Filed under: Middle Age, Spring Break, Travel | Tags: Carribean, family, hiking, humor, islands, Middle-Age, mom, Spring Break, St. Maarten, subourbonmom, travel, yachts
Spring break this week couldn’t have come soon enough, after yet another week of missed work, missed school and sleet that no longer sounded like popcorn on the windows, but more like an irritating toddler tapping on the bedroom door while Mommy was in “time-out.” Courtesy of my very generous in-laws, we were invited to spend a few days in St. Maarten. For weeks I’d been envisioning white sand beaches, tropical drinks and hangovers that mysteriously disappeared with an hour or two of being in the sun.
I also had visions of how I would be looking in my bikini.
Huh.
I didn’t remember I’d have two teenage daughters with me, and that I would be surrounded by other youngsters in their 20’s, with no wrinkles or worn-out-looking skin draping their bodies like Scarlett O’Hara’s curtains before she made them into a dress.
But I wore it anyway. Hell, I didn’t know anybody there.
I also tried to justify it to myself by going for a walk from where we were staying up to a radio tower on top of the “mountain.” Okay, it wasn’t really a mountain, but it looked like one when I was eyeballing it from the breakfast table, with a stomach full of healthy granola trying to counteract the bellyful of pizza and Heinekens from the night before.
My eyes have always been bigger than my stomach, and that day, they were clearly bigger than my exercise capabilities.
So off The Fam went, a water bottle in each hand, our pale, prison-term skin glistening in the mid-morning light and blinding the locals. As we plodded along the congested street to get to the “mountain”, my only thought was, “My goal today is to sweat out the many, many toxins I ingested last night.” By the time we’d gone about 500 yards, I’d achieved that goal. We hadn’t even started uphill yet.
Our friend and guide to all fun things local, Mark, led us landlubbers through the maze of tiny lanes winding up the hill. Each indentation in the road hid a charming villa overlooking the ocean in a panorama of turquois and cerulean blues that made your heart actually ache, wanting to see that view every day. In his characteristic speed-walk (large steps, head swiveling from side to side like an ostrich as he scanned for potential hazards), we hiked up the mountain that I had quickly decided was not eroding with time like a normal mountain, but was in fact growing, probably due to some strange up-thrust of island infrastructure-related sewage activity. (For some reason, there was a stench of raw sewage that would come at us in wafts all over the island—random waves of shit-smell that would actually burn the back of your throat until you cleared the area).
Two-thirds of the way up, I had to take a break. Mama Bear was falling behind, and not in a, “I’ll block the cars from the rear,” protective kind of way. My lungs were on fire, and the hip I busted white water rafting was seizing up in a way no WD40 or bottles of Aleve were going to fix. Ahead, Mark and Daughters 1&2 were plowing on with heads down and shoulders hunched against the humidity and the the incline.
Hubby was patiently waiting for me to catch up, the last prisoner on this Bataan Death March.
Eventually, we made it to the top, and the view? It was worth it—a panoramic view of our part of the island.
The best parts of the whole adventure?
- No texting
- Daughters 1&2 were impressed with something that, while not exactly life-sized, was not on SnapChat until THEY put it there.
- I didn’t have to use my inhaler, and the hours on the elliptical weren’t wasted.
- I was toxin-free…
- …until I had the three frozen lemonade drinks at the beach bar later on that were GUILT-FREE.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, clocks, family, glasses, humor, malls, Marriage, menopause, Middle-Age, REI, shopping, Sleazstaks, south, southern, subourbonmom
Many of you know I’m not a gadget girl. I am missing the shopping gene that Daughter #1 has, which enables her to spend hours in a mall, touching everything that is for sale. However, recently I was in our local REI store, killing time while the family roamed around, and I found something that was so cool, I almost spent the $14 just to wear it once into my classroom:
That’s not me: it’s my big brother…you can’t say I never made you famous!
How could you not want chameleon-vision glasses? I would LOVE to spend one afternoon driving around in these, watching people’s reactions. Of course, since the glasses enable you to see behind you and to the side, I would be an even better driver than I already am (my insurance agent Stephanie would agree, saying something like you can only go up).
Despite the cool glasses (which I opted not to buy), I’m still not a gadget girl. I don’t need the latest and greatest bells and whistles on everything I own—but I married someone who does. Most of the time this works to my advantage—my dishwasher is super-quiet and my car has heated seats and intermittent wipers, things I never would have bothered with. The fact of the matter is, it’s a pretty safe bet that if something ever happened to Hubby, I would be living in a shack with nothing but a CD player and a black and white t.v.
