Sweet Surrender
December 18, 2014 at 8:58 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a commentTags: cake, cannoli, Christmas, diet, eating, holidays
Cake is so loud.
It’s all “Hey you! YOU! Yes, you, the one over there trying to put that belt on! Drop it and come over here. No really, I need you. I need to tell you something. C’mere.” Meanwhile, I’m like, “My mother warned me about you, Cake. I know your deal. You’re gonna tell me you lost your puppy and you want me to help you find it. You’re gonna offer me candy. No wait, CAKE!! You’re going to offer me CAKE! How dare you?! You know I can’t resist cake!” and Cake’s like, “Shhhhhh, there there. No one is going to offer you cake. Especially not me. Don’t you trust me? Don’t you believe me? I’m your FRIEND. Your best friend, really, when you think about it. Who else is this creamy, chocolatey good? Huh?
WHO ELSE?” And so I’m all, “Weeelllll, it’s not that I don’t LIKE you, Cake.” So then Cake gets kind of mad, sort of huffy. Cake starts yelling, “Really? REALLY? Then why don’t you get OVER here, huh? If you don’t come over here right now and EAT ME, I’m going to tell everyone about that BELT. How you’re over there trying to squeeze it around your waist like a post-baby Jessica Simpson squeezing into some leopard-skin jeggings! I’m going to plaster it all over FaceBook along with those pictures of you that you HATE and tried to delete off your phone – you know, the ones with the double chins, bad hair, under-eye circles, giant upper arms and TIGHT BELTS! You know what I’m talking about missy!!! You THINK you deleted them but they are still there living in cyberspace and I KNOW HOW TO FIND THEM!” Then Cake softens up a little, which really gets me every time… “Come on, honey, you know you want it….”
But seriously, Cake is nothing compared to Cannoli.
Cannoli are all round and soft on the inside, crunchy/powdery sugary on the outside and they are SPECIAL. They are for a 
SPECIAL occasion. Anything that is SPECIAL needs to be eaten immediately (i.e., in the car on the way to that special occasion), and in great quantity. Oh, and by the way, the shells get soggy if they are kept overnight and it is a SHAME to let them go to waste so you’d better make sure they all get eaten. Even if it means you have to eat three. Remember, they are SPECIAL and this is a SPECIAL occasion. Even if you just discovered that the new Market Basket sells them and there can now be a special occasion every weekend. Even if they are CHEESE-FILLED. SWEET CHEESE-FILLED, to be exact. What could possibly be better than CHEESE and SUGAR mixed together? Oh, I don’t know, why don’t you throw some CHOCOLATE CHIPS on those puppies??
I know what you are thinking. STOP WITH THE CAPITAL LETTERS. But I REALLY NEED THEM. I need to emphasize how truly horrifying this season of joy can be. What with all the baking, eating, baking, eating, baking and eating, followed by celebrating and eating, visiting and eating, and clean-up eating, it is a food-loving dieter’s hell!! HELL!!!
But I have to admit, it is a sweet, sweet way to go.
Enjoy the holidays, my friends. See you at the gym on January 2nd.
xo
M
Life Lessons from A Horse Trainer
May 16, 2013 at 2:10 pm | Posted in Horses, Uncategorized | Leave a commentTags: animals, farm, horses, life lessons, riding
An excerpt from a recent conversation with my Dad (insert heavy Massachusetts accent):
“Hi Honey, how ah your hosses?”
“They’re good, Dad, I’m headed to the barn now for a riding lesson.”
“LESSON?! Don’t you know how to ride by now? What was I paying for all those yea-ahs?”
“Yes, Dad, I know how to ride. It’s just that with horses, you never really stop learning. You can always be better – there’s always something more to know or a new method to try. Kind of like life.”
“Huh. I thought you were going to outgrow this hoss thing anyway.”
