Filed under: Exercise, Food/Drink, Middle Age, Posts | Tags: adulthood, health, humor, mental health, Middle-Age, new year
New year, new me…blah, blah, blah. I don’t like resolutions because I never stick to them. Last year’s resolutions included:
- Drinking less
- Eating healthier
- Losing 10 pounds
- Stretching
- Start jumping in my horseback riding lessons.
Let’s see…in 2023 here’s how that went:
- I honed my bourbon taste buds, took a trip to Ireland and Scotland and discovered after two weeks of tastings and more liver abuse that I still prefer bourbon
- My eating habits leaned farther to the Oreo and pizza side than veggies and protein; therefore I…
- Gained 10 pounds and went up a size – I am now embracing clothes that actually fit instead of trying to squeeze into jeans like a sausage
- I took a stretching class and managed to irritate already gimpy shoulders because…wait for it…I’m weirdly competitive at stretching – against myself
- I had a couple of concussions from falling off horses – not even jumping.
So, screw the resolutions. But I did come across a couple of ideas that might make more sense.
First, someone asked, “Are you acting like summer in winter?” Meaning, why are you working at life with the same energy in winter that you do in the summer? Traditionally, animals and humans in the age of foraging and farming used winter as a time for resting and saving energy – through hibernation, fixing equipment, making and mending clothes, etc. These days it’s often the only quiet time we get, except for that “retreat” somewhere in a mountain setting which costs and arm and a leg, and half your PTO. Winter is a natural time for a lot of us to reflect, to eat hot, nourishing meals that warm our body and soul, and figure our shit out. So, unless you’re an avid winter person who relishes outdoor cold-weather activities, slow your roll and stop acting like its summer. Sometimes having no agenda is an agenda.
The other thing I thought was a good idea was to change the inner voice that groans at 6:00am, “Fuuuuuck, I have to go to the gym,” to “Fuuuuuck, I get to go to the gym because I can afford it and all of my limbs and faculties work well enough to let me get stronger.” Changing from “I have to” to “I get to” may sound like a bunch of new-age think strategy, but it really does help. However, I swear if any of you hear me say anything about a person’s “journey” you get to punch me in the face.
Filed under: Exercise, Food/Drink, Middle Age, Posts, shopping, Spring Break, Travel | Tags: adulthood, Exercise, fitness, humor, mental health, Middle-Age, travel
Ok, so Imposter Syndrome (see my previous blog) doesn’t just happen in sports – it happens as a parent, and even worse, in the mirror.
I don’t know when exactly that it happened, but at some point I started feeling like an imposter in my own body. I would walk by the mirror and catch a glimpse of some person I didn’t recognize, who now has more gray than blond hair, a less curvy body and wrinkly hands,. Then I’d realize that person is me.
WTF? I would think. That can’t be me. After all, my brain hasn’t changed that much since I was 25. I still think poop jokes are funny, that I can do way more physically than I actually can, and I still laugh inappropriately at funerals. My brain also still thinks I’ve got my 25-year-old body – until I go shopping for a bathing suit. Then, I have to deal with my current “beach body.” (Oh, and if I see one more TikTok with some lithe, 18-year-old worrying about getting “beach body ready,” I’m going to…ok, I’m just going to swipe up again in a really, really irritated way.)
Here’s the truth, though: no one else on the beach gives a shit that I didn’t lose those extra 10 pounds, or didn’t go to the gym an extra session a week so I could have a flat stomach.
NO ONE.
And even if they did notice or care, they sure as hell don’t know my body’s story, that the lines on my face are laugh lines and worry lines from years of soccer games, horse shows and family vacations, or that my stomach, with it’s new shape and distribution, housed two other human beings and somehow still supports my spine so I can work at my computer to pay bills.
Appreciate the story your body has to tell. Nobody wants a story that has no plot, no twists and turns, no growth for the main character. Those stories are boring. Be your favorite story and embrace the cover.
