Mid-life Cries

[kathleen5]

 ;DIrish angel you cracked me up!

Kathleen

[IrishAngel]

oops...if you were a teacup, we could fix those cracks up with canned milk  

(for anyone who thinks i`m insane, good ole canned milk bonds ceramics, even glues wallpaper in a pinch  

[nChrist]

Oklahoma Howdy to all Mothers,

MOM   -  Job Description

This is hysterical. If it had been presented this way, none of us would have done it!!!!

POSITION: Mother, Mom, Mama

JOB DESCRIPTION: Long term, team players needed, for challenging permanent work in an often chaotic environment. Candidates must possess excellent communication and organizational skills and be willing to work variable hours, which will include evenings and weekends and frequent 24 hour shifts on call. Some overnight travel required, including trips to primitive camping sites on rainy weekends and endless sports tournaments in far away cities. Travel expenses not reimbursed. Extensive courier duties also required.



RESPONSIBILITIES: The rest of your life. Must be willing to be hated, at least temporarily, until someone needs $5. Must be willing to bite tongue repeatedly. Also, must possess the physical stamina of a pack mule and be able to go from zero to 60 mph in three seconds flat in case, this time, the screams from the backyard are not someone just crying wolf. Must be willing to face stimulating technical challenges, such as small gadget repair, mysteriously sluggish toilets and stuck zippers. Must screen phone calls, maintain calendars and coordinate production of multiple homework projects.  Must have ability to plan and organize social gatherings for clients of all ages and mental outlooks. Must be willing to be indispensable one minute, an embarrassment the next. Must handle assembly and product safety testing of a half million cheap, plastic toys, and battery operated devices. Must always hope for the best but be prepared for the worst.  Must assume final, complete accountability for the quality of the end product. Responsibilities also include floor maintenance and janitorial work throughout the facility.

POSSIBILITY FOR ADVANCEMENT &PROMOTION: Virtually none. Your job is to remain in the same position for years, without complaining, constantly retraining and updating your skills, so that those in your charge can ultimately surpass you

PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE: None required unfortunately. On-the-job training offered on a continually exhausting basis.

WAGES AND COMPENSATION: Get this! You pay them! Offering frequent raises and bonuses. A balloon payment is due when they turn 18 because of the assumption that college will help them become financially independent. When you die, you give them whatever is left. The oddest thing about this reverse-salary scheme is that you actually enjoy it and wish you could only do more.

BENEFITS: While no health or dental insurance, no pension, no tuition reimbursement, no paid holidays and no stock options are offered; this job supplies limitless opportunities for personal growth and free hugs for life if you play your cards right.

[TigerLily]

ROFL... oh deaar... to funny
Thanks for sharing this "non issue" my friend

TL....

[nChrist]

ROFL... oh deaar... to funny
Thanks for sharing this "non issue" my friend

TL....

Oklahoma Howdy to TigerLily,

I also loved the "Mother's Job Description". I have been blessed with a wonderful Christian mother. I couldn't help but remember her thousands of acts of love as I read this. I know this is a women's only area, so please let me say one thing while I'm here. I give thanks to God for loving, Christian mothers. I have great appreciation for Godly Mothers, and I'm very fortunate to still have mine here to hug and thank.

[Symphony]

MEN!!  *sigh*   And on a women's website too!

[goinhome]

Honestly I don't care who wrote it....I loved it!!

[joyunending]

Loved it!!! What a cute article,,, and I don't care who wrote it either!!!   Joy

[IrishAngel]

a wanna be cop...n a real life cop...n laurel...or is that hardy...in the corner *sighing*  ...

oh how can the gals not be amused! LOL

"The oddest thing about this reverse-salary scheme is that you actually enjoy it and wish you could only do more."

EH! ~ CHEERS!

[IrishAngel]

Leggo My Leggings
My stirrup pants had too much giddyap and go!
By Liz Curtis Higgs

The first time I saw a pair of leggings, they were on someone else's body—that of the Twiggy-sized teen seated next to me in a crowded doctor's office. With her huge t-shirt and long, red legs, she looked utterly charming and altogether comfy.

"Do they feel as good as they look?" I asked.

"You bet." She nodded emphatically, pinching a bit of fabric and stretching it out. "See? It springs right back. No sagging. No wrinkling."

