Tag: fiction

blogging about life as I know it
NaBloPoMo, getting old, sleep, Age, writing

10 Ways to Know You Are a “Woman of a Certain Age”

littleshoeprincess

There you are, cruising along in your early 40s, things are looking pretty good.

You’re at the top of your career.
You’re getting a solid 8 hours of sleep a night.
You jump at the chance to go out to dinner at 9pm.

And then, something shifts. It’s subtle at first. Until one day you wake up – slowly, you seem to have hurt your back somehow while sleeping – and you are more barely surviving than young and thriving.

As someone who still believes that 1990 was twenty years ago, this transition was grueling. I felt like a stranger in my own body. I was restless. And slightly ragey.

Here are the 10 ways to know if you’ve become a “woman of a certain age”. Which is a polite way of saying: Girl, you old.

  1. Grandma hobbies. You become acutely aware of extracurriculars, with a sudden interested in mahjong, pickleball, or knitting.
  2. Book clubs. You want one, preferably with wine and no drama.
  3. 6pm is the new 8pm dinner reservation. Home in jammies by 9pm.
  4. Exercising the word “no”. You have never felt more librated saying no to people, to plans, to dumb ideas. (Without giving a reason!)
  5. Oh, the creams and ointments! Your social feed is one continuous ad for moisturizers for crow’s feet and crepey neck skin.
  6. You’re the protein police. You will never have enough. Ever.
  7. Wide awake at 3am. You used to be really good at sleeping but now it eludes you.
  8. Caring for kids AND parents.
  9. A squishy middle.
  10. You just want to retire to a beach house and read, drink wine, and eat good food. (This one may be just me)

How am I the same person who used to START TO GET READY TO GO OUT at 9pm? Dress in my jeans and nice top while pre-gaming cheap beer. Forgo a coat in 27 degree weather. Stand in line to get in, only to stand in line at the bar. Humid air, sticky floors. And then a nebulous way to get home after you couldn’t flag a cab for 30 minutes at 2am. (Sometimes getting in cars with almost strangers to get home – wait, did we actually invent Uber before Uber did?)

Just writing that paragraph made me exhausted. Because girl, I AM old.

Entertaining, holiday, Mr. KK, thanksgiving

Ridiculous things men do before hosting a party

littleshoeprincess


If you don’t have inside jokes with your partner, are you even married?

There’s a term I use often in our house: Blowing Leaves. This is term I coined for Mr. KK, on a Thanksgiving morning about a decade ago (when I first wrote about this). It perfectly describes the different mentalities between moi and the hubs when it comes to “getting ready” for a holiday.

I saw this on social media today, and it inspired me to re-share this post, as it’s one of my favorites.

(remember this was 10 years ago. RIP Vito the Wonder Dog)

It was Thanksgiving morning, I had been up early, halving a million pounds of Brussels sprouts, slicing and baking Ina Garten’s Parmesan crackers, and assembling a veggie tray. There were still quite a few things to be done – not to mention me showering and drying my hair, which could take forever in itself – and with only two hours left, even if we didn’t stop to pee or drink something, we’d be cutting it close.

I was piling raw broccoli onto the glass platter when my husband walked by me dressed in windy pants, wool socks, a flannel coat and a winter hat. He was carrying gloves and headed towards the door to the garage.

“Where are you going?” I asked him. He was clearly dressed for the outdoors. 

Was he running out to get something we forgot to buy? 

Are the stores even open today?

“I’m going outside to blow leaves. The yard and patio are covered,” he replied, sensing nothing wrong with this answer, while we were T minus 2 hours until our guests arrived. “I should only be a half hour or so.” And with that, he was gone. Minutes later, I heard the blower start up and saw leaves swirling in a million directions as he made his way across the patio. Vito was on his feet immediately, barking at what he thought was a crazy stranger on our property. Because who else would be outside doing yard work on a holiday mere hours before 12 people were coming over? 

Only a madman, obviously.

The definition of Blowing Leaves is this: starting a task that bears no relevance whatsoever on the situation at hand, and having said task take up WAY too much time and energy, both of which you do not have.

Maybe your husband’s ‘blowing leaves’ is just one more quick video game before you’re due at a friend’s wedding. Or maybe it’s trying to fix that leaky pipe under the sink that he needs just 10 minutes for as you’re walking out the door to meet your parents for dinner. Or maybe, he’s scrolling Instagram while you’re multi-tasking like a bad ass.

No matter what the activity, every husband blows leaves.

And that’s why we love them.

May your week be easy, and the leaves stay on the trees.