Filed under: Food/Drink, Middle Age | Tags: adulthood, entertainment, health, humor, music, self-care, travel
Last weekend I was lucky enough to go see one of my favorite bands, Carbon Leaf. Not only are they talented musicians and great performers, they also went to college with Hubby and I. So, shout out to Carbon Leaf for still living the dream, even though we have kids, wear readers and pay mortgages.
When the time came to get ready, I was paralyzed with uncertainty. What does one wear to a concert when you’re 50, and the band is 50, and its 35 degrees outside but you know its going to be 80 inside? I texted my helpful friends and these are the answers I got:
- Slippers
- Leg warmers
- A banana clip
- Esprit or Benneton sweater
But the most helpful was “Jeans, boots, cute long-sleeved shirt over tank top with a jacket you don’t care gets beer spilled on it so you can tie it around your waist when you have a hot flash.”
So there’s that. Now I have to factor hot flashes into my wardrobe choices as well.
In the past, we would have forgone food and just pre-gamed at somebody’s house. That usually ended with someone holding someone else’s hair and running eye makeup. As grown-ups, after a dinner and a couple of bourbons later we arrived at the concert walking straight and smelling like fried food.
Once inside, I was relieved to see we were age appropriate. See, the thing about being 50 and going to bands and other places is we either tend to be the creepy old people who get side-eyes from the youngsters, or we’re the youngest by 20 years getting side-eyes from the Q-tips. This time, there were two generations present – us, and our children. Carbon Leaf plays music both sets can enjoy. In fact, the younger crowd knew more of the sings than we did.
So, we danced and sang along, and I was secretly smug that I was getting my steps in, when I noticed something glinting on the floor. I picked it up – it was a pair of readers.
Omg. That’s who I am now.
I used to find money on the floor at concerts, or maybe even a tiny bag of weed. Now it’s readers, and the woman in front of me was just as grateful I found those as she would have been back in the day if I’d picked up her bag of weed.
When the encore was over, my jeans were covered in spilt beer and bourbon, and I had in fact stripped off my jacket because of a hot flash or two. We headed out to get our requisite CD (yes, we still listen to them) and t-shirts to support the band. Unfortunately, all I was concerned about when I selected my t-shirt was that it was soft, gray and had the band’s name on it. I didn’t really pay attention to the actual design.
Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. If you don’t see it, you are a better person than me.
Because I am super immature and have a 12-year-old sense of humor, this will forever be a sleep shirt, not for public.
The bottom line is, going to that concert reminded me of how much we need connection to our friends, our past, and our sense of fun and adventure. Stomping my feet not only got my steps in, it also reminded me of how much I love live music and, like the band members who are still living the dream, sometimes you just have “live a life less ordinary.”
Enjoy some Carbon Leaf – The War Was In Color (possibly their best song):
And “Life Less Ordinary”
Filed under: Food/Drink, Middle Age, Misc. Humor, shopping | Tags: barista, beverage, coffee, fashion, humor, middle age, starbucks
Aaahhh…the end of summer is here. Not that you can tell by the weather, in Virginia, but along with shopping for #2 pencils in the fall comes pumpkin spice everything and what I like to call the Coffee Cooters.
If you dare to venture out and hop into the drive-through line at Starbucks on a weekday morning, you will start seeing this seasonal creature, the Coffee Cooter. The first week of school is the optimal time for viewing them in their natural habitat.
Coffee Cooters usually travel in packs of three or four, but occasionally will be seen with only one other (see the Gotta Go Girl below). They arrive in some version of an SUV, parking at a slight angle due to the high rate of speed at which they slide into the space. These beasts of prey will spend at least 5 minutes texting inside the car before exiting to begin foraging.
