NYC, move over....

Anyone who tells you their 20's is the best time of their life has never been 46. Three friends and I took a whirlwind 28 hour bus trip to NYC and it was just the best fun I've had in a long time. It helps that we are not on a quest to meet men, get discovered by modeling agents, land a job or find diet food. I've realized those obstacles can really ruin your fun. We plowed through droves of people to seek out green magical drinks called "Wizard-tinis" packed chock full of liquor, shopped leisurely for scarves without the plaintive wails of small children, and based our plans only on what we wanted to do. We acted like careless fools, praying in a circle on the sidewalk to get into the audience at "Live with Kelly and Michael", and wouldn't you know it worked. Next up, a California trip to see Jimmy Kimmel and turn that town upside down....

Chronicling my weight loss is going to require intestinal fortitude....

So, I thought one thing that would help me in my final quest to reach an ideal BMI would be to chronicle my progress every week by taking photos of my changing body. I put on the traditional costume of sports bra and some granny panties and set up my camera on my bureau. Well, let me tell you, I think I may have stumbled upon a new career. My snaps rivaled those of the person who takes your license picture at the DMV. I had visions of myself as a crime scene photographer or a highway accident re-enacter. Maybe me and Marg Helgenberger could swap war stories.  I'm thinking of getting an NCIS tattoo on my bicep. Knowing how much my hip hurts will keep me on the right path, envisioning a pain free body is very motivating. And those awful pictures will definitely help...

The funnest thing about winning at slots is not knowing what you're doing....

Last weekend, we took a trip to Mohegan Sun which was a first for us. Not really on the bucket list, but it was definitely a trip. After strolling through and checking out the sights, I learned a lot about the gambling life. And that is that you need an advanced math degree from MIT to figure out what the hell you are doing. There are so many combinations of lines, bets and symbols to decipher, I feel like I may have stumbled upon the next think tank waiting to be discovered. One 90 year old woman was explaining to me Achems Razor on a 1/4 cent slot machine. Another "slotter" (who I really thought was Jabba the Hut wandering over from a Comic.Con convention) was extrapolating how it was possible to beat the odds at Wheel of Fortune. I learned so much, and the only downfall is that I now need a heart lung machine because I must have inhaled twenty packs of secondhand smoke in my quest for higher gambling knowledge...

Is that cabbage soup I smell (translation: I'm moving into the guest bedroom)

So, one of the best ways to be successful on the famously endorsed lifestyle change plan that I'm following is to eat copious amounts of a certain vegetable soup recipe. And the reason you lose so much weight is because your food is propelled through your digestive tract like a BMW on the Autobahn. I live with and embrace the soup, because the only other way I have found to lose weight faster is by donating a pint of blood. However, the soup has profound effects on the interpersonal relationships with my friends, family, coworkers and fellow churchgoers. The ingredients are as follows:

Cabbage: thoroughly cleanses the stomach and intestines and may cause gas    in some people

Onions: may produce gas and the flatulence associated with it 

Garlic:  Halitosis or bad body odor is one of the main side effects

Carrots: The pigment of carotenes makes your skin look orange, which is sometimes called Carotenemia 

So, ultimately, the look I will achieve is a 5 foot tall, giant carrot with bad breath, who is skilled at finding public bathrooms, knows the cheapest toilet paper brand and can wear a large Pull-Up under a size 4 pair of pants 

Paddle boarding, move over....

So, I haven't been blogging so much for the past six weeks because I was doing some things on my bucket list. The paddle boarding thing was a bust; because I did it and it was a lot less exciting than I thought it would be. Plus, my husband took pictures of me which I promptly deleted from the camera. However, we went kayaking and that was so much more fun than expected. It was so nice to be able to be in control of my own little boat, relying on my own strength to get me through the choppy little waves as we made our way to a Boston Harbor Island. Our whole excursion was probably about 4 hours, which translates to 36 days of being unable to use my upper body in any other capacity than breathing or holding my head in place. I have never experienced such a prolonged period of having "noodle arms" or watching as my brain tells the fork to go to my mouth but it hits me in the forehead instead. What I learned from the kayaking experience is that I need more time in the gym lifting weights. I promptly made it back there and have been working with a trainer so that I can stop relying on Mia to blow dry my hair....

