Marching On Into Middle Age

A few weeks ago, I went to the doctor for my annual. I absolutely despise going to the doctor for a couple of reasons.

First, my gynecologist looks to be about ten years old and while she is obscenely smart, it is evident that she is still quite newly off the medical establishment nipple. She can barely contain her sigh when I ask if we can explore more holistic options before reverting to the pharmacy. I tolerate her superiority complex because she is attentive and thorough and I just know that one day, once she has some years on her, she will soften in her scorn of anything alternative. Besides, she is quick with her prescription pad and this is sometimes very useful.

The other reason is that having a pap smear today is no less uncomfortable than it was twenty years ago and frankly, that chaps my ass. I cannot understand how it is that we have unlocked the genetic code but I still have to sling my feet up into a set of stirrups. How can technology exist whereby one can witness the growth of a baby in utero, in 3D no less, and I'm expected to get excited about KY Jelly that has been warmed for my comfort? You see? I'm not feeling the love from the scientific community. There must not be any money in speculums.

Anyway, this year I was pretty serious about the exam. I'd been experiencing a few medical issues which concerned me and I was slightly terrified as to what they might find. My brain ran through every possible scenario, except the obvious, apparently.

Doc: Everything looks great.
Me: Oh that's a relief. So why is this happening?
Doc: For the same reason that you wear bifocals.
Me: Huh?
Doc: Because you're getting older. Period. The average age for the onset of menopause is 51 but women can be peri-menopausal for up to five years before that.

(Which means there are times when you're batshit crazy but without the estrogen replacement therapy)

Me: But I'm 41, not 46.
Doc: Yes, that is true but you smoked for twenty five years and women who smoke tend to slip into menopause about five years ahead of their non smoking counterparts. So, you are right on time with your symptoms.

Excellent. The first stirrings of menopause.

The bad news is that, at nearly forty two years of age, my doctor is going to put me back on the birth control pill (whose package instructions I CAN NO LONGER SEE TO READ) to help regulate my rogue menstrual cycle.

The good news is that apparently, there are THOUSANDS of women in their forties who are experiencing the same things as I am and getting some relief from the pill. The strange thing is that I don't feel middle aged most days. Sure, I don't see well close up anymore but that works for me because in addition to the fine print being unreadable, my cellulite and wrinkles have also softened to a blur.

I came away from my annual exam thrilled to be healthy but uncomfortable with the thought that one day, sooner rather than later, I would no longer be able to bear children. It's not that I want any more babies (HELL NO) but I'm sad that the ability to do so is coming to an end.

Menopause firmly draws the line in the sand between a woman's youth and the beginning of her mature years.

I wonder if there is a support group.

And if they serve alcohol and chocolate at the meetings.

Sucker For A Rainbow

Last week was like walking directly through the middle of a thorn bush.

Naked.

Blindfolded.

And without Bandaids.

Professionally, I could have committed Hari Kari on any one of the five days. My home life left me with a facial tic and a sour belly. Something had to go right or my head was going to explode. I had nattered on and on about parenting and the job and blah de blah blah but seriously, the good news fairy needed to be spreading some freaking happy dust. Last week was not fun.

I'm not sure exactly what day it was but in the disaster of last week, there was this:


It was breathtaking and quite possibly the largest rainbow I have ever seen. EVER. It wouldn't fit into a single frame on the camera. I was grateful just to stare, take a deep breath and forget about everything else for a few minutes.

Goethe would have appreciated the apparent sturm and drang. Me? Well, I figured that it was a sign of better things to come. Because I'm a salt-throwing, wood-knocking, evil eye-avoiding, superstitious nut job.

Dinosaurs, Jesus and Pecan Pie

Olivia's interest in writing and drawing has recently escalated. She's at it all of the time. At any given moment, I can walk into her room and find her hunched over her desk contentedly doodling away. She is very serious.

It's precious.

And hilarious.

I am probably a rotten mother but I laughed myself blind this weekend when she handed me one of her latest masterpieces.

"It's about dinosaurs," she said.

"I see that," I replied after observing her title, "Graveyards of the Dinosaurs". And then, I read her accompanying text:

I liket the purt weyru the dinosaur and it's beb dinosaur soll the huooting stor.