About a month ago, Hubby bought a gadget that might cause our entire marriage to implode. Apparently, he has always wanted one of those alarm clocks that shines the time on the wall or ceiling. Yes, the man who claims to not be able to sleep if I have the bedside light on, or if my book light is too bright, has purchased an alarm clock that projects bright blue numbers a foot high on the wall opposite our bed. All night long, the room is bathed in a Poltergeist glow, and I keep waking up, expecting to see Drew Barrymore in her white nightie sitting in front of out t.v., saying, “They’re heeeere…”
As a woman in her 40’s who finds herself awake in a puddle of sweat for no good reason, having a giant blue announcement that it’s 3:00 AM is unbelievably annoying. It’s even more irritating when, as I turn over for the twentieth time and crack open my eyes, it informs me it’s 3:10…3:13…3:42…4:00.
So I’ve decided on my revenge. I’m going to put on those glasses (looking like a Sleazstak from the old Land of the Lost show), and wake Hubby up. I’m pretty sure they don’t have alarm clocks like that in the hospital. No matter which of us ends up there, I win.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, brains, Eyes, humor, memory, menopause, Middle-Age, National Geographic, news, Patrick Dempsey, Science, sex, south, southern, subourbonmom, television, vision
I was looking through our latest copy of National Geographic (I think I am one of the dozen folks in the world still getting it–thanks Mom!), and I came across a couple of articles I couldn’t resist commenting on.
A recent study from Canada’s McMaster University tracked the way men and women moved their eyes as they scanned pictures of faces. In a nutshell, women made more eye movements between the features then men, generating a more vivid picture in their minds. I would like to know why women scan faces more—does this mean we’re naturally more critical of each other? (“Oh Lord, she’s got a glob of mascara on her left eyelid, Bless her heart.”) 
Or is it just part of our enhanced communication skillset? (“Caveman Bob looks like he would be a better mate than Caveman Steve—he’s got laugh lines.”)
I would also like to know if the same holds true for other body parts—say, breasts, for example. I would love to see a study done that determines if men spend the same amount of time scanning breasts as they do faces, or if it is more. 
To be fair, a study should also be done to determine if women scan men’s bodies as much as they do faces. I’m betting they do—I like big…feet as much as the next girl.
In another article, Caltech and UCLA used pictures of celebrities to study how the brain processes what the eyes see. They found out that an individual nerve cell fired up only when subjects were shown pictures of Halle Barry, even is she was dressed up as Cat Woman. Apparently, we use very few neurons for every image we see, and this makes our brains super-efficient at storing information. But if I’m using one neuron for each image, tv must REALLY be using up my brain capacity.
Think of all the images we see every day on tv, YouTube, and SnapChat. No wonder I can’t find my keys or remember where I parked; I’m too busy assigning neurons to hotty actors like Patrick Dempsey and Ian Somerhalder while I Google people in the carpool line.
Since I am completely unable to pull up the name of the lead singer of U2 if I’m asked on the spot, or remember why I came into a room at any given time, my image storing capacity is clearly taking away my language and memory recall.
Maybe this is why in the 1950’s they called the tv “the idiot box.” I think they were on to something.
Now if only I could remember where I put the remote…maybe if I think of Patrick Dempsey holding it I’ll find it.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Parenting | Tags: adulthood, cell phones, children, family, humor, kids, Middle-Age, mom, parenting, sleep, sleep texting, smart phones, subourbonmom, teenagers, teens, texting
I recently read an article about “sleep texting.” Apparently, this is becoming an issue, especially with teens, who have their phone attached to their body, sucking their communication skills away as fast as the Seahawks sucked away Peyton Manning’s dreams.
This happens at my house, too!
Similar to sleepwalking, people are now reading and responding to texts while asleep. Some of those afflicted have even resorted to wearing mittens and socks to bed to prevent this from happening. Wow—that’s a generational difference. We older people have been known to wear socks with lotion in them to bed to keep our feet and hands from cracking–not so we don’t text our friends. In fact, I have no desire to hear from anybody after 8:00pm, much less contact them in my sleep.
One doctor said having your phone where you can hear it buzz while you sleep is similar to how a mother is conditioned to respond to a baby crying in the middle of the night; the slightest sound wakes her up. For those of you who had babies, you remember that sleep-deprived stage when you woke up to every little scratch and squeak your newborn made? Well, teenagers are sleeping as lightly as we did, and it is making them even more pleasant to be with during the day.
But in a world where communication is becoming such an issue, with bullying at the forefront, just imagine the drama that could ensue from sleep texting in high school. (Please note I am aware of how pathetic my attempts are at mimicking the texting shorthand Daughters 1&2 use–I still can’t bring myself to use the word “totes.”)