Leaf peeping just isn't the same in a Hyundai...

When my husband and I were dating (long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away), we would take off in his 76 cherry red Corvette, with t-tops open to the beautiful fall chill for our annual leaf peeping adventure. We would speed along Route 93 in New Hampshire to the Kankamangus Highway for thrilling views of all the beautiful colors that nature had to offer. Never mind that we felt so young and free in that flashy car; we were young and free of water and electric bills, a mortgage, PLUS loan, parental angst and didn't have a care in the world. We would pull over to the side of the road and I remember walking barefoot through the cold, cold water of the Pemigewasset River, smoking Marlboro Lights and not worrying about lung cancer or hypothermia. Last week, my husband suggested we take a little road trip and check out the foliage. I'm happy to do it, but will it feel the same in my 2005 Hyundai that has chemistry books, dog fur and empty soda cans in the back seat? Knowing that Rocco is sitting home alone waiting patiently for our return? Maybe he'll surprise me and rent a car so we can go back in time. I might even make a playlist with Manic Monday, Sledgehammer and Life in a Northern Town so we really go back to 1986....

You don't have to go to acting school to have drama in your life....

I think that regular people should get Oscars, Tonys, Emmys and the occasional Razzie, too. In the last six weeks, I have re-enacted pivotal scenes from the following Hollywood offerings:

1. The vomit spewing portion of  "The Exorcist" when I told my teenaged daughter that she absolutely cannot visit a boy who lives 500 miles away who with my eyes squinted resembles Lou Ferrigno

2. Encountering the "ROUS" or rodents of unusual size,  from the "Princess Bride", trying to get cozy with my daughter's chickens

3. Sleeping with all the lights on and living in "The Amityville Horror" house during a windy rainstorm when I was staying home alone for the weekend

4. Living next door to Shirley MacLaine's character from "Terms of Endearment"

5. Trying to find someone to dance with at Pete's Bar other than your husband because he's convinced he's the lead actor in "Pee-Wee's Big Adventure".

6. Being asked if you played the part of Gollum/Smeagol's body double in the "Lord of the Rings" trilogy 

7. Standing on the scale at weight watchers and yelling "What'chu talkin 'bout, Willis?" from "Diff'rent Strokes" to the diminutive woman behind the counter

8. Wondering if after you walk through your son's apartment door you come out with the same goo on you as in the movie "Poltergeist" 

I bet no one asks Cameron to scrub anything....

Occasionally at work, I hear the dreaded question...

WOULD YOU LIKE TO SCRUB A C-SECTION?

The minute I start to hear scr_ _, I start to think of the many things I would rather do....such as:

...I would rather comb the dingle berries out of my dogs bum
...I would prefer to go back to first grade and drink the skim milk that's been sitting on the counter for three hours
...I would rather go to my childhood dentist who I am sure was on a day pass from federal prison
...I would retake my orthodontic impressions with a hangover after eating a bowl of Dinty Moore Beef Stew
...I would sit through a double feature of "Battlefield Earth" and "Bio Dome"
...I would rather have a colonoscopy with no anesthesia and/or bowel prep after eating buffalo chicken calzones
...I would go on another blind date with the guy who had braces but hadn't mastered the use of dental floss and had no concept of social space
...I would rather retake 10th grade gym class which consisted of 4 semesters of tall people sports
...I would get a tattoo saying "Where's my Precious?" across my forehead

Saying goodbye to college boy....

There is nothing that can put a lump in your throat quicker than saying good-bye to your son as he makes his way off to college. This will be the third time, but it never gets easier. Granted, his room is so littered with towels and clothes we could probably outfit an entire country with t shirts. I will miss nagging him to pick up all his orange soda cans, which are now being bagged for redemption and will probably pay for his food plan for the entire first semester.  We have given up waiting for him to come home at night, mostly because we can't stay up that late anymore and expect to function at work. I think even the Rocco knows he's leaving, because he keeps offering up toys with the hopes of some tug of war. One more year after this, and then he may be going off into the world with no intention of coming home.  So even though it's bittersweet, I still have the knowledge that I get to say good bye again next year, and then call in the troops to find his carpet under all that stuff. 

