The Whinging Hormone---Bizarre Cravings

Anybody out there ever read "The Whinging Hormone"? I didn't think so. That was the name of my Super Secret Smack Talkin' blog. I haven't written anything for it in ages. It started out as a place to vent...semi-anonymously. I didn't want to have anything negative on this blog...anything to bother or offend or otherwise tick anybody off. Well y'all, I've worked long and hard to put all of the pieces of Mel together and sometimes? You're just not going to get sweetness and light! ; ) And yes, it's still out there. If you can find it you're a much better stalker than I am and I will give you a reward befitting of your talents. And no, it doesn't count if you already know where it is.

So let's talk perimenopause. Oh stop screaming you bunch of sissies. I've been living with it for more years than I care to count now. It's the never ending pause that doesn't refresh. Have you ever seen the episode of Roseanne called "PMS I Love You"? Oh...mother of pearl...it's on youtube...go watch it. It is so absolutely freakin' PERFECT in its depiction of PMS. I laugh until I cry every single time I see it. Of course, my family cries as well...just not from laughter. It was hysterically funny when I wasn't going through it myself. Now? It's still hysterically funny.

Today I'd like to focus on the strange cravings that have been cropping up for the last few years. And by strange cravings I mean of the FOOD variety. Sheesh people...

Peter Pan peanut butter...yummmm. This isn't that unusual. I've been downing Peter Pan since I was a child. But now? I literally can't get enough of it. One of my favorite combos is spreading it on graham crackers and then sprinkling that with a rather generous handful of semi-sweet chocolate chips. Not so bizarre I admit...but dee-licious. I've also gotten into the habit of eating it by the spoonful straight out of the jar...and no...I don't double dip.

Something else worth trying? Sunchips dipped in Peter Pan. Did I happen to mention that they are the French Onion variety?

While we were on vacation last July, I managed to snag a donut for breakfast one morning. It looked a whole lot better than what it tasted...yellow cake, chocolate frosting, sprinkled with chocolate chips. It was sweet enough to set my teeth on edge. As many of you know, I've never met a donut I couldn't fix. Yep, covered it with peanut butter...ate every bit of it.

How about this one? A peanut butter sandwich dipped in...salsa. While eating lunch one day I had finished my tortilla chips but still had salsa left, so I stuck my peanut butter sandwich into the dish and well...something wondrous was born.

But wait...there's more. Friday's has these wonderfully decadent Green Bean Fries...batter dipped green beans deep fried for your artery clogging pleasure. They serve them up with a delightful Wasabi Ranch dressing. I've been known to dip whatever I may be eating in said dressing...regular fries...chicken...or even spread it on my burger.

Did I mention that for my entire life I've had the world's weakest stomach? Seriously, I couldn't even THINK about eating things like this let alone actually doing it.

Sausage gravy. Yuck. I ordered it once when I went out for breakfast with a friend of mine and her brother when we were in college. I thought it would gross them out. I was right. Fast forward to a year ago. The family was at Bob Evans. The spousal unit was spooning some sausage gravy onto his biscuits. I asked him if I could have some. I started dipping my onion rings in it...ended up finishing it. Oh! Same vacation where I spread the peanut butter on the donut? The next morning I had blueberry pancakes...with sausage gravy smeared all over them. Honestly, that sounds so good right now I'm tempted to get some for dinner...

A recent addition to the hormonal line-up? Cracked Pepper and Olive Oil Triscuits. I literally can't stop eating them. My lips, tongue, and entire mouth will be burning...my nose is running...my eyes are watering...and I'll just keep eating them. Today? The Hormonal Gods are in high control. For lunch I had...are you ready? To begin with, I had the swiss steak leftovers...you know...the bits that are left in the crock pot? Tomatoes, onions, carrots, celery, little pieces of steak...::sigh:: I spread that on the aforementioned Triscuits. I also had a cheese stick...and an apple thrown in just for good measure. After that?

A substantial portion of Smith's Peanut Butter Crunch ice cream covered in Smucker's Hot Fudge. No, I didn't heat it. That would ruin the consistency of the chocolate. I like it thick and gooey...and have been known to eat it by the spoonful allll by itself.

And now I'm having a cup of Typhoo. Yes, I realize some of you are developing an ulcer just reading this. I apologize.

I have been blessed with a high metabolism which I plan on keeping that way by daily exercise. When my body wants some strange combination of foods, I'm going to indulge. I recently had a friend tell me, "Dude...you're like...perpetually pregnant or something."

