Puberty's Bookend

I considered blogging about my experience reading "What's Happening to Me?" with my 9-year-old son. He sees "THE MOVIE" this spring in school, and I don't want him to be surprised by anything in that movie, so we're taking an educational peek at his body with this book.

But since I told him that the information we're learning is his private business, I should follow my own words and keep it private too. (Could you imagine how you'd feel if your crazy mother posted that conversation for the world to read?) Plus, the details of the experience are some that I don't want some internet pervert -- not you, my dear reader -- getting his hands on. So to speak.

So instead, I'm going to blog about "What's Happening to Me". I assure you no perv will find this very interesting.

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ME (a few years ago): Doctor, my monthly menses is behaving like a broken water main, and it lasts for about 10 days. Ten days before the flood, I'm all cramped up, my head spins around, and bad words spew from my mouth. So that leaves me about a week of feeling normal every month.

DOCTOR: Uh huh.

ME: And everything I eat other than vegetables shows up as another pound on the scale the next day. And I’m tired a lot. Maybe we should check my thyroid.

DOCTOR: We can, but I don't think it's your thyroid.

ME: Then there's the IBS that sneaks up on me, usually at restaurants. It's so embarrassing, not to mention gross.

DOCTOR: All sounds like perimenopause to me.

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What the hell? Perimenopause? Sure, I've heard all about regular menopause in your 50s, but what's with the peri? Nobody warns you that this is what the 40s bring you. So I'm here to warn you. The 40s are definitely not the new 30s. Did I tell mention that a chunk of my tooth fell off a couple weeks ago?

My experience may not be yours, so of course you’ll keep that in mind. But nearly every time the subject of “Why am I so crazy?” comes up in conversation, other women my age are almost always standing on the same cliff.

Those in the know say its hormones. I agree. But what I don’t get is why are those hormones acting up 10 years early? Is it all a biological way to prepare you for the Big Show? The bookend to puberty?

I’m confident in the hormone theory because I’ve luckily been able to control most of my issues with estrogen-laden contraceptives pills -- the “extended-regimen” kind that you take for three months straight before taking a week off and allowing your uterus to shed. You’d think the pills were Paxil the way they calm down my systems.

The pills don’t make the belly fat go away, however. In fact, I'm pretty certain they add to it. Since turning 40 almost four years ago (about when I started taking those pills), I’ve gained 5 permanent pounds each year or so. A doctor-expert on some morning show recently said that belly fat is even harder to get rid of once menopause hits. So I apparently have to work hard to dispose of it now. But as you might have noticed, I called them permanent pounds because they don’t seem to have any intention of leaving no matter what I do.

Sidebar: I once suggested to Husband that the blubber around my waist was a badge of honor for carrying three babies. “Nice try,” he replied.

Aside from medication, more exercise, a healthy diet, and less alcohol and caffeine are likely keys to managing this peri business. (They solve all other health issues, don’t they?) I’ve cut back significantly on red meat and while it has yet to be proven, I think my digestive system is happier. Then there’s the 18 months of psychotherapy in which I invested. For that, I think my emotional system is happier.

Despite the negatives of these disagreeable yet inevitable changes, it has been my experience that the 40s are a fascinating time of self discovery. You finally realize that all the superficial bullshit out there is irrelevant and that everyone else is nuts. The only thing that really matters is in your heart and in your home.

Be careful of your head though. If you’re in your 40s, your brain is probably bathed by hormones that make you nuts too. So good luck with that.

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Tough As Old Nails

On my Meals on Wheels route this morning, I was once again reminded how much I enjoy old people. Most of them. Not the grumpy kind. But as you might imagine, the people receiving the meals I deliver are always happy to see me and grateful that I've stopped by.

Vermont seniors -- the ones that don't move south -- are a tough, proud, independent, practical bunch. Most are probably former farmers with conservative political views. They have their own dialect and a noticeable accent, to be sure. And though this is a little stereotypical, the men wear old baseball (Red Sox or Yankees) or farm equipment caps and the women are likely to be quilters or some other type of crafter. Or famous for pies.

Today, when I drove into Mr. Maynard's yard, I noticed his ice fishing shanty behind his garage. Its paint was in better condition than his house's, and it was set on a pair of old skis. Mr. Maynard is 89 and can't hear very well. I know he's home because I can hear his TV blaring -- and I'm outside his trailer.

"Come on in. I got a story for ya," he says.

So I went in and turned down the TV so I could hear him.

"Did ya see my shanty out back? Well a few weeks ago, it was anchored out on the ice. We didn't do a very good job tyin' 'er down though. On that day when we had those 50-mile mile-an-hour winds, she broke off the anchor and slid away on those skis," he told me.

"How far away did you find it?" I ask.

"Oh, about three miles," he answers.

We laughed together. I mostly laughed at his telling of the story. It lit him up. But I was also highly entertained by the image of a runaway ice shanty and this nearly 90-year-old man, who hobbles to the door to collect his meal, chasing around Lake Champlain looking for it.

He told me a few more fishing stories, adding all sorts of old-man color, and he asked me to let him take my kids fishing.

"It'd be like a vacation to me. I'd love to teach those kids of yers. It'd get me out of these four corners, ya know?"

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I coordinate the delivery of Meals for my town and sub when drivers can't make it. Every Monday, for probably the past ten years, two women, Betty and Shirley, have delivered the meals. One is in her upper 70s and the other in her 80s.

One really cold winter day, when the temps were below zero, I called Shirley and offered to help drive because it was really cold and snowy, and I have a four-wheel drive pickup truck that can get places their sedan might not.

"Shirley, do you want some help delivering meals today?" I ask.

"What for?"

"Well, it's pretty cold and blowy today, and I have a truck."

"Oh no, we don't need any help. We'll do just fine."

"Well make sure you wear your long johns," I remind her.

"Oh, I don't have any long johns. I don't need those."

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I have no idea how someone lives for 80 years in Vermont without a pair of long johns. Like I said, they're a tough, independent old bunch.

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It's Wild Out There

OMG. I can't keep up with the blogsphere. Even if you just peek a little under the blog covers, you'll see that it's mania out there. It goes like this: You read a blog you like. Then you read a blog or two that they like. And you realize your own blog is so far from original. And that there are maybe hundreds of clever blogs out there that you should read daily. But you have, a job, kids, significant other, pets, yard, dentist appointments, socks to knit, birthday parties, meals to deliver, and so on.

Then you see that bloggers give each other awards, they have contests and memes and long lists of followers and comments. They link to each other's blogs to keep the web spinning. Some take donations, some host meet-and-greets. It's mind boggling. I wonder if anyone has started a Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon of blogs to how deep this all really is.

Personally, this begs the question: How far do you want to go with this, Patty? How much are you willing to let this into your life?

Clearly, with two blogs, I'm a willing and eager participant. I appreciate followers and comments (and emails from those who don't comment), and Naturelady even gave me an "If life gives you lemons, make lemonade" award:

(Thank you!)

But at the end of the day, I remind myself of my initial reasons for writing: to stay connected to faraway family and friends, myself, and my place. I really can't put the time into becoming a blog celebrity, omniscient commenter, meme breeder, or clever designer. Plus, if you read my therapy blog last month, you know that I'm all about keepin' it calm. So on those days, I'm not even interesting.

So I'm just going to stay nice and peaceful over here in my two tiny blog hideouts and continue to unload my mind when it fills up and hope that you, reader, find some enjoyment or connection in my musings. Whew. Glad I got that cleared up.

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