I bet Cameron wouldn't mind showing the doctor her bum

Okay, so today was the day that my Cameron-like activities caught up to me in the form of bursitis. You would think that the nerves, anxiety and apprehension I was feeling was due to the fact that a doctor is putting a @@##$!#$$^%$&%$ needle into my hip. Or the fact that if it doesn't work, I'm going to have to keep sleeping on my right side. Granted, I do think Shar-Pei dogs are kinda cute, but it's not really the look I'm shooting for at this point in my life. All seemed fine until the doctor said, "lay on your side and I will prep the area". Area? Woah, wait a minute here. When you say "area"  what you are in fact referring to is my butt and I'm not too thrilled with you getting a bird's eye view of it. I should have spray tanned and had my husband use the rolling pin to break up some of the cellulite. Or maybe if I stuck a pen in the electrical outlet and blew the fuses, it could be nice and pitch black in the treatment room. It wasn't that bad after all, and he did do a great job considering I made him wear my sunglasses throughout the entire procedure. 

Who do I see about turning off the hunger area of my brain?

Okay, so why is it the minute I sign up for Weight Watchers online, that I become a miserable, hungry witch? If I had a housekeeper and HE fed me all day without telling me it was calorie controlled, I probably wouldn't even know I was doing Weight Watchers. Today I looked at my husband's ribcage and imagined it dressed up like a crown roast with potatoes and those cute little white papers that make it look fancy. The dog whined and hid under the table because I told him he smelled like roast chicken and gravy. Even the chickens won't come out of their coop because I started mixing barbecue sauce in with their water. If I can just get through one week, I'll remember my husband pays the mortgage, Rocco is my faithful companion, and my daughter would eventually figure out I put stuffed animals in the chicken coop.

So that's what the manicurist is thinking?

Me: My daughter and I would love to have our first manicure together. How much does it cost?
Manicurist: How lovely for you both. It's just $15.00 each. 
Manicurist (what she really thinks):  You look like you just came out of a coal mine. This could take all day. When was the last time you washed your hands? 

Me: Oh, that sounds wonderful. Let me go pick a color.
Manicurist to me: Go right ahead. I will get my instruments ready.
Manicurist (what she really thinks): Oh, no, here we go. Don't forget how old you are lady. I doubt you're going to pick something age appropriate; you're probably one of those crazy wannabe Cougars who wants bright purple acrylics.

Me: Do you use new instruments for each client? How do you clean them?
Manicurist to me: Oh, yes. We clean them very carefully and then put them in the autoclave machine.
Manicurist (what she really thinks): Do you go to the Italian restaurant and ask them if they wash the dishes that you're eating off of.  I wish I had ten bucks for every time I get asked that.

Me: Thank you so much for the beautiful manicure. It looks so pretty.
Manicurist to me: Yes, it does. Come back in two weeks for a touch up.
Manicurist (what she really thinks): I give it about ten minutes, and your fingers will look like they went through the wood chipper. When will some women realize they are not manicure material? Why don't you just go sign up for tractor trailer driving lessons?

Why are women so hard on themselves?

I have a friend that if Barbie was cast in a movie, this woman would get the part. She is tall, thin, and athletic. She is funny, fun to be around, and always laughing. She can wear those sleeveless tee shirts that if I wore I would end up in Glamour Magazine with my face blacked out and the caption "Don't Do This" under it. The other night, we were talking about what we've done this summer. She said that she's not enjoying her summer because she is out of shape and doesn't want to go to the beach because she doesn't like the way she looks. Now, this lady is gorgeous; I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I looked like her. I thought about it and I figure I have about 18 years to physically be able to do adventurous things without the help of a team of physicians, a hoyer lift and a home health aide to lug my pills around. I've realized that nobody is really looking at your body when you're having a great time, they are watching you having a great time and that's all. When I think about it, all Barbie probably ever did was wait around for Ken to come back from fishing, camping, hiking, boys night out, bar hopping, army training...

Who talked me into these chickens?

