Waking up shouting epithets at Donald Trump
Don't you miss the good, old days when you could push two chairs together and call it a bed?
Me, too.
These days I find myself waking up at 4:28am shouting epithets at Donald Trump. Or Tea Party Republicans. Or the California drought. And just when I'm feeling all ridiculous, I remember that I'm an old lady now and waking up at odd hours to worry about things like incontinence and government shutdowns is totes norms.
I gotta say, though, old age isn't all bad. It's a relief to ease up on obsessive attempts at being good and let myself be real and honest instead.
Speaking of honesty, having five kids has ruined my bladder.
"Mom, why do you cross your legs when you sneeze?" my kids ask. I have no good answer for this except: "It looks prettier that way! Like a curtsy!" GAH.
Anyway, 4:28am. I heave myself out of bed and hobble to the bathroom—yes, hobble. I'm the oldest 38 year old you've ever met. My bones ache. My back hurts. I'm a hunched over heffalump. It's super sexy.
Now that I'm an old crone, my latent hypochondria has flared up. I worry constantly that maybe I have a serious, deadly disease. I pose this question to my sixteen year old daughter who is the Voice of Reason in my life and she rolls her eyes, "You don't have cancer, Mom. You have five kids."
This answer actually works for a variety of questions: "Why am I so tired?" Because I have five kids.
"Why am I never organized?" Because I have five kids. "Why did someone carve a happy face in the dining room table?" Because I have five kids. Why do I yodel in the grocery store? Because I have five kids. Why do hipster dudes in skinny jeans tell me: "Dude, you have kids EVERYWHERE"? Because I have five kids.
This answer also works for a variety of kid questions: "Mom, why can't we do organized sports?"
Because we have five kids.
"Mom, why can't we have a house and boat up in Lake Arrowhead?"
"Mom, why does Savannah get to have a big birthday party every year?"
BECAUSE SHE IS AN ONLY CHILD.
I don't really mind growing old except that I live in Orange County, California, where you're supposed to look young even when you're seventy because WHY ELSE THIS LIFE?
The comment I hear most often is: "Wow, you don't look like you've had five kids!" which I guess is a compliment in a backhanded kind of way. I like to reply by saying: "Well, my bladder looks like I've had five kids."
[My mother is dying of embarrassment because I'm writing about Private Body Issues on my Public Blog and WHAT would the Brethren think?]
But bodily dysfunctions aside, the dead giveaway that I'm an old lady now is that my most exciting recent purchase was....a mattress.
Other ladies go bonkers for Jimmy Choos, I go bonkers for individually wrapped coils. And cooling gel pillow tops and foam cores and EGADS, IS THAT A SHREDDED LATEX PILLOW?
Sidebar: Do you know ANYONE under the age of 60 who uses the word "egads"? No? Point proven. I'm geriatric.
ANYWAY: mattress. I researched it for months. I took naps on hundreds of mattresses. I sprawled out in showroom after showroom. It took me a long time to find my favorite because not only am I an old lady, I am also as sensitive as The Princess and The Pea. I finally found my perfect fit and it was called the Black Diamond because that's about how much it cost.
Welp, I didn't buy it. BECAUSE WE HAVE FIVE KIDS.
In the end, I bought a mattress I didn't even try. I bought a mattress that was highly reviewed and quality tested and about a quarter of the cost. It arrives tomorrow and I'm about as giddy as if I just popped Donald Trump in the schnozzle. WHAM! BAM! SHIZAM! I may be an old lady, but I'm still a superhero. I'm The Princess and The Pee Party.
My board of directors says I need to remind people that I WROTE A BOOK AND YOU SHOULD PLEASE BUY ONE OR FIFTY. Then tell your friends that I wrote a book. Because book. I wrote. Read, please. Thanks, The Management.