That got me to thinking about how riding really can be like life. I’ve been working with this great trainer here in Maine – Chris Lombard – and some of the things we’re focusing on translate directly to the rest of my life. A few choice lessons from my recent schooling sessions:
1) Breathe.
2) Keep a deep seat.
3) Feel the motion and go with it.
4) Keep your eyes up and looking forward to where you are going; don’t look down.
5) Stay alert for the scary stuff, but don’t let it ruin your ride.
6) When you sense that things are about to go wrong or get scary, sit deep and relax. Let go of the reins so nobody gets banged in the mouth.
7) Build partnerships based on mutual trust and understanding.
8) Keep your hands, voice and demeanor soft, unless you’re about to get kicked.
9) Appreciate and work with each other’s personalities and quirks.
10) A little understanding goes a long way.
11) Treats make everyone smile.
12) Some of us are in it for the fun, some for the competition, and some for the incessant gathering of knowledge – but we all have to slog through the mud at times to get there.
And the most important life/riding lesson of all: keep your HEELS DOWN, or you might get dragged!
xo
When Did THAT Happen?
February 27, 2013 at 11:24 am | Posted in Horses, Kids, Uncategorized | 1 CommentTags: aging, children, housewives, housework, husband, kids, Midlife, motherhood, parenting, riding
Lately, I’ve been stumbling across various situations that remind me of my age and stage in life. I wouldn’t call it a mid-life crisis exactly, but I’m definitely in a contemplative mood these days. Here are just a few of the nagging questions that have been on my mind:
When did I go from…
Oh, FX35, how I miss thee…
Racing around in a hotrod to carting around a carload of kids?
Styling my hair with texturizing mousse to detecting the distinct aroma of Eau de Playdough in it?
Wearing high heels every day to wearing out a pair of sneakers every three months?
Being applauded for increasing clients’ product sales to being reprimanded by a 3-year-old for forgetting to buy applesauce?
MMmmmmm.
Choosing a restaurant for their marvelous martini menu to choosing one based on their mac & cheese magic?
The 5:45 a.m. spin class to the 5:45 a.m. wet-bed-sheet-stripping workout? (The kids’ of course, not mine. I’m not that old yet!)
And for that matter, when did I go from…
“I’ll call you when I get there” (from a payphone, which you can’t find anymore) to thinking it’s not ok to leave the house for 10 minutes without a phone? (Remember when phones had cords… and “dialing” actually meant the phone had a dial??)
Being one of that group of girls at the bar (you know, the ones who dance on it) to being one of that group of middle-aged ladies (you know, the ones who are passing around a single pair of
Not actually us (just for the record)
reading glasses because some idiot printed the menu in mouse type and it’s too dimly lit to read anyway. Also, if we don’t get some food to go with these drinks soon there’s going to be some serious heartburn to deal with in the middle of the night. Where are those 12-year-olds who work here, anyway??) Goodbye crazy times…
Sleeping ‘til noon on Sunday to thinking it’s so cool that I can get up at 5:30 before everyone else and get so much done? (Is cleaning the toilets before anyone else is awake really that fulfilling? Maybe it’s the pre-dawn cat-licking [see So Crazy Right Now] that I am attracted to…)
Being a hot mama to having hot flashes?
And finally, when did I go from…
Galloping the length of the beach on my hotrod horse to thinking a nice easy trot down a
Going sideways is pretty slow.
familiar trail (without any bucks or bolts) would be just fine?
Hopping up and riding bareback in from the paddock to carefully picking out the best footing for my 26-year-old gelding while I stumble through snow drifts and glide across glare ice?
20-mile trail rides to 20-minute tail brushing sessions?
But most importantly, I’m glad I’ve recently gone from…
Caring so much about products, businesspeople and price points to realizing the only truly important things in life are your babies, your buddies and your boyfriend (otherwise known as my husband!). Let’s try to keep it all in perspective, shall we?
xo
So Crazy Right Now
February 9, 2013 at 8:23 am | Posted in Kids, Uncategorized | 2 CommentsTags: anxiety, Aspergers, autism, Brady, cats, children, food, husband, kids, Matt, Michael, motherhood, parenting
Do I have to get slapped in the face with crazy the second I wake up?