In a moment of maternal weakness, I let my daughter buy these fuzzy, adorable, cute little chicks that have mutated into the biggest flock of maniacs I have ever seen. I don't know how those tiny little pellets of chicken food multiply into such vast piles of chicken doot, but it's akin to the loaves and fishes story we've all heard in church. I figure with the wood chips ($26.50), feed ($14.00/bag), time I spend mucking through their smelly coop (interminable), time I spend nagging my daughter to check on them (painful), and the Prilosec ($10.00 copay) and mouth guard I need from the stress of them, each egg will cost me about $6.36 by the time they start hatching in October. By then, my yard will be a Superfund site and my stomach acid will have eroded not just mine, but all the esophagus' within a six mile radius of my house. Who wants an omelet?

Why I will never provide the baked goods at an AA meeting...

The other day, I thought it would be lovely to make a home made angel food cake for my husband's birthday. After using all of the eggs from the dairy section at our local supermarket, I managed to get 12 whites without any visible yolk. While whipping them for what seemed like the duration of the 2012 summer olympics, I assembled the cake and placed it in the oven. It looked so lovely and airy when it was done, and I carefully placed it on top of the only bottle I had, my husband's Limoncello. Later that night, ready to proudly display my work of culinary art, I tipped the bottle over and shrieked as the cap came off and doused the cake with 35% alcohol by volume. The cake was tangy and yummy, and the best part was everyone slept over because their blood alcohol was over the legal driving limit.

Why borrowing a pot from my mother can turn into a trip to the ER...

As you can imagine, after 50+ years of marriage, my mother has quite a collection of pots and pans. She has managed to fit all of  it into a kitchen the size of an outhouse. I don't know what her system is, but it is so absolutely mind boggling that it requires a degree in civil engineering to get everything to fit. It's a shame, because I think if she had been born 40 years later, she could have been the World Champion of Tetris. Needing a special pot for a recipe  from Giada (which I could swear my husband may have inadvertently called me during an intimate moment), she invited me in to take a look. I ventured into her cabinets, only to return three days later with a broken collarbone and a herniated L5-S1.  I have donned my apron and the food is cooking, but if she asks me to return that pot I'm not doing it without a neck brace and a bottle of Motrin. 

Things to avoid when you are going into labor...

Anything labeled spicy, hot, Cajun, jerk,  four alarm, extra chunky, or high fiber. Foods containing corn, peas, hot peppers, jalapenos, habaneros, any and all types of beans, including but not limited to pinto, lima, black, red, kidney, Boston baked and Mexican jumping. Any products containing psyllium, flax seed, hemp, rope, netting, barbed wire,  fishhooks, and/or blow darts. The old adage, "what goes in, must come out", will never be more apparent to you as your baby's head is delivering. Your nurse can and will overcome anything, however, your partner will be with you forever...

You know you need a cleaning woman when...

...Your dust kitties are so big that they require a rabies certificate
...You find jello in your cabinet that still contains Red dye #2
...You have a diaphragm in your medicine cabinet and you haven't ovulated for six years
...The vacuum cleaner bag has confetti in it from your 1999 New Years Eve party
...You pull a newspaper from the pile and the headline is "Mount Saint Helens Erupts"
...You ask your husband for the milk and he asks you where you've hidden the refrigerator
...Your friends love your green carpeting and you realize it was originally white
...Your favorite show is "Hoarding: Buried Alive" because you can relate to it
...You feel so lucky because no one ever asks you to host a Tupperware party
...Your son goes to sit on the love seat and realizes it's a mushroom
...Your dog doesn't want to come in the house during an F5 Tornado

Gotta go get the cleaning supplies....

Trapeze school, here I come!

For my 46 birthday, my daughter presented me with a gift certificate for a lesson at Trapeze School of New York.  My first excuse not to go was to tell her I couldn't possibly go to New York with my busy schedule (obsessively vacuuming and re-vacuuming a virtually endless supply of dog fur). That didn't work since it's only four towns away. Wracking my brain for another excuse, I told her I couldn't possibly wear a leotard because the spandex industry couldn't recover from that kind of a hit. She assured me that I could wear whatever I wanted, so I've been looking on EBay for a Harry Potter Invisibility Cloak but haven't had much luck. Once I get that, I will make an appointment and I might even let her videotape me. Wearing the cloak, of course...

Breaking down a 12 hour shift...