Since my knees both sag and wrinkle, I was duly impressed with her Lycra-swathed limbs.

"What do you call them?"

"Leggings," she informed me, jumping to her feet when the receptionist called her name. "You oughta try 'em. They come in your size, too."

Cheeky.

I watched her go, wondering what sort of fashion statement my older-but-wider body might make in such a getup. Fire-engine red was out of the question, of course, but a nifty navy, a dove gray, a basic black—couldn't I pull that off? Especially if an oversized shirt fell well below my knees?

Well, well, well below.

When a favorite spring catalog arrived on my doorstep featuring leggings on page five—in my size!—I knew it was meant to be.

"Send me three pairs," I informed the woman taking my order by phone. "Black, gray, blue."

"Those colors are on back order, ma'am." Figures. "Until when?" I sighed.

"September. All we have in stock is red."

Uh-oh. I imagined my substantial thighs encased like firecrackers ready to explode. Or worse, like a pair of beefy summer sausages fresh from the grill.

I wanted to try a pair of leggings soooo badly, but red?

"They're on sale," the saleswoman tempted.

"Sold."

"Regular or stirrup?"

She had me there. "Stir what up?"

She explained that leggings came in ankle length or with a stirrup that slips over one's foot. "It prevents the pants from scooting up your leg."

Was she suggesting my leggings could shrink into capri pants, then bike shorts, ending up as spandex underwear?

"Definitely stirrups," I decided. "One pair, my size, in red."

When my order arrived—in a #10 envelope—I slipped the leggings out of the package and held them up. They looked like something a child might wear. An especially small child. At Christmas. Still, that was my size printed on the label.

After wrestling them on, I was delirious with the results. They fit!

I quickly found an oversized, black-and-red t-shirt that almost reached my knees and matched perfectly. Just the thing for traveling, I decided. For the first time in a long time, I looked forward to my next out-of-town trip.

That fateful morning dawned sunny and cool—a legging kind of day if there ever was one. Dressed and packed, I faced the mirror one last time, hoping to quell a few nagging doubts.

Were they too bright? Too tight? Did I look like I was headed for a pajama party? Whatever. I grinned at my reflection. "TWA, take me away."

Truth be told, I got a few odd looks at the ticket counter. Comfortable as I was, I had no intentions of fretting over their obvious gawking.

The first leg (so to speak) of my trip was a breeze. When my plane landed in St. Louis, I bounded through the jetway and checked the monitor for my gate. Drat. The other end of the world. Ah, but with my zippy new duds, I'd be strolling in style, no?

Uh … no.

I started down the busy concourse with a carry-on bag in one hand, a bulging computer case in the other, and a mega-purse dangling from my shoulder. I picked up the pace when I heard the boarding announcement for my flight departing from Gate 33.

Without warning, disaster struck.

Maybe it was the speed with which I was traveling. Or my long-legged stride. Whatever the reason, with stirrups and gravity working against me, my leggings suddenly moved in the wrong direction: down.

The crotch dropped first. Silently, relentlessly, it started moving south. With both hands full, I was in no position to stop it. Anyway, a quick stop-and-yank would be beyond tacky. By Gate 10, the thing was halfway to my knees. Starting to panic, I slowed down.

By Gate 15, I was on full-tilt duck walk. By Gate 19, it was more turtle-like than ducky.

My spirits were sinking right along with my traitorous leggings. I fumed, mentally composing a letter to the manufacturer. "Dear Sirs: What goes up must not come down."

I checked my watch. Oh, no! Ten minutes! I checked my leggings. Oh, no! Ten more inches!

By Gate 22, I was in deep trouble. The waistband was wrapped around my knees. The fabric that used to cover my knees circled my ankles. I was reduced to walking like a geisha girl, moving forward with mincing steps.

Passengers hurried past me—yes, snickering—while I tried to look nonchalant. No easy task when your face matches your bright red leggings.

Make that anklings.

"Let them hold the plane," I muttered, pressing my luggage against my knees and heading for safety.

I ducked in the doorway marked Women—then stopped short when I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror by the sink. I'd been waddling through a crowded airport sporting nothing but bare legs and a t-shirt.

