Geriatric Blogger Mauls Pubescents

Sometimes I feel spry and nimble and barely realize I'm in my mid-thirties. And I am still in my mid-thirties, contrary to what some of you would say. Thirty-nine is late thirties.

But other times I feel downright decrepit. Like the other night at the gym.

Usually when I go to the gym, it's in the middle of the day with the other SAHMs and the retired folks. That's also when I feel all nimble and young. Benchpressing next to a man with an oxygen tank does something to remind me of my youth.

But I've been busy, so I have been skulking off to the gym after dinner. Ladies, have you had children? When you last saw the decade of your twenties was Friends the hot new show? Then DON'T go to the gym at night. This is when the young people come out.

*cue screeching horror music*

I am nearing a very special time of the month, the time where I bring out the parachute-esque pair of worn cotton panties. The time where I don't want to wear clothing that presses on my pubis or lower uterine area - nothing that even reminds me of any girl part on my body.

So my attire at the gym was comprised of the following: full-waisted gray nylon pants (the kind that billow all around your tummy/ass region when you sit? Quite comfortable), old pink tank top and white hoodie that have both mysteriously shrunk since the holidays, thick black glasses (my contacts are rebelling and I look like an angry rabbit with them in), frizzy-post holiday winter hair hastily scraped back into *cue additional horror music* a scrunchie. I should add the extra special bonus that is the joy of wearing high waisted anything: each butt cheek looks about eighteen inches long.

My finest moment? Perhaps not. But I am not there to snag a man, and frankly, there have been times at the gym before noon when ensembles like that have made men have to crank up the oxygen levels on their tanks.

I worked out and realized I had been there for two hours and needed to get home and take care of some things. So I ran through the narrow hall by the racquetball courts, the swishing of my nyloned thighs announcing me, and these two young things were sauntering in front of me blocking my way.

They were really annoying. And not just because they were meandering and swaying and not maintaining a straight trajectory so that I might pass them.

But also because they were that young taut breed that I now think of as young. They had teeny tiny shorts on, the low-ride fit clearly not enough since the waist-band was rolled to the top of their hoo haws. They had no body fat except what was in their bras, and they skipped in front of me with long glossy hair - the kind that is effortlessly thrown into a messy bun. The very same way I sometimes try and wear my hair now, except I always end up looking like a bald woman with a knot at the nape of her neck. Four kids and the hair and nails take a slight beating.

So I finally pass these girls and I'm practically racing down the hall, my thighs this close to starting a fire, and I hear one of them giggle and say, "Excuuuse us!" and the other giggles right back and says:

(in an old lady voice like you would affect for oh, say, a woman in her nineties): "Yeah, excuse me, eh?"

When did I get old?

That Was So Funny I SWEAR My Kidneys Just Stopped Functioning. Really! LOL

Yeah, there is no reason for that title other than sometimes when I'm reading a funny blog, I will see commenters before me who make me ask, really? Did you just literally spew coffee on your keyboard? Or is that just a metaphor?

So I thought it would be fun to come up with some stock "LOL" phrases to use when someone has tickled the funnybone. Anyone?

I went to http://www.random.org/ and had their list generator pick six random numbers and we have six winners for the face masks! Would you all quickly send me an email with your address and I can get those to you. I have a BIG trip to the post office today, and it's something I dread like death itself try and avoid with the little ones.

Here is who Random.org picked (with your comment number next to your name):

Melissa 12
Amanda 15
Painted Maypole 19
Mrs. G 23
Candy 35
Madame Queen 37

I want more winners - so next week keep a lookout for an EVEN BETTER give away!

That was so fun I lost my voice screaming! Really! I'm going to have to learn to sign!

The Wrinkle Rexic Shares

Oooh! I have another give-away!

So soon, you ask? Yes, because I just can't wait on this one.

I recently tried a new face mask my mom sent me made entirely from natural and organic ingredients and it knocked my socks off. Was it because the mask had cocoa powder and made me feel as if I were making out with a Ghirardelli bar? Um, maybe.

