Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, ATMs, breasts, business, entrepreneurs, health, humor, libraries, mammograms, menopause, Middle-Age, mom, south, southern, subourbonmom, women, women's health
I was reminded the other day that I am way late on getting my mammogram done—y’all, getting older sucks. Seriously, there’s got to be a more comfortable way to look at our mammory masterpieces. Thanks to Obamacare (which I think has done great things for people with pre-existing illness, by the way), I’ve been counting my pennies and choosing carefully which medical events are most important. In my field research, I’ve found more inexpensive ways to get a mammogram done.
The best way is to drive to your local library and use the mechanized drop box that looks like an ATM. Our county’s libraries recently got new ones—here’s how they work. When you drive up, the shelf is exactly at the wrong height, no matter what kind of car you’re in.
If you’re in an SUV, you have to hang your body half way out the window because you have to be so far away to accommodate the return book conveyor belt. Then you smush your chest on your window as you reach for the buttons to operate the damned thing. If you’re in a sedan or God forbid, a hybrid, you have to climb like a monkey up to the right height, squishing your chest on the drop box ledge to get your books up there.
Side note: Someone please tell me—why is it an option to get a receipt at the library? Are there people who don’t want a receipt in case there is secret information that someone might use against them to rack up a bunch of late charges? Just print the thing off without making me hang my torso out of the car like a crash-test dummy to press another button.
Another good place to do this is at your local ATM. Same principal applies, but the reverse is true for cars—ATMs seem to be made for SUVs. I was driving Hubby’s sedan (excuse me, he would emphasize it’s a SPORT sedan, even though it has 4 doors), and realized the car mirrors are at exactly the wrong height–they would smack into the front edge of the ATM if I got any closer. I had to back up and pull in again (much to my mortification) so I wouldn’t hit the machine. Then, I had to stretch up to reach the buttons and grab my stuff, once again smushing my chest exactly like they do in a mammogram.
If mammogram folks were smart, they would partner with library drop offs and ATMs to do a combo-service, taking a picture as you went about your business. A week after you visited the ATM or library drop-off, you would get a notice in the mail informing you if your mammogram was normal or not–receipt optional.
Last summer I wrote a blog about fishing with my family, and my regrets over my sore-loser attitude. (see https://subourbonmom.wordpress.com/2013/08/19/fishing-frenzy/) This year, we once again had our Annual Lake Trip Family Fishing Tournament. I was determined to have fun, and maybe convince one of our daughters to join us at 6:00am for the camaraderie and smack talking that is our fishing style–“that’s how we troll.” (It should be noted that this year, for the first time ever, my sister-in-law also went—and she is NOT a morning person—she didn’t catch anything, but she was a trooper. Thanks for the effort, SA!)
After two days of Hubby, Big Brother and myself coming back to the dock with buckets of fish, Daughter #1 agreed to go. The first day, she got up at 6:00 and came down to the boat, phone in hand, and promptly began taking sleepy selfies. We didn’t catch much that day, just a catfish and a little white bass, but she said she might do it again because she just had fun hanging out (how about that for fun family time, and only a little bit of phone use?).
The next time, she got up again at 6:00 and shuffled down to the dock, coffee that Hubby made her in one hand, cell phone welded to her other.
Take note:
- Hubby makes coffee for her, and he is the only person who can make it the right way, since they use very little coffee, with lots of creamer and sugar—it’s too sickening for me to even taste to get it right; and
2. Daughter #1 is clearly able to get up that early and be ready for action, just not on school days.
(Hmmmmm….)
As we trolled along the points, the early sun shining above us, Big Brother made note of what he considered a slight personality change that occurs when I fish. Apparently, when I’m not catching anything, I’m somewhat unpleasant to be around, but when I do catch something, all is right with the world.
“The Gray Wiggle” (according to Daughter #2) catches another catfish…
When I argued the point, Daughter #1 said, “Mom, you think you’re not competitive, but you are. You even tell everybody how competitive me and dad are, and that you and Daughter #1 skipped that gene. But you’re just as bad.”
Big Brother laughed and said, “You’re right. She’s even competitive about being competitive.”
Okay, okay, you might be right.
But while you’re busy talking about how competitive I am, I’m going fishing. Nobody catches anything without throwing a line in.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, children, communication, employment, humor, jobs, Middle-Age, office, office etiquette, preschool, south, southern, subourbonmom, teaching, work
Hey? Did you hear that flapping sound? That’s me, flailing around in my new job. Yep, I did it—I stopped teaching 5-year-olds so I can work with much taller 5-year-olds in the grown-up world of business.
I won’t go into all the boring details, but suffice it to say (who says “suffice it to say” anymore?), I am having to re-work some of my mental processes as I make the transition from teaching to having a “big girl job,” as my teacher friends like to call it. One of the things I decided would help me through, is to make a list of things to remember while I’m sitting in my cube:
- Do not talk about poop at work….or pee, or green boogers or vomit.
- You don’t have to get someone to stand over your cube and make sure nothing happens while you go to the bathroom.
- Crayon and markers are not acceptable modes of communication.
- Do not display your finished work on the board outside your cube.
- People can hear you if you’re whispering on a conference call (found that one out yesterday).
- You cannot tell irritating people to take a time out.
- Do not send back edits with smiley faces on them.
- There is no “Question of the Day;” there hundreds of questions (usually asked by me) every day, and the answer usually involves three emails and trying to figure out how to work the phone that has no labels.
- You don’t have to write everything in words of one syllable for the beginner readers…usually.
- Don’t expect the supply closet to be very inviting—there are no paints, stickers, glitter or construction paper, even though every office in the working world desperately needs these things.