Leggings no more, they were now mere fetters for the fashion inept. Why not step out of them, you say? Not an option. That would leave my unshaven legs sticking out—pasty white as only spring legs can be, and flabby besides.

Dropping my bags in a heap on the restroom floor, I gathered up my limp leggings and yanked them back in place. Only five gates to go. Could they stay up long enough to get me on that plane?

"Got any safety pins?"

The voice behind me belonged to a resourceful-looking woman wearing a friendly smile—and leggings. A sister! She was already digging in her purse, and soon produced a handful of silver safety pins.

"Pin the wasteband to your bra," she instructed, pointing me toward an empty stall. "Works like a charm."

And so it did.

Firmly anchored and stretched to the max, my leggings and I took off at a full sprint for Gate 33 with nary a sag. Relieved to find the door still open and my seat waiting for me, I collapsed into 11-c and leaned back. And screamed.

The flight attendant was there in a heartbeat. "Ma'am, are you okay?"

"S-sure," I said, gingerly easing forward, trying to escape the sprung metal point. I never knew safety pins could be so unsafe. "I'm gonna need a Band-Aid."

"Certainly." She rummaged around her first aid kit. "Anything else?"

"Yeah." I winced when the second pin stabbed me in the front. "Duct tape. Preferably red."

She held up a ubiquitous roll. "Sorry. All I've got is this."

Dove gray. "Perfect."

[Willowbirch]

Hehheheheheheeeee

[IrishAngel]

Hittin' the Gym (and Both Sides of the Doorway)
Author: Brenda Vey
 
Well, I finally decided to do it.....I put one foot in front of the other and found myself inside the college fitness center. I figured that since I AM a college student and had purchased my right to use the facility, I might as well take full advantage. Naturally, the mind was behind all of this because I could feel the tug-of-war between it and the body. If the body could have made it possible, only the mind would have showed up there.....

In I walked, with my oldest daughter taking the lead, showing me the ropes since she herself was familiar with the place. Except for few people, the place was almost empty. "Ah, good!" I had thought. Don't get me wrong; I'm not anti-social. I only feared there might not be enough oxygen to go around if there were too many heated bodies in there. Okay, okay.....honestly now...I feared my exercise peers might think they were at the Circle Jerk Exercise Cabaret. "Who is that singing, '100 calories of fat on the wall?'" "Oh, that little fluffy lady over there. See? She’s the one with the contorted red face and white knuckles? Sure hope she makes it...."

Yes, one can feel and look dignified when walking upright, you know. So, it does indeed take courage to risk looking like one's true self: an overfed, out-of-shape orangutan pedaling a stationary bike.

Naw, some sights, folks, just are not pretty and are better left done alone if at all possible.....or in the dark. Still, sometimes that is just impossible and then we must come out of the "physically unfit" closet, so to speak and let the world see us huff and puff with sheer angry agony.

Anyway, because I had planned to use the stationary bike and treadmill, that is the direction my daughter was heading in. I had never seen so many bikes in my life in one place and all were empty save for one. Upon this bike, situated in a row facing a huge mirror, sat a lone biker. The heavyset young man was gazing at himself in the mirror. Immediately, I identified what he was thinking as it takes one to know one: "Oh, my gads! HOW did I get here to this point? It seems so hopeless.....so futile...help me...somebody help me......anyone have a Twinkie for heaven's sake?” Oh, yes, I felt like going over to my kindred spirit (and body) and giving him a hug....

I chose a bike AWAY from the mirrors; there was no sense in forcing myself into anymore agony by actually watching it. I much preferred to view The Great Outdoors through the huge plate glass windows so as to ponder Mother Nature’s grand beauty….and, the outdoor walkers/joggers sweating in the hot July sun. And, this I did ponder: WHY would any of you choose to be out there in hell when you can be in here and accomplish the same thing with ceiling fans whirling at 10,000 rpm’s??? I was at loss, simply at loss to comprehend it. Then, again, I don’t comprehend certain things. Eating crab dipped in a lemon butter sauce….now that I comprehend….

The daughter helped me to adjust the pedals which was no easy task considering I have a belly pouch and short legs like my Welsh Corgi (It is true: owners do sometimes end up looking like their pets). I had two choices it seems: 1) Adjust the pedal to my leg length and relentlessly whollop myself in the gut whereby I would end up regurgitating whatever, or 2) Adjust the pedal to my belly pouch width and stretch the legs a little more than is comfortable....sort of like a Pillsbury Dough Girl Ballerina stretch. I opted for the second.