But also because the moment I rinsed the mask off, Bob happened to walk by. Normally, the man notices nothing. Really. Once I dyed my normally blonde hair (of course it's naturally that way. cough.) auburn for a trip to Paris and I bounced in front of him and asked him how he liked my new hair. He had to wonder, hmmm, was it maybe shorter?

So Bob walked by and stopped. He looked at me and squinted his eyes and said, "Wow. Your skin looks really, really good."

Game over. I was hooked. So without further ado, let me introduce to you to my new favorite face mask in the entire world, ever, Muddy H2O. This stuff is fantastic, and contains really cool ingredients like cocoa powder, natural french clay, organic calendula, comfrey root and ground chickpea powder. There is nothing artificial in these wonder masks and after using the chocolate mask my skin was soft, smooth, and glowed like Jack's bottom. Before the rash.

I also used the French Clay mask, and mixed it with some pureed pumpkin like I read on their website. Holy small pores, Batman! I had considered going to my local day spa for their pumpkin enzymatic peel (for way too much money) and now I think that would be a waste of time and money.

Want your own? I'm giving away SIX natural face and body masks for you to try. Three French Clay and three chocolate. But seriously, these things are so inexpensive that you would all be silly, big-pored fools to not rush here or here and get yourself some chocolate blueberry amazingness.

Today and tomorrow all who comment are open for the draw.

In the Bones

I have the kind of fatigue right now that feels like it is leaking out of my bones.

I need to go hook up a nice plump vein to a pot of coffee and clear the cobwebs.

In the past, when I've heard writers liken the writing of a book to birthing a child I scoffed. I've done my share of birthing, and I just thought it was a weak metaphor.

Not anymore. I've been working for months on a young adult novel, and I feel like I am in the 42nd week with preeclampsia. I started sending out queries to the agents in New York who accept email submissions and I have been amazed with the swiftness of the responses. I have been receiving so many rejections that when I get one that isn't a form letter I feel touched.

Until yesterday. An agent from a house I really like sent me an email asking for the first fifty pages of the book. So I polished the first fifty as best I could and shot it off to her around 1:00 am today.

That was my water breaking.

Now, I am faced with the rest of the book. I need to get this baby ready for the real world on the off chance (and I do mean off; odds are she'll thank me for my time and "pass on the project") she wants the entire book.

Heavy breathing isn't helping much. I hope this doesn't jinx things.

And Mom and Dad Can Hardly Wait...

Oh most blessed day of the new year, we give you thanks.

We thank you for children who now have to be wakened early, fed, dressed and taken to school where they might reside for hours, away from me. We thank you for a morning free of bickering, devoid of whining, and clear of the pitiful sounds of boredom. In the name of the father, amen.

After Christmas I acquiesced to the girls' requests for sleepovers with friends. At our house. In a bold, unprecedented move, I even agreed to the coveted back to back sleepover for my oldest.

That's right. A two nighter. At our house. Pretty much the brass ring of sleepovers.

On the second night, after I had dutifully threatened Maddie and her friend with bodily harm if they didn't turn in by 10:30, I came downstairs at eleven to warn them to be quiet and to turn the lights out.

Maddie, with a chunk of Christmas chocolate in her hand the size of the dog's head nodded my way and said something along the lines of, "yeah."

At 12:45, when I could tell they were still awake, I again stomped downstairs.

I entered Maddie's room and this time she held a jumbo box of junior mints in her hand. When I pushed open her bedroom door, both girls glanced at me, wild-eyed with fatigue and sugar poisoning.

"Maddie, I am turning the lights out now. This is ridiculous."

"Mom! We can't go to bed. It's too hot."

"Yeah, too hot," mumbled her flunky.

I told her it wasn't too hot, but that she was high on sugar and needed to set the box down. It was like dealing with a junkie.