- Sitting on the carpet to sort out your papers just looks…odd. Sit in the chair whenever possible.
- Do not spin in the chair just because it’s fun. People will look at you funny.
- Relax—no one is going to look under the bathroom stall door to see which teacher is in there with them.
- It is now safe to talk about The Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy without the fear of damaging a child’s imagination—but Santa’s still real, right? (In our house the rule is, “If you don’t believe, you don’t receive.”)
- Seriously, don’t talk about poop at work…ever.
Filed under: Middle Age, Posts | Tags: adulthood, boxers, dating, humor, Marriage, menopause, Middle-Age, mom, Panties, sex, sexy, shopping, Soma, south, southern, subourbonmom, thongs, underwear
Recently I was in the “library,” thumbing through my Bathroom Book of Facts, when I came upon one that sparked my interest:
“The average American woman has 27 pairs of underwear.”
I thought, that can’t be right. There’s no way we have that many, even if you include Date Night panties, the inevitable Granny Panties, and the “Hell no, I’m not wearing those. I don’t care if you got them in Vegas.” Since I like to do research, I decided to
1) survey my own stash of underwear;
2) survey how many my friends have; and
3) see if there’s a difference in the number men and women have, since the book didn’t mention it.
Surprise! I have exactly 27. Nice to know I’m perfectly average. But when I counted up the three categories, I was surprised to find I only have 8 cotton everyday Jockeys, and 2 Granny Panties; but, I have 17 Date Night pairs (I’d already gotten rid of the “Hell No” panties years ago). Very strange (and depressing) since I pretty much only wear the cotton Jockeys every day.
Taking the advice of many women’s magazines, I made a decision to try and wear a Date Night pair every other day and see if I felt sexier, even though nobody else would know. (I didn’t say anything to Hubby, since I knew he’d never leave me alone if he knew what I was wearing). The result? I didn’t really feel sexier, since I instantly forgot about them unless they started crawling up, which they inevitably did. Polyester and Lycra are not my friend. (Side note: The Hanky Panky thongs are still the only ones I will ever wear, and they didn’t crawl up, since they were already there.)
When I asked my friends about their supply, I learned four things:
1) most of my friends are around the 25-30 mark—I like to think of this as a sign of optimism, unless the Granny Panty pairs are outnumbering the Date Night Pairs;
2) the younger the women, the more they had (teens-25 had pairs numbering in the 40’s)—I attribute this to the number of times they change clothes in a day;
3) men have significantly fewer pairs—also attributed to the number of times they change in a day, and the fact below;
4) men and women categorize their underwear very differently.
Apparently, most men only have about a dozen, no matter what their age or athletic/work habits. And they categorize them into Regular and Exercise groups. No mention of how they want to look in front of the ladies…hmmmm…no Date Night pairs, fellas? Just a shave and some cologne and you’re all set? Well, at least you’re not being presumptuous.
So, I’ll continue to wear the Date Night underwear, if for no other reason than now I won’t have to do so many loads of whites to keep the cotton stash at the ready for gym days. For those of you with a disproportionate number of Granny Panties, don’t give up! Just because your hips have spread out to balance your bottom, which dropped somewhere below Antartica in recent years, it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to wear sexy underwear. It does mean you need to get properly-fitting underwear with the sticky stuff along the edges to hold it in place—check out Soma for those in regular woman sizes.
For you men, thank you for keeping the laundry loads down with your minimalist purchases; and thank you for buying that “Hell No” underwear a few years ago, even though our bodies were clearly past looking good in them–it might have made us mad initially, but secretly, we were pleased you still saw us that way at all!
PS–when I was looking for pictures of underwear online, I came across some that were hysterical, but that I could never publish here. If want a giggle, just search for funny underwear pictures.
Filed under: Middle Age, Parenting | Tags: adulthood, brownies, children, cooking, driving, family, humor, kids, Middle-Age, mom, parenting, parents, soccer, south, southern, sports, subourbonmom, teenagers, teens
As many of you know, spring is an especially crazy time of year in our house: sports seasons wind down (“Has anyone seen soccer my jerseys? They were due yesterday…”) and start up simultaneously (“What do you mean none of your riding pants fit?”); prom (“A new dress is going to cost How Much???”) and general hormonal mayhem ensue (“I’m going to put all my projects off until I stress-cry”); and preschoolers finally start losing it with each other (Teacher: “Why did you poke him?” Child: “I don’t like him anymore.”).
So, my apologies for not posting for a while. I haven’t started stress crying yet, but it’s only because I don’t have time. Even now, you’re only going to get what I like to call a window post—I’m just going to give you a peek through the window of my life, so you can see what I’ve been hearing over the last couple of weeks…
Daughter #2: “Mom, if you hadn’t married Dad, we’d be ugly.”
Daughter #2: “I’m going to make sadness brownies.” A week later: “I’m going to make sickness brownies.”
Daughter #1 (driving) to Daughter #2 (behind her in the back seat): “Stop pressing on my seatbelt with your toes!”
Daughter #2: “You can feel that?”
Daughter#1: “Yes. It’s pressing into my ovaries!”
Me to Daughters: “The dishwasher makes things smell because you don’t rinse your dishes. Eggs turn into cement of you just throw the plate in the sink.”
Daughter #1: “Well, why did Dad get that dishwasher?”
Me: “It’s super-quiet and has a delay setting.”
Daughter #1: “It’s super-quiet because it’s not cleaning anything.”
Next post….”Underwear and how many pairs women supposedly have” (working title)…seriously, that’s the next one…enjoy your week beneath the fine powder of pollen.
Subourbon Mom 
