juicy Couture. He gets to go to the Frye showroom. I get to clean toilets and wash everyone’s underwear. Life isn’t fair.

I think I’m in a sour mood today. But this made me laugh when I saw it on Facebook.

I don’t think this needs further explanation. It just sounds like good, solid advice to me.

Here’s hoping Friday is better than Thursday! 😉

Wanda says…

February 10, 2015 / Wanda / 3 Comments

Yeah, that about sums it up.

Wanda Says…This is how I know I’m getting old.

February 6, 2015February 6, 2015 / Wanda / 21 Comments

I’m getting old and this is how I know it…

1. When I was younger, I remember thinking it was very progressive when the FCC began to allow cursing on TV. I remember thinking, “What’s the big deal if someone uses a curse word on national television? It’s not like most people haven’t heard them before.” And then commercials began to evolve and I thought the adult humor and content infused into the marketing of different products was more humorous than dirty. I remember one event specifically at my grandmother’s house when she tried to shield my great-grandmother from seeing a racy scene on TV, and my great-grandmother responded by saying, “It’s not like I’ve never seen boobs before, Francis.” Fast forward twenty years, and now I’m a parent. Thanks to all the sex and adult references on every station and every network, I’ve mastered the sport of living room gymnastics. All parents know what this is. It’s the sport that’s all the rage in any family living room with small children. It’s the act of diving, jumping, tumbling, rolling, running, or hurdling furniture, small people or pets in order to get to the remote on time to either hit the mute button or change the channel when you realize that what’s happening on the television is not appropriate for your child to hear, see or imitate. (And I’d like to thank every network that showed the new SI Swimsuit cover and all the 50 Shades of Grey trailers for the extra gymnastics practice this week. I really enjoyed trying to field my ten year old daughter’s questions about why that girl was being blindfolded, and why that other girl was practically bearing her private girly parts on the cover of a magazine. Thanks for that). I’ve become that crotchety old person who complains that commercials are filled with unnecessary sexual references and that there isn’t enough quality family television suitable for my kids to watch during prime time, and that just blows.

2. When I see a pack of teenagers walking down my street and they stop to loiter in front of my house, I want to tell them to get off my lawn. I have a nice lawn with nice bushes and flowers, and I don’t want them to litter in my yard or fuck up my grass. Get off my lawn you lazy hooligans! (I can’t believe I care about this).

3. It’s difficult for me to stay up past 10pm, even on a weekend. I force myself to stay up on weekends because it’s ridiculous and I refuse to go to bed at nine o’clock on a Saturday. If my husband and I are out with friends or having a few drinks, I seem to be more energized and can rally to the occasion, but as soon as the action’s over my body goes into complete shut down mode. I need my sleep like my grandmother needs to watch the Wheel of Fortune every night, or as she likes to call it, “The Wheel.”

4. If I have more than three alcoholic drinks in one evening it takes me a week to recover. Seriously. A week. Who’s got time for that shit? I can’t feel like death for a week. So when I do drink wine or other alcoholic beverages, I try and keep it under three drinks and I have to drink a liter of water in between. Otherwise my skin is dehydrated and wrinkly and I get headaches that feel like they last a thousand years. I long for the days in college when I had the energy and stamina to go out five nights a week, stayed out until 2am and was still able to make it to an 8am class. I don’t necessarily want to engage in those activities, I just wish I still had that kind of energy.

These will make your toes feel like they’re being cut off with a butter knife.

5. I now choose function over fashion, every day. Is it comfortable? Stretchy? Will those shoes make my feet hurt if I walk more than ten feet in them? I live in yoga pants and t-shirts. I’m with kids all day and no one gives a shit what I look like. And the last time I made an effort to wear super cute high-heeled boots to a party, I ended up losing a toenail and needing first aid by the end of the night. My poor husband had to practically carry me to the car, and it took me six months to regrow that toenail. When I was 30, I would have toughed it out and claimed, “beauty is pain!” But now, I’m too old for that shit. Give me blue jeans and tennis shoes, any day. (I do get dressed up and fancy for dates with my man, but that’s different than my 6am to 10pm work-as-a-stay-at-home-mom dress code, and I always wear comfortable shoes).

I prefer these.

6. The music I love and came of age on is now only played on the oldies stations. I remember being a kid and being mortified when my parents listened to ‘their music.’ I can recall my dad rocking out to the 50’s and 60’s and thinking he was the oldest man in the world. My mom listened to Neil Diamond, Helen Reddy, James Taylor and Barry Manilow. Now, I love all four of these artists, and I am a Fanilow. The first concert I ever went to was Barry Manilow and I was eight years old. I will never forget those palm trees coming out of the stage when he sang Copacabana. I loved him, and still do. However, when I was a teenager, I remember thinking my parents were so uncool because they didn’t understand MY music. They couldn’t understand how important Aerosmith was to me, or Foreigner. Journey, AC/DC, Steve Miller Band, ZZ Top, Creedence Clearwater Revival, the soundtracks to both Grease 1 and 2, and eventually Madonna and Guns N Roses. And then I went through my New Kids On The Block stage (don’t judge me), and eventually it was all about Grunge. Nirvana, Bush, Alanis Morissette, the Stone Temple Pilots and Smashing Pumpkins. My mother would shake her head at me and tell me to turn that crap down. And now, I find myself listening to the popular music of today and thinking, “How does anyone listen to this shit?!”

7. According to my husband, my hearing is going. When I ask Dan a question, if he answers by saying, “No” all I hear is, “Yeah.” I rarely ask him to repeat himself.

8. New appliances excite me. You know you’re old when you get excited over buying a new dishwasher, power washer, or coffee maker. I got a new Dyson vacuum cleaner for Christmas and I felt like I won the lottery.

9. I get turned on watching my husband do chores. Man flesh does nothing for me. Pictures of hot guys bearing their chests and showcasing a six-pack leaves me feeling…meh. But watching my husband do dishes, laundry, rescue wayward animals, and play at the park with our kids is the equivalent of old people porn. Confident, successful, and happily domesticated men are sexy. Period.

10. When my daughter asks me, “Mom, how old were you when you got your first cell phone?” LOL! She’s mad at me because I won’t let her have a cell phone until she’s 13. She has classmates who have them now and she feels left out. In my opinion, fifth graders don’t need cell phones. So when I told her I was 25 when I had my first cell phone, it was a regular phone, there was no app for that, it was the size of a regular cordless house phone, and I kept it in my glove box and used it only for emergencies because it cost like, fifty dollars per minute, she looked at me like I smoked crack. And she learned about crack in school, so it was a nasty look. Also, I seem to repel technology, and watching my kids run circles around me with new devices, games and programs makes me feel like my grandmother must have felt when I showed her how to use a cassette tape deck on my new boom box when I was in high school.

So, now that we’ve established the undeniable fact that I am turning into a crabby, appliance loving, no sexy shoe wearing, chase the hooligans off my lawn kind of spinster, what makes you feel old?