She rushed to me, shaking the junior mints in the box and rattled the candy in my face.

"Oh yeah?? Let's just see how much sugar is in here, okay?"

Good times. All I can say is her friend's presence saved her life. And now back to school is saving mine.

Amen.

Mommy Blogger Snags Pulitzer

Blogosphere- Holly Meyer always wanted to be a writer.

Now, thanks to hard work and a blogger account, she can say she’s a Pulitzer Prize winning writer. Holly Meyer, 31, started blogging about the antics of her five year-old just sixteen months ago. Within four weeks she was hooked, and by the time six months had passed, every stay at home mom (or SAHM, in blogger lingo) from Portland to Pensacola knew about the hijinks of little Kelsey Meyer.

The magic began for Holly one night at her subdivision’s weekly Bunko group.

“There I was, with eleven of my neighbors, telling them story after story about my little girl, Kelsey. My friends were laughing so hard, because everything Kelsey does is just so funny! For example, she can’t pronounce the letter r, so I’m laughing every morning when she just asks for ‘bweakfast ceweal.’ Really, I can’t make this stuff up.”

And so “Kelsey’s Korner” was born.

A typical blog entry for Holly always starts with a picture of Kelsey.

“She has so many princess outfits, and she used to wear them every single day. Then one day, out of the blue, she up and asked for a Star Wars costume. Star Wars! I can tell you, it was so darn cute to see her little face peeking out of an Annikan Skywalker robe! Nobody can predict Kelsey, and that’s part of what keeps people coming back.”

Along with a photo that warms the heart, readers get an accounting of Kelsey’s day. Holly usually posts about her picky eating habits (“she ate only white food for a whole month!”), her silly songs warbled from her booster seat in the mini-van (“she calls the mini-van a Mommy Van!”) and the drama that accompanies kindergarten playgrounds across America (“Kelsey had to learn to stand up for herself and tell that little boy to stop cutting in line. She grew up that day.”).

But it was the heart-warming post detailing Kelsey’s struggles with wetting the bed that pushed Holly into fame.

“I think I got something like 47 comments on that post. I didn’t know I would touch so many lives. Kelsey isn’t even in first grade and she has already left her legacy for the world. A legacy of laughter, princess tea parties, silly potty jokes, and her pain as she struggled to sleep through the night without wearing pull-ups.”

Will the $10,000 prize money change Holly and Kelsey?

“Absolutely not! My husband was going to build me an extra room for my scrap booking supplies and stamping gear, and now we can do most of it without breaking the bank. Our lives will still be the same: funny, full of love, and a little crazy.”

Or should we say, cwazy.

Dear God, it's me, Jen

Growing up as a beigey WASP I never knew the splendors of the coming of age celebration. No Bat Mitzvah for me. No wedding-like Quinceanera.

When I first got my period my mother grew weepy, called my Aunt, gave me a butterfly wing locket and announced my bleeding at the dinner table to mixed reviews. In between sniffed metaphors describing my metamorphosis into a young woman, my little sister noted that I had leaked onto the dining room chair, and my dad managed a grunt in between bites of pot roast.

I grew up reading Judy Blume and swimming at our local Jewish Community pool with my cousins. I went through a phase where I wanted to be Jewish like Margaret wanted boobs and a menstrual cycle.

After this last Christmas, I found myself again considering a conversion. Right around December 23, the point each year where I either threaten to run away or self-inflict a head wound in the hopes of a coma through the new year, I told Bob this was our last Christmas as gentiles.

I am more of a summer break girl myself. All this transfatty goodness/party with the neighbors/spend all my money American way to have Christmas is getting a little stale.

Then I thought of eight days of presents for the six people in our house, plus the relatives.

I think I'd rather just have the Bat Mitzvah? It's only 23 years late, I'm sure there is a loophole in the procedure, no?

So I am making 2008 my extended coming of age celebration.

I feel like this year holds great things, and I feel ready to spread my wings. How about you? Shall we come of age together?