Hour 1: getting report from your night nurse sprinkled with a little discussion of your latest marital problems

Hour 2: sharing report with your peers while discussing your latest episode of bowel incontinence

Hour 3: getting to know your patient while wondering if your dog has pooped all over your living room

Hour 4: running to the OR propelled by the gas from your bowl of Fiber One cereal

Hour 5: helping your patient to breastfeed while doing your best impersonation of Quasi Modo

Hour 6: continuing breastfeeding education as your plantar fasciitis reenacts a Tony Robbins fire walking seminar

Hour 7: listening to your patient explain how nipple confusion will cause their baby to flunk the SAT's

Hour 8: transferring your patient from a stretcher while wondering if your 20 year old is having a RAVE in your backyard 

Hour 9: trying to explain to your new patient that your ketone breath is not a new brand of perfume

Hour 10: finally going to lunch and realizing that it has been thrown out in the weekly refrigerator clean out

Hour 11: running to the OR for a stat c-section as your daughter texts you that she needs $800. for school books

Hour 12: giving report to your night nurse as you discuss the 5K you'd like to run even though you need a wheelchair to get to the parking garage

How is a flash mob like a hot flash? And why is one so popular and the other not?

People are making such a big deal of flash mobs, like it's something you've never seen before. Well, if you are a woman in your 40's, you've seen plenty of them. You often see flash mobs at the mall, but I've been having hot flashes at the South Shore Plaza long before they became a You tube sensation.  Flash mob dancers work up to a frenzied sweat; I just have to stand still and I'm sweating like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.  The flash mobbers are wearing colorful costumes, I look like I'm wearing a habanero pepper suit that sat under a heat lamp too long. The mobbers are gyrating and singing their lungs out, I am fryolating and wringing my blouse out. Please, oh please can the next hot thing be Arctic karaoke, because I'm gonna get in on it.   

My mother's meltdown, or how she realized she had waterfront property...

So there's a certain quality you relinquish when you live with your elderly parents. It's called your sanity. My husband, who loves to tinker but in the process makes things virtually unusable, has rigged our garden hose to go off automatically at 3 a.m. without any human intervention. That is unless you count mopping for three hours after waking up to your entire kitchen filled with 2 inches of water a human intervention. Now, I wish I had filmed my mother when she discovered it, because I would submit it for Oscar consideration. The wailing she displayed would put Meryl Streep to shame. The one thing I will have my husband do now is attach the hose to a wine barrel so the next time it happens, we can drink it straight off the kitchen floor. That might be an actual invention you could make money from...

Do you think paddle boards have a weight limit...

I have decided that tomorrow I must try paddle boarding. It is the newest craze among the young and fit. (Neither of which I am, but I doubt that will keep the surf shop from taking my credit card.) It looks like so much fun, standing on that slippery, wobbly, glossy piece of summer fun. I like to think of it as a diving board to a shark's stomach. Paddle boards are so brightly colored, too, like a beacon for all those innocent day-trippers. They will be able to witness me in all my cellulite glory as I try to straddle it and "work my core", wherever the heck that is.   

Zip lining while managing my fear of hornets....

I have always wanted to try zip lining, even though I have a huge fear of heights and bees. So the only way to do it was to go in the winter when the bees are hibernating (cuz that's what Normal people do). After signing our lives away with a 5 page disclaimer, we buckled into our gear and were taken to the mountain. We climbed into this crazy van that had four point restraints (which have apparently increased in popularity since "50 shades of gray") came out. After getting to the offloading area, we were secured to the line and told to take off. I have never been so scared in my 45 years, but it was one of the funnest things I have ever done. It also helped that I was wearing a diaper under my ski pants. It was definitely a challenge to my fear of heights, and we didn't see one hornet....

The reason I started this blog...

Last year, I was flying on a plane to take my son out to visit college prospects. There was an article in a magazine about Cameron Diaz. Now, I had never really thought about her other than being in movies, some good, some not so much. But, after reading the article, I was inspired! She does a lot of fun things! They basically said that she never says no to any kind of fun. I thought that I could kind of be more like that in my own life. So I started incorporating the phrase "What would Cameron do?" into my daily life and I have to say, it has made a huge difference. So this blog is basically about me, trying to become a more positive person and do things that initially inspire fear, but make my life more exciting! Kind of like the movie "Yes, Man"...but more realistic since I am somebody's mother and someone has to plow through those piles of laundry and unload the dishwasher occasionally...Hope you enjoy my journey!