She set the timer for a reasonable amount of time....something like 10 minutes, I think. I chose the level. If you guessed Level One...a nice flat non-resistant ride....you have guessed correctly. This machine had a virtual reality screen so I wanted to ride by the oceanview...on a nice flat road, of course. Mountain biking would simply have to come at a different time down the road....way down the road...maybe the Yellow Brick Road with Toto pedaling for me....

The virtual reality screen was a new experience for me. While I don't want to sound as though I don't appreciate the virtual reality screen because I do, I really had visions of it projecting a REAL life-like view...colors and all. Oh, well, at least it is something to look at while one is leisurely pedaling.

So, there I am pedaling along so comfortably when...about four minutes into the pedaling...my feet started to cramp up. I slowed from my awesome speed of s-l-o-w of 3 rpm’s. I stretched both feet out and shook them, then proceeded again. A few minutes later the same thing happened. It finally dawned on me that I was simply going to have to endure this pattern or re-adjust the seat and risk the regurgitation scene.

I endured although I was beginning to think thoughts that I shouldn't have been thinking......thoughts like going over and grabbing the young man by his shirt, gritting my teeth and hoarsely whispering, "Listen, I KNOW what we both need and it isn't this....let's get out of here while we can....there's a deli in the Student Union building....maybe we might find a Twinkie.... or a huge Ruben sandwich with lots of fatty Swiss on it, mounds of tender corn beef and roofed with tons of kraut…oh, yeah, can’t forget that thousand island dressing……"

Thank goodness, I didn't have too many thoughts like that. In retrospect, I can recall when it first hit: when I had made the mistake of looking at the calorie counter on the bike which indicated the calories I had burned instead of focusing on my miles accomplished. You darn right it is disheartening to learn you have burned only 14 calories after such a l-o-o-n-g distance. My gads, how could you ever get ahead of a piece of devil's food chocolate cake? I’d have to bike to Hawaii and back for a 4 inch piece of it. Oh, how depressing the hard, cold facts of life!

I decided it best to stay single-minded and to get back to focusing on my miles. Time was slipping away; I was almost done. Next thing I knew: Bing! Time up! Okay, now it was time to hit the treadmill. Oh, what nice treadmills! And so roomy! By the looks of these treadmills, I just knew they had been designed either for pachyderms or for Volkswagens. There had to have been at least 2.5 feet of empty space between either of my hips and the side rails. As I walked steadily along at 1.5 – 1.7 mph, I was feeling more confident and…delusional. Yes, for just one brief moment, thoughts ran through my mind that said, “Yes! I am doing so wonderful! I have gained body strength and stamina and the weight loss is just mind-boggling! Golly…to go from 795 lbs. to where I am NOW! Oh, what can I say? It just feels great!”

As I said, it was a delusional thought however brief. Yet, it seemed to lift me some. Now, I am not advocating that individuals should lie to themselves; however, there comes a time a little bit of this could actually do some good. Honestly, doesn’t it seem more encouraging to say, “I have lost 400 lbs. and am getting closer to my goal?” than, “I have gained 95 lbs., lost only 14 calories after bicycling for what seems like five hours…and it is all utterly hopeless…this ‘stuff’ is glued to my frame for life”? I cannot speak for any of you but for me, that last perspective could/would send me pizza diving at the midnight hour…

While I was deeply inhaling and exhaling at my own wisely chosen speed, another gym member flopped on the treadmill two down from mine. This nice, friendly lady was obviously just maintaining her top-conditioned bod. We exchanged smiles before she hopped on her treadmill and started the “engine”. Out of my peripheral vision, I could sense her motion. At first, it was slow, steadily picking up speed and within minutes, all I could detect was a blur. Even her arms were flailing about as she confidently ran without holding on! What bravery! What coordination! She was bookin’ so fast that I am more than positive that had there been any such thing as “gym police” she would have been pulled over and issued a ticket….if they could have caught her. And, by the Grace of God, she didn’t go flying off her machine out the plate glass window. I swear the only thing that separated her from other birds was her lack of feathers! Wow! Awesome! I was burning calories just merely sensing and feeling all that motion; it made me tired. Gee, what’s the hurry? I thought. I sort of like s-l-o-w, you know…pretend I am taking a stroll….can’t let the beads of sweat pop up too fast…..could lose important electrolytes too fast and then where will I be?

“Mom,” a voice behind me chided, “You might consider picking up a little more speed at some point, go for a comfortable bit and then start cooling down.”

HA! Me pick up speed? Not today, I’m not….not today. I could be running short on potassium or some other valuable nutrient in my body. Thanks to a great and inspirational movie, What About Bob? , I take life in small steps now. This is baby steps, Bob, baby steps.

“Sure,” I replied matter-of-factly, “I’m going to do exactly that the next time I come in here……” which is none too soon if my body has its own way…..

[IrishAngel]

THE ARCHIVED MOM
Author: Brenda Vey

Although it is occurring with less frequency, I still agonize with bouts of painful empty-nest syndrome…..even though I still have one child left at home, for which I feel grateful and blessed.

NOW, I understand how the Lord feels about retrieving just one sheep lost from His spiritual herd; in my case…..there’s four of these hooved creatures meandering over hill and dale.

And, while these sheep are not exactly lost, they seem very content on not being found. Even a delicious home-cooked meal can barely reel these metamorphic guppies in for the bite.

Perhaps I’ve lost “the touch.”

On the other hand, maybe not; maybe THEY have. Between fast food and the never ending cycle of work/spend, work-more/spend-more and, finally, work-nuttily/spend-nuttily…..why, there just isn’t enough time to visit more often.

Most of the time, I DO understand. Just because I have a once-a-week-all-the-family-gathers scene in my mind, doesn’t mean they do, too. I tend to get stuck in the ‘50’s; they’re stuck in the present as both propagators AND “victims” of our fast-moving and often overwhelming times.

However, I’m not stuck totally in the past eras. I, too, have much understanding of our present age with its wonderful advances in so many fields…..thanks to technology.

As I was saying, there is much I do truly understand.

I understand, for instance, that I am a file…..a Mother File, if you will…..saved to her children’s hard drive for later retrieval.

Thank God, they didn’t delete me.

They must realize that I am needed to help run a very important program. I just wished they would let me know what type of program. I know the file isn’t needed to wipe noses; dry eyes; praise torn and tattered school papers; bake cookies and other little people programs. The Mother File is not needed to play chauffeur from one end of town to the next; it is not needed to lecture right from wrong…..this Mother File just doesn’t know what program she is running for these four other operators. While I accept the fact that I am a Mother File, I get to feeling a little indignant and fearful that I may be…..oh, I can barely bring myself to say it…..a…a….okay, yes, all right then…..AN ARCHIVED MOM. That would be a file so little used that….

What if I become totally obsolete? That COULD happen, you know. Anything is possible in this life.

Get used to it, you might say, this is life. Right. This is life. I have invested over 28 years, did double time with no pay, no work market place benefits, loving every insane minute of it…..and, slowly, patiently building, building towards those once-a-week-family-gathers in my mind just to be upstaged by modern day living and 90-hour work weeks.

Or, maybe, they are afraid if they come around too much, I might offer cookies, want to wipe their tears…..something that would make them feel like adult CHILDREN.

Okay, I understand.

And I hope THEY understand that one day the Mother File will be transferring from their hard drives by its own self-creating pleasure virus to distant telephone booths around the world. I will call and wish them happy holidays, happy birthday…..check on them just to make sure they are okay but, I will be out and about like a New World explorer.

Yes, there will be a day they will want to draw up the old file and guess what? (Grin) It won’t be there.

Ah, what the heck…..as long as they have the equipment, I’ll let them copy some of the info from the Mother File…..but, I don’t have a resolution regarding any home-cooked meals.

Technology doesn’t either.

[Shylynne]

I'm middle-age, middle-class, and middle-of-the-road. I feel like that white stuff in the middle of an Oreo.

[nChrist]

I'm middle-age, middle-class, and middle-of-the-road. I feel like that white stuff in the middle of an Oreo.

Oklahoma Howdy to Shylynne,

   It sounds like you have it good - that's the sweetest part. I would quit buying Oreos without it.

Love In Christ,
Tom