Although I was able to discern what she wanted to say, I couldn't understand why she was so far off on the spelling. Seriously, some of the letter combinations just didn't make sense although she was smart enough to copy hard words like "dinosaur" from one of her books. For instance, look at the word, "weyru". She meant "where" but it was spelled in a multi-syllabic fashion as if an evangelical preacher had taught her the word.

Kids learn to spell phonetically, right? And then it hit me....she WAS writing phonetically. My baby girl is a southern belle. She has an accent, which is so weird for me because in spite of her environment, I sort of expected her to talk like a Canadian. I know that this is whacked, especially since even I don't sound much like a Canadian anymore unless I get around my family. Still, to hear the word "mama" roll off her tongue makes me think about magnolia trees, cotton plantations and pecan pie. I suppose there was a part of me that thought Olivia would outgrow her southern roots and slip into a more neutral way of speaking but clearly, I was wrong. Just the other day, she gave me a very informative lecture on God.



She handed me this picture and shyly said, "This is for you, Mama." I thanked her, gave her a kiss and asked her to tell me about her drawing.

"Oh... that's you, Mama (pointing to the large figure with excellent teeth, long eyelashes and inexplicable barrettes) and that's me (small bean in my arms). It's lightning outside and raining but we're okay because THE SWEET BABY JESUS said so."

Well now.

Cramped

I have writer's block.

Mental constipation.

There are heaps of ideas in my head but expressing them in a coherent fashion seems to be beyond my capabilities right now. And lately, (umm..probably at least six months now) I have had the attention span of a gnat. So, I'm going to let the pictures speak for themselves.

Parenting:



Work:



Are You Freaking Kidding Me?



My Retirement Savings



Now, I'm going to go off and try to pull my head from my arse and see if sometime soon, I can't come up with a post worth printing.

Watching my 401K Dwindle

Oh my god.

Have you seen the economy lately?

After our wedding, I registered on this great website which tracks our cash flow. For the first time, I'm having a look at my 401K account on a daily basis. And lately, it's been ugly. Fugly.

The stock market is in the toilet which is uncomfortable but with the inflationary pressures on energy and consumer goods, our discretionary dollars have shrunk. Dinner out is a luxury. A movie and dinner is out of the question.

Yesterday, as I witnessed another chunk of change vanish from my retirement savings, I had a momentary burst of panic where I thought that maybe, just maybe, I should move our funds into something relatively safe like bonds or gold. But that choice flies in the face of what I've believed to be true and I keep hoping that history will prove to be correct and that the market will recover.

Except that I have serious doubts. The demise of the investment bank and the subsequent 700 BILLION proposed government bail out is a not so different an animal from the bursting of the economic bubble that was seen with the Wall Street crash of 1929. Both share rampant speculation, questionable lending practices and credit-based booms. In 1929, big banks and big money families like the Rockefellers, bought huge chunks of stock in an effort to staunch the bleeding to no avail. I have to wonder if the bail out is a cure or merely a band aid on a gushing wound.

Last night we were out with friends and the stock market was a topic of conversation. One of the men at our table was quite critical of the government's response and thought that we ought to just let the banks fail. I am not an economist or even remotely knowledgeable enough to offer an opinion but for a second, I imagined what that might look like and felt my stomach clench involuntarily. One thing everyone agreed upon was that eventually, the taxpayer would bear the burden of this bailout.

And here's the rub. Besides the losses to my 401K, the collapse of mortgage underwriters and the investment banks is likely to cost my family around $10,000 at some point down the road. Like most other Americans, we are feeling the pinch as the cost of living has gone through the roof. To watch the senior executives of these companies exit their positions with golden parachutes and zero accountability really chaps my ass. Gee, sorry you had to sell your Lear Jet to make ends meet.

So, as I sit and contemplate the future of my 401K, I can't help but remember what Robert Kiyosaki discussed in one of his books. He basically said that those of us who put all of our retirement eggs into the stock market basket through mutual funds, IRA's, etc need to take a closer look at that strategy. Since the stock market is not insured and requires specialized knowledge to navigate well, he couldn't understand why so many of us cede control and risk our financial futures like that. What happens if one is nearing retirement age and "an event" happens that significantly devalues one's portfolio?

Think Enron.

Think Fannie Mae, Freddie Mac, Countrywide.

Think Lehman Bros.

I guess, like most things in life, achieving a balance is the key. Diversification. At this point, I'm going to sit back and try to wait out this latest crisis because Dallas and I are young, own some real estate and have the luxury of time. My heart goes out to the millions of people that don't.