As a pack, there are two hierarchy layers:
- The Hunters. The Hunters are dressed somewhere between going to a club and what their school has decided is acceptable. Often, this means dresses and skirts that barely cover their cooters, hence the name. As they walk, every few steps they must tug on said dress/skirt to ensure it is in fact covering what it is designed to (often it isn’t). Their drink selections vary between the excessively sweet but substituted with non-dairy, soy everything, and what they have decided is a sophisticated order – the Vente Americano. Occasionally they may order the Spotted Unicorn or Oak Tree Tea Leaf with Habenero Spice Extract special that they saw on TikTok. Their prey, in this case the baristas, flinch and jockey for position away from the counter upon their arrival.
- The Gotta Go Girl. The Gotta Go Girls generally dress more conservatively, indicating the seriousness with which they take their responsibility. Just like in a club, the Gotta Go Girl is the pack member who remains vigilant of the time and on the lookout for inappropriate actions taken by the rest of the pack or by their prey. In the morning coffee run, the Gotta Go Girl frequently checks her watch and can sometimes be seen actively pushing the others into the car upon exiting the building. The Gotta Go Girl orders a simple latte because she doesn’t actually like how bitter coffee really is and won’t undermine her authority by showing weakness to the rest of the pack.
If you spot these creatures, do not approach them, or you will be disemboweled by their looks of pity or irritation. As they leave the hunting grounds, give them a wide birth – they are known for their speed and lack of attention to the surrounding area. And finally, trust that these creatures will soon fade into the autumn woodwork again as the money they made over the summer disappears and the weather limitstheir display of plumage.
Filed under: Food/Drink, Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: Food, health, self-care, stress, winter
Morning Me (and by morning, I mean 6:00am) is half-asleep, full of optimism, lists and plans to eat fruits and vegetables all day. I’ve scheduled my water and stretching breaks from the computer. Sometimes I even decide to skip a shower so I can have some extra time to write my stories before the real world starts intruding. In my mind, I’m sitting by the window, calmly sipping a cup of coffee, musing about what my latest characters are doing, or what the next blog topic will be.
I’m also feeling pretty superior to, well, everyone because I have control of my life. I’m ready for anything.
And then one or all of these things happen:
- I realize it’s winter, and I still have the upstairs thermometer set to FRIGID because I’m 50. I know I’ll have to sprint to the bathroom to take a shower to warm up, or put on my new Comfy (a Snuggie on steroids) that I got for Christmas and hope I don’t have any zoom calls later. I am not molting back into human form once the Comfy is on.
- I make the mistake of reading the news on my phone. Then, because I’m disgusted by the partisan slant, I read the BBC news to get a more balanced view. This is followed by a quick check of what’s new on FaceBook Marketplace, because who doesn’t love thrifting from their bed? Suddenly it’s 8:00 and there’s no way I’m taking a shower now because… I’m adulting.
- I step out of bed and realize I didn’t do my stretches the day before and my feet are acting up again. There’s no way I’m going for that early morning walk. Now I have to take a shower to loosen up my feet and leg muscles, but by the time I’m done with the shower, I’ve already had two freak-outs about work or something else in my life, and that picture of coffee sipping by the window isn’t even a distant memory anymore.
Afternoon Me, or Monster Me, is like Dr. Jekyll to my morning Mr. Hyde (or is it the other way around?). Afternoon Me has changed into sweats. Afternoon Me’s styled morning hair has been yanked back into a ponytail with a scrunchy from 1988, because I realized on a video call that I need a haircut and a dye job. There are three half-empty cups of coffee on the windowsill and zero glasses of water. I’ve eaten a bologna sandwich at my desk with a side of cookies. Afternoon Me has gone from planning to sip coffee by the window to planning to drink a (large) glass of wine and declare it’s Cereal Night. Again.
I don’t know about you, but despite Afternoon Me’s ragged appearance and snarky mood, I still have hope. All is not lost because, if it was, I wouldn’t be Morning Me at all.
So, here’s to all the Morning Me’s out there and all they represent for us. May your Morning Me always be there for you.
Subourbon Mom 