What's that noise?

Zipping around the kitchen, getting ready to make dinner when it occurred to me that Rocco's nails must need trimming. All I could hear was "click, click, click, click". I realized he was fast asleep on his dog bed; it's my hip clicking!

Jogging isn't for hobbits...

Cameron probably runs, so I thought it would be great to go for a "run". So many of the girls at work do it and they are all slim, veiny and statuesque. Well, I should be asking the hobbits at work what they are doing for exercise and not the gazelles. We started out well, but good God, my lungs must be as big as kidney beans. I feel sure that my lips were turning blue because I had to keep stopping so that I could gasp. I'm not sure many marathon runners gasp. It just doesn't seem normal. Plus, the Rocco was trying to poop at the same time. We made it though, 4 1/2 miles in just under six hours. Not too bad for our first time.

Should I pee or should I go...

When you are a childbirth "survivor", there are so many things nobody tells you.  Sharing the thrill of your son's first steal to second base in little league. Watching your daughter giggling about her first crush. Taking the bladder you were born with and willfully exchanging it for a deflated water balloon. Nobody tells you that you will have exactly 37 minutes from the time you drink that first morning cup of coffee to when you will need to hit the johnny on the spot. Nobody tells you that you will map out your morning walks so that there are at least 3 toileting venues along your route. Can I make it once more around the supermarket? Can I make it once more around the block? Toilet paper is not a flexible spending account deduction my friends, but an IUD is....

I never realized that buying a good bra is like buying a new car

As an aspiring jogger, I realized the first thing I need is a good bra. Since the only "gym" bra I own is my 14 year old nursing one, I decided that now was the time to take the plunge. Walking into that high end athletic shop was like walking into a used car dealer. They could smell the fear coming out of my pores. There were jogging bras with reinforced straps, side air bags, reflector stripes; some had leather and some had 5 star rated front impact zones. One even offered a 10 year/100,000 mile warranty. Tomorrow I get to wear it for the first time; I am going to get it appraised for my homeowners insurance....

Nurses need hair and makeup people too

I can tell you one thing Cameron would not do, and that would be to work as a labor and delivery nurse. To do a 12 hour shift is similar to standing inside a proton accelerator. The only problem is that what you are accelerating is the aging process. You can experience firsthand as your varicose veins grow and swell like purple grapes before the harvest. You tell yourself that Whoppers and saltines really could be considered a nutritious breakfast. But then out comes that baby that you've worked so hard to help get into the world, and it all feels worthwhile, until you stand on the scale the next morning. Ahhhhh......

I am limping away from the running....

So, it has been awhile since my last post, and the running has not been going so well. After traversing down a steep hill, I jocked my right foot and when I walk, it feels like I am wearing a glass shoe. Not like a Cinderella glass shoe either. This shoe has shredded glass uppers, glass lined arches and crushed glass insoles that really give you the sensation of walking on a broken windshield. Once it feels better, I plan on resuming my quest to become more gazelle like. The Rocco is quite happy as he didn't particularly care for the sprints, since it prevented him from smelling every grass blade and old dung pile he encountered. Let me tell you another thing, if Cinderella was around today, she would be wearing a nice pair of Chuck Taylors...

Next up...going for a hike!

I am so thrilled to say that me and my husband are going to go for a hike this weekend. It's going to be a moderate hike (for me) and a very difficult one (for him). You see, I will be traversing the steep slopes with my water bottle, sunglasses and extra sweatshirt. He will be carrying his stuff plus some other things I might need. The sani can from our boat, compression stockings, motion sickness pills, toilet paper, massage oil, coleman grill, iv fluids, pneumoboots, camera, tripod, laptop, hand sanitizer, rifle, slingshot, pepper spray, sleeping bag, oxygen bottles, nasal cannula, knee brace, neck brace, head gear, slide board and fire extinguisher. If all goes well, this could maybe become a little bonding thing for us!