The Boy Cub, also known as my friend Andrew, shared with me this morning, that he was going to KFC. Considering Andrew lives in another time zone, and is 5-6 hours ahead of me, that made sense for him. However, as of 8:40 this morning all I can think of is KFC. Did I mention he had it for dinner as well? And won't stop talking about it? It's a lucky thing he holds Lifetime Pass 002 of 003...otherwise...grrrrr...

So what's for dinner tonight? I'm thinking leftover pizza! Hey, it's bath night too! I think I'll enjoy some peanut butter M&M's in the tub.

Later y'all,

ABC Wednesday---Are Those REAL?

ABC Wednesday is hosted by Mrs. Nesbitt's Place.

Yes...I'm a wife. Yes...I'm a mother. And most weeks I tend to center my posts around those two sides of Mel. But, like all of you Mel is a multi-faceted person and some days I just need to blow off some steam...you know...let loose with just a tad of sarcasm. Yeah, I know...who knew...Mel...sarcastic.

Sooo...let's talk about shopping. I haven't been shopping for myself, by myself in a very long time. And that is by nobody's choice but my own. Garry and I have always done everything together, including shop. When we were waiting (and waiting...and waiting) for our girls, we did plenty of shopping...for them. I didn't feel the need for anything new for me. I just wanted my kids. When I needed clothes we'd head for Old Navy and I'd buy four or five shirts of the same style in different colors with matching tanks, and a couple of pairs of jeans. You can find me in my uniform any day of the week...t-shirt or maybe a henley, over a tank, and a pair of jeans.

Garry is an extremely patient shopper and has always gone back and forth getting me whatever I needed to try on...and I've done the same for him. About a year ago during a trip to Kohl's we were walking past the bras and I said, "You know...it's about time to start looking for new ones of those too." He got this pasty faced, deer in the headlights look and mumbled, "I was afraid of that." I looked over at him and he actually resembled someone being chased by...oh...brain eating zombies. He said, "How about I just stay home with the girls and give you all the money in my wallet when the time comes?"

I can't really say that I blame him. I mean, I'm a woman...I'm supposed to wear the blasted items of torture...and I hate shopping for them. It doesn't matter what size you are currently wearing...or what style. If you are lucky enough to be able to find either on the rack I guarantee, once you get in the fitting room? They won't fit. Sometimes...even the one I wear INTO the fitting room...doesn't fit. And I'll be darned if I'll go to that...you know...where the certain former British queen is keeping something hush-hush? They have "fitters" there. Are you KIDDING ME? Yeah...I'm going to let some stranger "fit" me...for a bra. I don't really know what that entails? But it sounds like some type of physical contact is required. Umm...no thanks. Conjures up all sorts of thoughts involving cold tape measures, and any one of the sales staff from "Are You Being Served"...telling me it's going to "ride up with wear". So no...you're not going to catch me in there.

Once, when I was in my late teens, I was trying on a pair of jeans in a London shop...whose name escapes me at the moment. The jeans were too small and I was trying to get them off. The extremely helpful shop employee threw open the door of the changing room, much to my horror, and started to yank on the zipper with great vigor. I tried to explain to her (yes, thank the gods above it was a HER...because HE was helping the girl in the room next to me) that the jeans were too small and I was going to try on the larger pair I had brought in with me. She then started to try and peel me out of said too small jeans. Have I mentioned I hate human contact? ::shudder:: I finally got her to leave me to my own devices and bought the jeans. I LOVED those jeans...they were called FU's. Not a single solitary Brit could ever tell me what that actually stood for...but they would always say, "I can tell you what we think it means." Yeah...I'll bet y'all can figure it out too.

Ok...back to bras. A couple of weeks ago Kohl's was having a killer sale and they had sent us an equally murderous gift card trying to entice us to come in and provide our own economic stimulus package. I went online to see if they had anything worth buying. I found some nice shirts...which honestly, I do need for those rare times that I actually leave my house. I mentioned it to Garry...also said maybe I'd look for some bras. He said, "I'll stop at the bank machine on the way home. Have a good time." WOOT! I gave the girls their dinner and as soon as he got home I grabbed the cash, gave the three of them a kiss and disappeared into the night.