“Oh, Michelle, you’re not crazy. Don’t say that about yourself!”
It’s not me I’m talking about, people.
Let’s start with the first thing I see/hear if I make the mistake of not getting up before everyone else in the house does: Monty the licker. Don’t get too excited. Monty is a CAT. He’s a crazy, obsessive-compulsive, over-bearing, hyper-demanding CAT who will come into my bedroom first thing in the morning screaming like a banshee and start LICKING… me, the comforter, the sheets, the pillows… anything he can get his tongue on. I have no idea why he does this and I have never met a cat like him. He came from the shelter as a “stray” (although after years of having him we’re pretty sure someone dropped his nutty ass off) and now he lives with us. Lucky, lucky us.
That’s crazy #1 to start my day.
Next comes a whole heap of hooey from number-one son, who leaps into my bed (risking a severe licking from said cat) ranting about the dream he just had. You know, the one about the talking buffalo from Bugaboo Creek (I can’t believe I was stupid enough to take him there. I thought it would be fun. I thought he would get a kick out of it. [I certainly didn’t go for the gourmet food, although I’m still fantasizing about the 10,000 lb. chocolate cake we had for dessert.] I must have forgotten for 5 1/2 seconds that kids with Asberger’s Syndrome are anxious and literal and the first questions he would ask about the giant talking buffalo head on the wall was, “Can he get out of there? Is he going to come over here? Can he see me? Is he talking to me? When is he going to talk again? Does he know my name? How did he get up there? Where’s his owner? When can we go home?” And that a trip to the bathroom would entail hands clapped over ears [even though the buffalo was not talking] and a 20-minutes-out-of-our-way walk to successfully circumnavigate said buffalo without a chance encounter.). And so, of course, the mania about the talking buffalo continued on the 30-minute car ride home and then right into the night, where Brady insisted he had spent his dream time wandering the house trying to save himself and our family from it. And all this because “Trick”, his giant stuffed horse (whom he regularly pretends is a stuffed cat even though he has 26 stuffed cats), was pretending to be a giant talking Buffalo all night long and continually bamboolzing Brady with his shenanigans.
And that, my friends, was crazy #2 to start my day.
Then, number-two son, being fascinated and flummoxed by all things big brother, picks up on Brady’s train of thought (if you can call it that) and is high-tailing it through the house shrieking that there’s a buffalo in their room and we should head for the hills. Brady screams back that it is only TRICK (the giant stuffed horse/cat) PRETENDING to be a buffalo, and so a bellowing fight ensues between the boy in my bed and the boy in the hall. This goes on until Michael can be convinced to join us and take his licking like a man. Meanwhile, I’m still just trying to wipe the sleep out of my eyes and shake off the dream I had about frozen margaritas at a swim-up bar in Cozumel. As if.
That was crazy #3.
And so eventually we all stumble downstairs, where my wound-just-a-little-too-tight husband is insisting that there’s a strange red light on in the back-up power generator and since there’s a BLIZZARD coming (Or maybe it’s just 4 inches of snow, I never know for sure with his overreactive nature. Also, have you ever noticed how men over-call the number of inches something is? Like snow or… other stuff? That’s a topic for another day.) I’d better cancel all my plans and hunker down to wait for the generator company to make an emergency service call. Now. Today. Before it’s too late.
Come on. Red wine keeps. Is it really an emergency if the power goes out?
Hello, crazy #4.
And finally, the chaos in my own mind, whirling and swirling about what needs to get done today, what can’t possibly get done today, and how much Advil it’s going to take to get me through the day. And, course, what color eye shadow I am going to wear. Priorities, people.
So now you see why I always try to get up before everyone else. A mother’s work is never done, but at least she can fend off the crazy a little better when fortified by a cup of tea and a few minutes of pre-dawn silence. Here’s to 5:30 a.m. May it arrive free of wet beds and bad dreams. Those are for 6:10 a.m.
xo
Top 10 Reasons Why I Can’t Finish My Books
January 8, 2013 at 2:47 pm | Posted in Honey Pony, The Real Housewives, Uncategorized | 12 CommentsTags: children, children's book, creativity, FaceBook, Honey, housewives, kids, motherhood, pony, writing
Last winter, I embarked on a potentially misguided journey to write and illustrate a series of 
children’s books about my pony, Honey. Before I adopted her, she had fallen into the wrong hands and suffered severe neglect. My idea was to create books for very young children that introduced the ideas of animal neglect and rescue in hopes that this would plant the seed for future adoptions of abused/shelter animals.
Well, this experience has left me frustrated, flummoxed, and (to quote Lisa Vanderpump) flabbergasted (say it with a British accent: “flah-buh-gahstud”). It’s not that it’s so hard to do, it’s just so hard to find the time to do it. My ideas flow like wine (but really, what doesn’t in this house?) and the words to three books are already written. But actually sitting down, pulling out the paints and creating – now that’s the hard part. It takes not only time, but creative energy. And I just don’t have much of that left after spending each day coming up with ever-more imaginative ways to keep two little boys entertained, enthralled and even-keeled.
So here, I humbly submit the Top 10 Reasons why I just can’t seem to finish illustrating even the first book in the series:
1) I’m too busy writing this stupid blog.
2) The pony has chronic diarrhea. (Just try dealing with this during a freezing-cold New England winter. Frozen tail poopsicles anyone?)
3) I have to re-heat my cup of tea for the 450th time today. (No, I don’t know where I left it last, either, so I have to find it first, ok?)
4) I’m checking my blog stats. Again.
5) Somebody’s butt needs wiping.
6) FaceBook.
7) There’s a Real Housewives of Anywhere-on-Earth-That’s-Better-Than-Where-You-Live-and-Don’t-You-Forget-It marathon on Bravo. (I cannot help it, I’m addicted.)
8) That text message from my newly divorced girlfriend about whether or not the guy she thinks is cute thinks she’s cute and if maybe he’ll pass her a note in Algebra today.
9) I have to blowdry my hair. And you know what that means. It means I actually have to take a shower first.
10) I’m too busy writing this stupid blog.
Any suggestions on how I can get out of this funk and make these books happen would be greatly appreciated. Also, if anyone wants to come over and wipe the kids’/pony’s butt, that would be great, too. Thank you for your support.
xo
The Perfect Follow-Up
October 3, 2012 at 9:59 am | Posted in Horses, Kids, Uncategorized | 2 CommentsTags: children, eating, FaceBook, food, horses, housewives, kids, motherhood, parenting, riding, style
Many thanks to my BFF, Paula, who gave me the inspiration for this entry.
We were chatting about how there is a lot of bragging that goes on in FaceBook posts – about people’s lives, kids, jobs, etc. – and noting that the reality is probably much different from the sunny, Wisteria Lane perfection that many people portray. With that in mind, I decided to grab some recent FaceBook posts and take a guess at what the actual event might have been like.
Hope you enjoy this take on perfection…
What the FaceBook post said: “Meet our new puppy, Snuggles! He is the sweetest!”
What really happened: Mom promised the kids a dog if they did the dishes and scrubbed the toilets every night for a month, assuming it would never happen. The little bastards did it, so now she has to make good on her promise. Enter Snuggles, a “Shitz-a-Doodle-Poo-Huahua” (Shih Tzu/Labradoodle/Chihuahua mix) that the kids fell in love with the minute they saw him. This little darling pooped in the cardboard carry-box on the way home (yup, it soaked through the cardboard onto the car’s upholstery), chased the cat into a permanent under-the-bed existence, and is now in the process of chewing up every shoe and table leg it can get its needly little puppy teeth into. But isn’t he just the cutest thing??????
