The Queen Mother has resisted our attempts over the years to secure a medic alert device in her home. At almost 81, she is still very active and independent but she lives alone and my sister and I worry about her. So sue us. We were raised by a most excellent guilt-wielding non-Jewish Jewish mother. It’s what we do.
As you recall from an earlier post, part of her resistance has been the unfashionable nature of such devices. Since they do not make the bracelets in a fetching Michael Kors-esque pattern, she is more concerned about crimes of fashion than letting us know she is hanging upside down in the attic.
My sister was able to finally convince her after Mom took a nasty nose dive and landed on her face. We were devastated she was injured but happy when she finally relented and allowed the unholy device into her home.
I received a call from her a few weeks later asking if I could call the security company for some information. She sounded a little bewildered on the message so I assumed she wasn’t feeling well and needed me .
She was too busy to call because she was doing this:
I wonder if the medic alert device works if you need help because you’ve fallen out of a hot air balloon or twisted your ankle while climbing Mount Everest.
All hail The Queen Mother!!!
“I am going to spend every last penny of my Louis Vuitton purse fund on gifts for you and your sister. I will put the Christmas tree up by myself as everyone runs for the hills every year when I pull out the boxes and magically reappears when it is all done. I will wrap all the presents and buy all the stocking stuffers even though you busted Santa years ago.
A few years back, one of my SuperSpawnlings was less than gracious when given her Christmas wish list budget. I was a single mom at the time and times were really hard. Coming up with any extra money was difficult and I went without necessities to give my little darlings the few gifts I could.
After recovery from a near-death experience with the flu, your SuperGal was back in the trenches tackling a mountain of neglected laundry. Mind you, I did not sign-up for this duty but apparently it is more likely that magical monkeys will fly out of my ass rather than someone else lifting a finger to help with this task.
As I stared at the monstrosity before me, I thought…
“I wonder if there is actually someone out there who enjoys doing laundry. What I need is someone with a sock-folding fetish! Everyone wins!”
Let me explain. I am going through the very challenging time (albeit very normal) of seeing my body experience the natural course of aging. My skin is losing elasticity, my complexion has changed from olive to cayenne pepper red, my boobs have moved to a new hemisphere, I have acquired a Michelin tire around my midsection (great for roadside emergencies, though), and my ass is now not only flat but slightly concave. I always had nicely-toned legs to fall back on but now they are littered with varicose and spidery veins and are giving Google Maps a run for their money. Let’s not even speak of the hair loss/gain. It’s too disturbing.
I am not handling this well, at all…
I have two friends who are experiencing extraordinarily stressful times in their lives and are exhibiting the signs of anxiety and depression. They are both extremely competent and strong women and, while they have not voiced this, I can see what they are thinking in their eyes:
“If I am just a little stronger, I can take care of this myself”.
How do I know this? Because I have been there. They do not want to take medication for their depression because, for some unknown reason, going on meds for depression carries the stigma of weakness and failure.
I have noticed a disturbing trend, SuperPals, and, let me tell you, I am none too happy about it. This downfall of humanity is:
The decline of the unsolicited compliment.
Now SuperPals, let me preface this post with a profession of my undying love for and adoration of the SuperHubs. He is a wonderful husband and provider for me and the spawnlings.
The SuperHubs and I have vastly different views on organization and travel preparedness. I am an obsessive travel planner and spend days...nay, weeks…planning my needs with lists and visions of potential changes that may affect my scheduled kewtness. I even pack multiple versions of items like toothpaste, hosiery, and deodorant because, you know, there is a possibility there may not be a CVS store on every corner of my intended destination. Or, I may become incapacitated and need to smell minty fresh whilst recuperating. You never know…
I am in the final hours of the most difficult part of my self-induced hell aka my nutritional cleanse. I am not hungry. I am a little weak but I understand that is the result of years of vodka-swilling and Pop Tart snarfing being cleansed from my body.
Feeling sorry for myself, I said “This is the hardest thing I have ever done”.
“You’re an idiot”, a voice said. Fully expecting to see one of my darling spawnlings as the creator of this barb (they often tell me how unfashionable and dorky I am), I realized the voice was coming from within me.
Like everyone else does at the beginning of the year, I have been thinking about changes I’d like to make. My friend, Jen on the Edge, wrote a post recently about setting monthly goals in order to break things up so they don’t seem so overwhelming. Most of the comments were about giving up something and reining in habits.
I did not put my two cents in the comments because I had a totally different reaction. I want to do MORE frivolous and self-centered things. Let me explain…
After too many years as a single mom struggling to make ends meet, I am now blissfully married to the Youngster and my financial troubles are long behind me. The scars of that time, however, have not gone away. Have you ever played the “How many nights do we have to eat PB &J in order to afford to put gas in the car” game? Not fun, SuperPals.