It’s 2:00am and “Julie” is woken up by the buzz from the phone on her night table:
Samantha: you up?
Julie: ya y?
Samantha: Jack just broke up with me
Julie (dreaming about Grey’s Anatomy, which she’s been watching non-stop since Christmas break): McSteamy?
Samantha: wut?!? Since when do you like jack… (red, angry face emoticon)
Julie: he’s hot but he likes Lexi
Samantha: Lexi? In Algebra?
Julie: Lexi loves him.
Samantha: how do u know?
Julie: they had sex
Samantha: when? how do u know? I thought she was a virgin!! (seven confused emoticons)
Julie: but he has a kid and she’s mad
Samantha: ???
Julie: (back asleep–no response)
Samantha: WTF I hate it when u do this u r so weird why don’t u answer me?
Julie: (no response—asleep)
Samantha: I knew u couldn’t b serious about it u always make a joke about everything u r supposed to be my best friend don’t even talk to me at school! (fifteen crying emoticons)
Now, imagine Julie trying to explain that she has no memory of sending those texts to an irate Samantha, just after Samantha has crucified Lexi and Jack at school. (is there a shaking head with pity emoticon?)
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Parenting, Posts, Sports | Tags: adulthood, apps, condoms, football, hormones, humor, libraries, Marriage, Middle-Age, mom, NFL, parenting, sex, sports, subourbonmom, teenagers, teens, WiFi
As promised last week, here are a few inventions I would like to patent but never will, because I am lazy, can’t do math or chemistry, and don’t want librarians or activists to hunt me down. Football coaches, I’ve seen your physiques–good luck catching me.
1. Condoms with the words “What Would Jesus Do?” printed on them. It’s the perfect compromise, people—pro-choice, and yet discouraging at the same time. For the non-Christians among us, substitute whatever deity you believe in. For atheists and religions that don’t worry so much about sex as much as Christians do, change it to “Do you like changing diapers?” If you are more worried about disease than pregnancy, or if you work for the CDC, change it to, “Do you have your $50 co-pay ready?”
Puke Pourri:
Spritz our smelly stuff about,
And the puke smell’s gone
By the time you check out!
2. A spray that makes library books stop smelling like vomit. Daughter #2 always asks me, “When we can go to Barnes & Noble?,” (we are not electronic readers) and I always reply that the library books are free, so we should go there instead. “Not thanks,” is her reply. When I asked her why she never wanted to go to the library, Daughter #2 said, “They always smell like throw-up.” So of course, I went to the library and amused myself (and others I’m sure) by smelling lots of books in the children and teen sections. You know what? She was right. They do smell like vomit. So, in the same spirit as the incredibly wonderful Poo-Pourri spray (sold at Hallmark–thanks Debra!) that eliminates poo odors in the bathroom, I would invent “Puke-Pourri” spray, conveniently sold at all libraries. It could even be a fundraiser for our national libraries!
3. A remote, phone-specific disconnection timer app that would disconnect certain phones in my house from the WiFi for certain periods of time during the day, like 7:00-8:00am, and during scheduled homework times. This would make getting out the door in the mornings with teenagers easier, and the process of getting homework done much faster. This app would be controlled by specific phones (mine), so the teenagers could not turn it off. I Googled it–so far all I saw was a list of sites complaining about phones disconnecting all by themselves…
4. The hormone alert wristband. If only humans were as straight-forward as cats when they want to have sex. When a cat is in heat, she will meow incessantly, sending out her mating call for all the tomcats in the area to hear (It’s only finny if it’s not your cat). If only men and women could send out signals like that in a bar, or, even better, after a decade or three of marriage. The hormone alert wristband can be made for both men and women. The woman’s band would determine estrogen and progesterone fluctuations, alerting her partner that her emotions might be running high, or that her estrogen levels are low, so trying any hanky-panky is most likely futile (unless you want to keep pestering for some pity sex, in which case I say good luck to you–keep trying and you might draw back a bloody stump). The men’s wristband would detect testosterone levels, alerting his companion to the fact that he is more likely to be aggressive; and it would detect vasopressin levels which, according to a Men’s Health article (http://www.menshealth.com/mhlists/understanding_sex_and_the_brain/printer.ph), are involved in regulating sexual persistence, assertiveness, dominance, and territorial marking. High vasopressin levels could alert his partner to the increased likelihood that the man will want sex, or might be inclined to wander. Either way, if a woman’s estrogen levels are low at the same time, put the basketball game on–he won’t bother you or anyone else.
Photo courtesy of ajc.com
6. An NFL coach that teaches players how to tackle.
Subourbon Mom 