What the FaceBook post said: “Great ride on the beach with the horses today. Diablo was feeling so perky for his age! So many people were out enjoying the beautiful Fall day. Maryann, so glad you love the feel of the sun-warmed sand J . What an adventure!”
What really happened: Three horses headed out for a mid-Saturday-morning ride. Diablo, the “perky” one, spent the entire time bouncing, jigging and cantering sideways unless he was allowed to gallop full-speed without stopping. The “many people” included kite-flyers, wind-surfers, and dog-walkers, resulting in complete chaos and spooking the horses at every turn. Spook #53 (one of those front-legs-splayed-out-and-spin-to-the-right kind of shies) unseated Maryann, who got to experience the sand with her cheek. The outing also included being chased into the marshes by an unruly dog and a confrontation with a Port-a-Potty tanker truck. Quite an “adventure”!
What the FaceBook post said: “Thanks to the Allens for a great party last night! Can’t wait to do it again!”
What really happened: Do I really need to go here? The Allens are the most annoying 
people on the block. They are also the richest. The only reason anyone shows up at their “parties” is to eat their high-end steaks and let their kids jump in the rented bouncehouse. This party was particularly entertaining, as Mrs. Allen (20 years her husband’s junior), had a few too many Cosmos and ended up in the pool, rendering her dress completely see-through. That WAS fun!
What the FaceBook post said: “Yay Tiger Cubs! Great win today on the pee wee football field – we’re so proud of you!”
What really happened: The team is currently 1-9 (for those of you who don’t follow sports, that’s 1 win, 9 losses). After countless hours of practice in the rainy, muddy, mosquito-infested 
field (where, of course, Mom’s iPhone gets no reception so she really is reduced to watching), endless piles of filthy, slimy uniform laundry, and limitless complaining about being dragged to games and practice, this poor little motley crew has finally outscored another team. Who cares if it was only because the opposing team’s entire defensive line was out with strep throat? It was still a win! Go Tiger Cubs!
What the FaceBook post said: “Just canned 14 pounds of tomatoes and pickled some beets! Next up, gluten-free macaroni, then I’m going to re-tile the bathroom!”
What really happened: All right, let’s face it. This is exactly what happened. And this person is one of those pain-in-the-ass do-it-yourselfers who makes the rest of us look and feel 
like lazy-ass idiots. YES, her homemade tomato sauce (from canned tomatoes she grew herself) is astoundingly better than yours (maybe you shouldn’t use Ragu as your “base”), and her death-by-chocolate soufflé is to die for. Even more annoying, she cooks and bakes constantly, eats everything in sight, and is STILL skinnier than you. Get over it – some people really are better than us, and they are going to flaunt it forever on FaceBook! Argh!!!!!
xo
Under Construction
September 17, 2012 at 1:11 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | 2 CommentsTags: building, construction, renovation
Under (un’der): Being beneath or below something; less than;
subordinate to; subject to; during rule of.
“Under construction”. Ever wonder why they use that term? After building an entire house, then years later having to tear down and re-construct a number of walls and ceilings due to major water damage from ice dams, and currently being in the process of remodeling two bathrooms (under duress because of grout failures leading to water seepage), I think I get it. I definitely feel “subordinate to, subject to, and less than” the process of managing any construction project. It’s not that it’s over (or under) my head, it’s that nothing goes smoothly and everything is a problem. “On time and under budget” might as well be a foreign language when it comes to construction projects.