I felt positively scandalous! I mean...people...it has been decades since I'd done this. I didn't know how to act. I could listen to my music in the car...and crank it if I wanted to. I didn't have to wait for two other people to go potty or be buckled into carseats or keep reminding them to stop taking your sister's...whatever. It was no different once I got to Kohl's either. I didn't have to keep track of anyone...or hold anyone's hand...or tell anyone to stop touching things. Once I heard a child start to whine and I had to stop myself from telling him/her to stop it! The adrenaline rush was intoxicating.

So I started with shirts. The ones I had found online? They didn't have in my size or the color I liked. But I somehow managed to find at least eight to try on...along with a pair of capris. I fell in love with one of the shirts. The capris fit, so I chose two other colors as well...you know...me and that uniform mentality. Next I wandered over to the Junior's Department. I know...I know...I'm 46 years old. I'm not a Junior anymore. But Mom! Their stuff is so much CUTER! I found another shirt I couldn't live without after trying on four or five more. So...I'm up to two shirts and three pairs of capris. Feeling bolstered by my newfound soon to be purchases I headed for...yep...the bras.

My head started to spin the minute I stepped into Maidenform Territory. Let me just say that I could easily get away without wearing one. I should've probably stayed in the Junior's Department and checked out the trainers. I mean...rows and rows and rows of these ginormous...things. They look like those hideous 18 hour monstrousities...you know...lunch lady bras? You know what I'm talking about...a yarmulke for a two-headed Shrek? ::shudder:: Of course I'm drawn to the cute little black numbers with the green polka dots, which as we know, look simply fabulous under a white tank and t-shirt. Practicality strikes again. So I start to meander the rows and start plucking the fruits from the Underwire Tree. I had about six of the things in my hot little mitts when something drew me to the Wonderbra display. Pondering just how wondrous these bras might be I fumbled through the rack until I found one that I perceived just might fit and headed off for the changing room.

None of the blasted things fit...what a surprise! I was tired...it was getting late...I had about thirty minutes before the store was closing. I attempted to get the aforementioned ill fitting bras back onto their hangers. And by the way, what sadistic (male) human came up with HANGERS for BRAS? I had just gotten the last one hooked onto the hanger when I noticed something. There sat the lonely little Wonderbra...batting it's big old Bambi eyes at me and whispering, "But you haven't tried ME on yet. C'mon...I'm wondrous...you'll see!" I heaved a dejected sigh...pulled it from it's hanger...muttered to myself something to the effect that, "I don't know why I'm doing this...you're not going to fit either."

And then...something wondrous happened. It fit. Not only did it fit? But it, well...it did what Wonderbras say they are going to do. I kid you not. I said out loud, "OMG! I've got ____!" Ok, so technically I didn't say OMG...I said the words that those letters stand for. And I didn't say ____! I spewed forth a mildly derogatory word referring to that portion of a woman's anatomy. It starts with "t". I think you can figure it out. If you can't, email me. I will come to your house and hit you in the head with a ball peen hammer. I was fascinated...amazed...and thrilled. I think I may even have heard a chorus of angels. The next thing out of my mouth was, "I've got a rack!" There's another r word for this post. Hastily changing back into my clothes I grabbed the much coveted prize and shot back out to the display. I managed to find one more in my size! Success!

Clinging to my purchases like a woman possessed I made a sprint for the shoe department and managed to try on a dozen pairs, grab a pair of sandals, and dash for the checkout with ten minutes left before closing. The clerk immediately picked up The Bra Of Wonder and said, "You know...I think it's time I got one of these too. I just wish they made them for your butt." We chortled. Ah...female bonding over the fact that she gets to go home soon and I've found a bra that fits and gives the illusion that I'm stacked.

I sped home, eager to share my newfound rack with Garry. He was indeed impressed. The first thing out of his mouth? "Do NOT take pictures and post them on the internet! Now you look even younger and perkier." OOOOO! People! First off, y'all know how I LOVE to have my picture taken...so that's moot. But hey! I look younger...and p-e-r-k-i-e-r! Yeah baby!!!!

The title for this post comes from Claire. My precious three year old has had a thing for my chest since Garry handed her to me for the first time. She has always loved to yank the collar of whatever I'm wearing out a good six to ten inches and stick her head down in there. The first time I held her wearing the now beloved Wonderbra? She did her usual...pulled the neckline of my shirt out as far as it would go, popped her little head down there and said, in possibly the most amazed and confused inflection I've ever heard, "Mama! What DAT?!"

"Dat", or more accurately, "Doze" my girl, are something your mama has been wanting for 46 years.