So, that said, here is my list of hypotheses (get to use that good old algebra again) for any type of building or remodeling project:
If new tile/paint/trim/flooring = needs to match existing tile/paint/trim/flooring,
then: you can just simply forget it. Even if you have saved samples and every last bit of ordering information, the new pieces will never exactly match the old pieces. The factory will have gone out of business, changed their color palette (who knew there were so many variations on the color “biscuit”?), or been sold to some conglomerate in China that will take 14 weeks to get it to you and then it will arrive with dings and scratches. Or the company will have been passed down to an errant grandchild who disagrees with Grandpappy’s definition of a quality product and you’ll think you’re working with cardboard rather than pre-laminated flooring.
If contractor mistake = framing issue, then it will be a big one. A window will be in completely the wrong place or the wrong size (no, we don’t want a picture window in the downstairs bathroom looking out onto the front porch); what was supposed to be a cathedral ceiling will be a regular old flat one (and you won’t have time to check the project until the inset lights are installed and the drywall’s going up – just try changing it now!); the cement tubes holding up your second-floor deck will be poured just slightly off so that you are forever looking at posts that jut over the edges and wondering if, perhaps, it takes just one more person to make that deck come crashing down.
If your move-in date = September 1 or you will be living in a tent 
in the muck that will someday be your lawn, then: it will definitely rain the entire months of July and August, except on the weekends when everyone knows no contractor ever works (also, good luck with that grass).
If your site = comes with pre-site-work done, then: it will be done wrong and/or extremely confusing and have to be re-done or have experts brought in from out-of-state to review, recommend and reconsider. For example, our lot at the end of a private dirt road had the pre-built driveway in completely the wrong place to fit into our wet-lands-bordered building envelope, and our pre-installed septic system had pipes running the length of a football field across one neighbor’s property to a shared leach field on another neighbor’s property. This scared off more than one builder.
If your site = a lovely rural area that used to be field and forest, then: neighbors will hate you for disturbing their privacy, peace and quiet and will re-survey the land right after you pay surveyors to mark off your lot. Of course the neighbor’s survey ribbons will be on the exact same trees and posts that your surveyors’ ribbons are on, which will piss them off even further. You’ll be lucky if they don’t steal your copper plumbing pipes during construction. Actually, I can totally relate to this one and will do the same if anyone ever dares build on undeveloped land near us.
If your house = a custom build, then: you will agonize over every last paint color, light fixture, wall trim, built-in, and floor board, including the huge and now infamous “doorknob fight” which took place between my husband and I, nearly resulting in a divorce and complete bankrupting of the entire project.
Aaaaahhhhh, construction. Wish us luck as we try to get these two bathrooms back in working order. We do live in the woods, but it’s getting a little cold for outdoor showers and peeing on trees.
xo
Feeding Frenzy
September 3, 2012 at 8:48 am | Posted in Beauty, Uncategorized | 2 CommentsTags: children, eating, food, kids, motherhood, weight gain
It’s never good when you suddenly don’t need your belt anymore.
As in: Hmmm, I swear the last time I wore these shorts I really needed this belt to keep them from sliding down my hips. How come I don’t need it today? They seem to be staying up all on their own. In fact, they might even be a little bit tight… Uh oh.
Could it be ‘vacation fat’ syndrome? You know, “I’m on vacation, so I’ll just… eat dessert after every meal… have a huge breakfast every morning (it’s a buffet, after all)… make sure I keep my strength up with a chocolate bar every afternoon… have cheese and crackers with artichoke dip on the porch every day at 4:00… try everything on the menu in the gourmet restaurant… keep the frozen drinks coming…” Accompanied, of course, by the I’ve-just-hiked-a-mountain-(ok-it-was-really-a-1-hour-walk-up-a-slight-incline)-so-I-must-have-burned-4,000-calories-and-really-deserve-this-rack-o-ribs-cornbread-nachos-brownie-sundae-meal syndrome.
What is it about being on vacation (even if for just a quick weekend get-away) that inspires uninhibited eating in an “I deserve it” sort of way? And of course, the whole time, I’m just trying to get my kids to eat SOMETHING as I continually overindulge.
All you guys want is chicken fingers and mac and cheese again? At home
you eat everything! Come on, you’re going to get scurvy or leprosy or some other life-threatening disease from all the salt and preservatives! Hey, where are you going? Sit down! Don’t bother those people over there! Leave the waiter alone! Eat some more of that food! Why can’t you guys sit still and eat? Am I going to have to shove some of that food down your gullet? If I had my way, I’d eat CONSTANTLY!
Oh wait, I guess I got my way…
So back to the shorts. It COULD be vacation. Or it just could be that I’m a sugar hound. Or that I pretend to count calories while constantly faking it in my favor. As in, “Whole grain spelt bread with peanut butter and honey. So healthy! Let’s see, two slices of bread = 160 calories, good. Peanut butter = 100 calories/tablespoon. Well, how much did I really have? Couldn’t have been more than one tablespoon (meanwhile the thickly-spread PB is oozing off of both slices of toast and onto the plate) so… 100 calories there. Honey = 60 calories/Tbsp. Well, really, how much honey could I have used? (More dripping off the bread.) Must be like a half-teaspoon so total for this snack is 270 calories! I have SO much self-control!!”
Yeah, those are the kinds of games I play with myself.
When I was in high school, we actually had a ritual around eating – or as we called it in the 80s, ‘pigging out’. One or the other of us would invite each other for a sleep-over and as we were hanging up (remember, we actually had to CALL each other back in those days), we’d casually say, “Bring your eating clothes”. That was the sign. That meant there was going to be a feeding frenzy in between the MTV music videos and episodes of the A-Team, which generally included the following staples: Nacho Cheese Doritos (the only flavor they had back then), Nutter Butters, Munchos (a much-better predecessor to Pop Chips), chocolate chip or Oreo ice cream, and chocolate in just about any form.
What were ‘eating clothes’? Anything with a stretchy waistband that you didn’t mind spilling something on. That should really be required for most get-togethers today. How often have you spilled your wine or olive-oil-infused bruschetta on your favorite dress or shirt? If everyone just wore sweat pants and old t-shirts it would be so much easier. We could dress it up a little by wearing them with high heels and lots of big hair and make-up. Wait a minute, I think I may have just described a few of my outfits back in the 80s.
But once again I digress. I need to figure out what happened to these shorts. Maybe I shrunk them? Maybe the belt stretched out? Too bad I don’t have a teenage daughter so I could claim that my clothes got mixed up with her size 2’s. At any rate, why don’t you all come on over? And wear your eating clothes. It’s Labor Day weekend, after all…
xo
Age vs. Beauty
June 16, 2012 at 6:45 am | Posted in Beauty, Uncategorized | 1 CommentTags: aging, beauty, husband, style
Someone please explain this to me:
Men get better looking as they get older.
Women start looking like old hags. (I include myself in this description.)
Case in point: When men get salt & pepper hair, it is somehow both 
fitting and sexy. A few crinkles around the eyes are disarming and still attractive (think George Clooney on both of these accounts). When older men get deep tans (from golfing, boating, bird-watching, etc.), it makes them look even better. Even a slight paunch on an older man is easy to ignore and doesn’t really affect his overall look.
Now let’s take a look at the situation for women:
The second a woman gets even one gray hair, it ages her by about 10 years. Salt and pepper makes a 40-year-old look 60. And I don’t even want to go into the “all gray” look.
Our “crinkles” are called “crow’s feet” (where did THAT attractive saying come from?) and a crow might as well have pooped on our face for all the damage those do. “She looks pretty young until she smiles and you see all those wrinkles around her eyes!” No wonder those pre-Botox society ladies held their faces so stock still and never smiled! They didn’t want to make or show any more crow’s feet!!
And natural (not spray) deep tans on older women just look, well, gross. Their skin looks leathery (why is it that men’s skin seems to look smoother and more glowy when they get tan??), the already-present age spots and extra freckles show up even more, and they simply look like they’re trying too hard.
Don’t even get me started on what 2 extra pounds do to us women over 40. No “paunch” is acceptable, nor are the spreading hips or saggy upper arms. You have to remain a stick (I recently read that a young starlet is on a 1200 calorie-per-day diet. 1200 CALORIES PER DAY!!! I can eat 1200 calories in one sitting and not even feel full!!). We all know staying that thin is nearly impossible, especially as you get a little older. Except for that g-d Sarah Jessica Parker, who is at least starting to look a bit haggard in all her skinny-ness.
What type of nasty trick is Mother Nature playing on us? Or perhaps I should call he/she FATHER Nature!
So now we are supposed to hold onto our men when they keep getting better looking, and we’re stuck slathering ourselves with creams and potions, hair tints and spray tans. And of course there are so many young cuties walking around, flaunting their cellulite-free legs, fake boobs and flat tummies.
So, in the spirit of sisterhood, here are a few of my tips on how age beautifully and gracefully, all while keeping your ever-better-looking man interested and engaged:
- Never let your hair go gray. Ever. Not even one tiny little strand! Sorry, girls, but this is the cold hard truth. Love it or leave it.
- Dress the part. By now we know what looks good on our body types. We also know what looks good on teenagers and that ne’er the two shall meet. You got it, flaunt it, but do it tastefully and age-appropriately. (Last night I saw a woman out dancing who had to be at best in her mid-60’s. Despite the frighteningly-obvious pulled-tight plastic surgery and the lithe body, she looked ridiculous in her midriff-baring sparkly top, 14 bracelets on each arm, spiky-hair rocker ‘do, right arm tattoo and I-don’t-know-how-many earrings and ear clips in each ear. Face it, honey, you are an older woman, and you DON’T look good in the latest Jeffrey Sebelia designs!)
- Never let ‘em see you sweat. Confidence, ladies. If there’s one thing I learned in my 30s and (still early) 40s it’s that I’ve got it going on in so many more ways than one. I know who I am, what I stand for, and what I want in life. This is very sexy. Trust me.
- Be as sweet as nine-layer pie (Mmmm, I want me some of that. Oh, but the hips). You know your man better than anyone, and you can always out-sweet those nasty, spoiled, immature little floozies.
- And whatever you do, don’t try to be something you’re not. Your man, friends, family and everyone else in your life loves you for you. So be the fabulous, amazing, gray-hair-hiding woman that you are. I love you that way, and so do they.
xo
Things I Love
June 1, 2012 at 8:43 pm | Posted in Horses, Kids, Uncategorized | 2 CommentsTags: Brady, children, horses, husband, kids, Matt, motherhood, pony
Things I love about my husband:
He leaves me a glass of wine when he takes the boys outside to play while I make dinner.
He looks sexy even in a t-shirt & jeans.
He cleans my car – of snow, dirt, kids’ debris – whatever.
He listens to and knows a lot about classical music.
He listens to and knows a lot about classic jazz.
He listens to and knows a lot about Pearl Jam.
He knows a lot about a lot of things (ok, this can be annoying sometimes).
He smells good.
He treats me like a princess.
Things I love about my boys:
They help me look at things in ways I haven’t before.
They encourage me to slow down and study the grass, bugs, flowers, car tires, sky, dirt, leaves and so much more.
They are creative and funny.
They find a construction site in a plate of food.
They find a plate of food in the sandbox.
They teach me something new nearly every day.
They are both just a little bit crazy.
Things I love about my horses:
The way they look.
The way they smell.
The way they sound.
The way they feel.
Things I love in general:
The softness of my cats.
The smell of the outdoors.
A fast car.
A slow meal.
That first cup of tea in the morning.
That last kiss on the cheeks of my two sleeping boys.
Oh, and gossip. Sweet, sweet gossip.
xo
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