And this picture? Yeah...the bras of wonder really are THAT good. Google "wonderbra ads" sometime. You'll see a lot more than what I felt comfortable posting here!
Wonderbras...they're a good thing. Nothing but love for y'all,

ABC Wednesday---K Is For Kids Say The Darndest Things

ABC Wednesday is hosted by Mrs. Nesbitt's Place.

Does anybody out there reading this actually REMEMBER the old Art Linkletter show called Kids Say The Darndest Things? I remember watching it as a kid and thinking it was hilarious. However, a great deal of the time, the adults I would be watching it with weren't finding it nearly as entertaining as I was. OH how things change once you have KIDS of your own. Allow me to share with you some obviously hilarious, albeit self deprecating tidbits my own kids have come up with.

1) Last fall we were in the car coming home from Ohio Mart at Stan Hywet. We had been talking about the things we had seen and Mama's friend "Cawol" and what we had purchased and how warm it was etc. Out of nowhere...as Hope often does because her brain pings from one topic to the next with nary a whisper of a thread of connection between said pings...Hope says, "Mama? Do want to smooch Dave?" Garry almost choked on his tongue and had to fight for control of the car. Me? Well folks...here's the scary part...*I* can follow her train of thought. If that doesn't frighten and/or amaze you it should! ;) I said, "Not at this exact moment honey."

Now, what was she talking about? The girls, and their Mama, like a show on The Disney Channel called Imagination Movers. In the world of toddler/kid music? The Movers simply rock. Yes...their songs are still about picking up your room and eating things that are healthy for you, but the tunes are AWESOME. Hope, at that time had a WICKED crush on Mover Smitty. One day she had asked me which Mover was my favorite...and I told her it was Dave...which is true!

After I explained all of this to Garry, Hope said, "Mama, I want to smooch Smitty!" She then collapsed into a fit of raucous giggles. Five years old...::sigh:: Garry's looking a little pale. She then declared that when she builds "Princess Cedar Point" (an amusement park she's planning for our back yard) she's going to have an attraction where Smitty smooches Ariel. Garry has now taken on a rather ashen...almost green pallor. Finally I said, "Hopie? Why do you like Smitty so much?" She said, "Because he wears a cowboy hat Mama...he looks like Daddy." Crisis averted.

2) Earlier this month we went out to eat at Red Robin for Claire's birthday. There is a young woman there who has worked there since Hope was a baby and both of our girls are absolutely fascinated with her. She truly is beautiful. She is also very intelligent and highly personable. She was busy doing something when Claire says, "Mama dat?" In Claire-speak, "Mama? Who is that?" I said, "That's a lady that works here." Then she says, "Mama do?" Which means, "Mama? What is that person doing?" I said, "She's busy bringing people their lunch honey." Claire says, "Pitty...she pitty Mama." I said, "Is she pretty honey?" She shook her little head yes and said, "Pitty lady." She then looked at me and said, "Mama pitty lady." Again, translating, "Mama, you're a pretty lady." I have to admit when either of my girls give me a compliment I pretty much melt. I reached over and hugged her tight, thanked her, and said, "Is Mama a pretty lady?" At first she said yes...and then you could actually SEE the gears turning inside her head and she said, "No! Mama no lady! You a MAMA!" So...there you have it...I'm no lady...I'm a MAMA! ;) Again...I'd have to agree with her on that one.

3) This Sunday we were in the car on our way to church. We passed a field full of cows and Hope says, "Mama? Do cows die?" I said, "Yes honey." She said, "Why?" I said, "Well honey, pretty much everything that lives eventually dies." She thought for awhile and then said, "Yeah, well, probably except for trees." Garry says, "No honey, even trees die." She says, "Why?" I said, "Because that's the way God made things honey." She thinks awhile longer and comes up with, "I wonder who will die first Mama or Daddy? Mama, probably you will because you are older." (Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrnnnnnnnnnnn) I give her a thumbs up and she continued, "Yeah, Mama, you'll be first because you exercise all the time. Daddy doesn't exercise." Now I don't understand that logic but apparently Garry did because he pipes up with, "Yeah! See! I KNEW it!" I sat in silence, growing more decrepit by the minute. We pulled into the church parking lot and Hope says, "Mama! I see a little cross up there! You probably can't see it because it's so small and you can't see things like that because your eyes aren't as good now as they used to be. Younger people just see better than older people." ::sigh:: Yeah...okay... Garry was laughing so hard I was afraid I was going to have to do CPR.

So there you have it friends...just another day or two in the life of: