From tons of fun to I’m so done

21 Thursday May 2026

My dear friend and I often call each other to vent. We live 3,000 miles apart, but it doesn’t matter. (Because we can’t get together for a girls’ trip as often as we wish, these phone calls often turn into laugh-out-loud therapy sessions.)

We have been super close since we were in our 20s, when my husband and I lived in the Pacific NW. I’m so thankful to still call many of my girlfriends from Seattle my lifelong besties.

Fast-forward 30 years and nothing has changed.

Except our bodies.

The topic of these phone-in friend-to-friend calls almost always winds its way to menopause- something we are both experiencing. Our latest conversation? Menopause hangovers. We literally cackled out loud about how our bodies are so sensitive now, we could have mind-blowing headaches after the tiniest amount of alcohol. I recently had a hangover headache from trying Senna tea after one glass of wine. Yup. One glass.

(This was Smooth move tea by the way. And yes the name means it helps you go. I realize I have officially turned into my mother. ) So I had one glass of wine on a recent girls’ trip and felt like I had been to a keg party the following morning. I know, I know, call me tons of fun.

So my friend and I were giggling about how much our tolerance has changed over the years.

Do you remember when you were in your 20s? I do. I could go out, drink until 2 am, come home, sleep maybe four hours, wake up and go to work. Tackle projects like a bad ass pr executive with zero hangover symptoms. The stamp from the bar would still be on my wrist, but it didn’t matter. I’d cover that up with my blazer sleeve. All I really needed was a cheeseburger. I could power through the workday and join my friends for after-work drinks. My husband and I hardly ever ate at home. We’d often meet our friends for happy hour. We joke that we were not alcoholics, we just had stamina.

We were young.

We lived in the city.

We were tons of fun.

We had so much energy.

Now I get a menopause hangover if I sleep wrong. And don’t even get me started on brain fog or night sweats.

I woke up the other night having to pee and dry myself off from night sweats. I looked in the mirror and almost screamed. I thought I might have to go to urgent care. There were red blotches all over my face. I thought for sure I had some kind of infection or high fever. I was about to Google my symptoms. But I took my temperature first. I was 97.1. (Almost too cold to function.)

I washed my face.

Still red.

What the…

Red bumps were imprinted, not raised, on the entire left side of my face.

I went back to bed and flashed the light from my cell phone onto my comforter to see if maybe there was a reason for the rash.

It turns out I slept so hard on my pillow, the embroidery from my pillow case had made deep indentations on the left side of my face. I looked like I had been stung by a crocheted doily.

I’m so done.

Cheers to all things menopause! XO

Why I would not make an ideal cast member of the Real Housewives of Rhode Island

12 Tuesday May 2026

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Unless you have been living under a rock, you’ve probably heard about a show gracing the beautiful state of Rhode Island.

Yes, I’m talking about the Real Housewives of Rhode Island. Bravo, Bravo. Awesome job.

I can’t help it. I’m addicted to this show. It’s like cotton candy for the brain. So much fun. (As long as you don’t overdo it or you’ll feel like you wandered off a spinny ride at the amusement park.)

A lot of people either love or hate this kind of TV show and I have to admit it, I am loving it. It is entertainment, after all.

Although this state is very small, I don’t know any of the cast members personally. But I do know people who know some of them. (I’m from Texas originally and the chances of this happening there is very slim.) Little Rhody has a tendency to have a two-degrees-of-separation kind of vibe, so if you don’t know someone, you know someone who does. I think that’s kind of cool, don’t you?

And in case you’re wondering, I have already figured out who I would be friends with if I ever ended up on the show. (Anyone need a cracker? Know a former reporter or come from a different state? And I digress.)

My brother, who lives in Denver, once asked me why I’m not on the show. I love my brother, but he has three boys and he can be a little out of touch when it comes to these things. Let’s just say I had no interest in even TRYING OUT. Don’t get me wrong, I love Bravo. I have so much respect for the creative minds behind reality TV and film. But I’d much rather sit in my PJs while watching the drama play out.

Although I thoroughly enjoy watching RHORI, (my husband has to remind me that I don’t know any of these women by the way), I have to admit I would NOT make an ideal cast member. I’ll give you some reasons why:

* My life would be too predictable for the camera crew. They’d end up following me around while I’m walking my Golden retriever (without wearing pink bouncy exercise shoes).

* If it was a really exciting day, they could catch my dog as he’s jumping into the car so he can get a pup cup in between errands.

* I’m in menopause and I wouldn’t want anyone to catch me (or film me) trying to remember something mid-thought. Wait, what was I trying to say? Why did I come in the kitchen?

* I have never had a professional spray tan. My legs are a little pale and let’s just say no one needs to see these legs in a bathing suit.

* I married my high school sweetheart. Based on what I have seen so far, a happily married empty nesting couple does NOT make good TV.

* I’m friendly but I don’t like confrontation. (Who does?) A couple girls on set would definitely try my patience.

* I am in my mid-50’s, so my patience level is less than zero. I’d turn red too and this does NOT look good on camera.

* I don’t own a salon, restaurant or dispensary. Just a pr consulting biz with zero employees. (I’d be better off on the Office talking about paper.)

* I have hit menopause and would most likely need a nap in between takes.

* I wear makeup, yes, but I have never had Botox, fillers or plastic surgery. These women all look 25. No one needs to see my neck rolls on television. I’d have to wear scarves half the season. (I now fully understand Murphy Brown’s wardrobe choices.)

* I snack. Often. (I once wrote a book about crackers and cheese dip for crying out loud.) So this means Alicia and I could be friends, but the rest of the crew might grow tired of my snacking for sanity in between takes.

* I have aunties in the state and they are adorable, but I wouldn’t want the RHORI aunties competing for air time.

* I love shopping but I don’t own any reality-TV-appropriate evening gowns. I’d end up wearing an old bridesmaid’s dress for every confessional element, paired with a scarf, of course.

* I live in a quiet neighborhood and I’m getting to the age where I’m enjoying the quiet.

* Any time I go any of the places they go on the show in this gorgeous state (from Newport to East Greenwich, which happens to be where I went to high school) I don’t carry a picnic basket or want to post about it. Thank God I graduated before social media!

* I’d want to find something positive about every cast member, so they’d be annoyed by my “I’m from Texas and moved to Rhode Island when I was in high school, do you want to be my friend” story.

* When I go out with my girlfriends, we are home by 9 p.m. Who wants to watch that?

* I love my life and I’m super grateful for every minute, off-screen. So I’ll keep watching these hilarious women and supporting them this season and next. For more details about the show, visit https://www.bravotv.com/the-real-housewives-of-rhode-island.

Speaking of moms

04 Monday May 2026

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I have been away and wanted to pop in and say Happy Mother’s Day! I just spent the last week visiting my mom in Florida. She is adorable. I was pleasantly surprised to find her upbeat, active and in good health. She had a health scare a couple years ago and this was one of those “just because” trips. And for that I’m very thankful.

Aside from realizing that we share “almost” the same shoe size and happen to eat tuna salad the exact same way, I realized something. The time we have together is precious. This trip was really special. I mean, it wasn’t perfect. But it sure was memorable.
We had a great time catching up, shopping, eating out, shopping, gabbing with people, laughing, shopping, walking, making sure we found a public ladies room where ever we went… and just spending time together. Yes, I was at times annoyed by my mom’s inability to read a room (trying to leave a store with her takes 45 minutes.) The woman is ridiculously friendly and has to know everyone’s life story and lets them know she will be praying for them. It really is sweet but difficult when you’re trying to leave a store. I was sharing this with my girlfriends recently. Apparently, they say that I am the same way? I don’t believe it. I mean, my average is about 20 minutes to say goodbye. And I digress.

When I wasn’t suffering from hot flashes and asking my mom about her experience with hot flashes or laughing about what used to be referred to as “the change” I also realized sharing a hotel room with your mother is not a good idea when you are in the midst of menopause. We came back to our hotel room after dinner one night and just when I was envisioning a slumber party filled with music and matching face masks, I looked over and noticed my mom had fallen asleep. Not just asleep. She was passed out. And snoring. Bless her heart…the woman doesn’t even drink. Did I mention that it was 8:30 pm? By the time she woke up, I was trying to sleep.

Quite the party animals. We may not be Instagram worthy, but we had a lot of fun. And it makes me so grateful for times like these. Happy Mother’s Day, mom!

In honor of Mother’s Day, I wanted to share a snippet from a gift book I once wrote about motherhood and cheese dips. This is almost 15 years old but I feel like the stories are always relatable. Enjoy! And I hope you have an amazing Mother’s Day!

On anniversaries and vagina tales

Are you headed for the last age bracket?

20 Monday Apr 2026

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age bracket, freshman of senior citizens, menopause, midlife, senior

When was the last time you had to check an age bracket box?

You know, the brackets on forms that give age ranges like 25-29. I have to say I cringed a little when I had to select my age bracket box recently.

In fact, I almost cried. Why, you ask? Because I moved to a NEW age bracket. And not just ANY age bracket.

For this particular online form, my new age bracket was the LAST available bracket box.

Oh yes. You read that correctly.

There were no selections beyond 55+.

Shut the front door. This cannot be happening.

55+.

And what does the PLUS sign mean exactly in this sampling?

It’s as if the form said, “No explanation required. You are OLD, Jackie.”

OK, form. You can kiss my…

For your information, I am NOT old.

I’m in my 50s.

And I’m nowhere near the PLUS category!

Am I supposed to just give up and start playing Bingo at the senior center? Don’t get me wrong, I love Bingo. And I adore senior citizens. But I’m not ready to BE ONE! I am still 19…in my mind. (My body is a different story.)

This is well beyond the bracket where you qualify for the AARP membership packet by the way. Which I refuse to open quite yet (despite the enticing free gift). And it’s seven years before you qualify for social security.

This is the age where you are a speed LIMIT.

A speed limit! Sammy Hagar’s unobtainable speed limit.

It’s old, without being too old.

Think of this age bracket as being a high school freshman.

You’re the new kid.

You learn the rules at freshman orientation.

You have to take required classes like bird watching, intro to medicare and fiber intake in order to graduate.

You’re the youngest of the “seniors”.

You’re not invited to the cool group just yet.

You are almost out of your awkward middle-aged years but haven’t started truly “maturing” yet.

You can’t go to prom without a date who is over 80.

You can’t sit with the popular kids until you are prescribed blood pressure meds.

You are told you’re a “YOUNG senior” at the pep rallies but all they really want is your vote for class president.

You might qualify for independent lockers but they refuse to give you the combination.

You are old enough to play Bingo but you’re only invited to play at your best friend’s house.

You are not quite ready to make varsity because you are too young and agile.

A senior befriends you but you find out they are using you for your freshman discount.

You have to take defensive driving to renew your license.

Only the 8th graders (people in their 40s) think you are cool.

Seniors (octogenarians plus) tease you and call you a spring chicken in the hallways.

When you try out for a team sport, you are too old for varsity and over qualified for junior varsity. So you say eff it and play pickle ball during P.E.

Maybe you can start a freshman Mahjong team? Or a theater program where we can all act like we belong in the blue zone?

Here’s to being the youngest of the oldest and growing old as gracefully as possible.

P.S. I think the only way to make varsity is to dye my hair gray and start dressing like Mrs. Roper. XO

Don’t give up on retail therapy

14 Tuesday Apr 2026

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Have you ever made fun of the fake sizes at the women’s clothing stores where your grandmother loved to shop?

The one where their size 2 fits Mrs. Santa Clause?

I have reached the age where I’m starting to understand why these stores exist. And I’m cringing at the fact their catalog might be coming for me.

On a recent back-to-spring almost-birthday shopping spree with my cousin, I was faced with some harsh realities. Given that my go-to jeans (the pair I reach for every other day) could stand on their own, I figured it’s time to brighten up my wardrobe.

I mean, it’s spring. I can’t hide under my black long-sleeve tee shirt much longer.

We should all be wearing color-me-beautiful ensembles that make us look and feel fabulous. But my body has changed. And it is making shopping feel more like a trip to the dentist.

So I tried on dresses that made me look like I was left on the prairie with Alfonso.

I tried on white pants that highlight ripples I didn’t even know I had.

I tried on colored denim that could not be zippered up without a pair of pliers.

I also attempted to try on a cute skirt, but I couldn’t pull it up past my thighs.

Oh I almost gave up.

I mean most women would have left.

But you don’t understand.

I love to shop.

I have loved to shop since I was a little girl and had money saved up in my leather coin purse from babysitting.

It’s in my blood.

My grandmother was a shopper.

My mom is a shopper.

My aunts are all shoppers.

My daughter also inherited the new jeans gene.

We all come from a long lineage of women DEDICATED to retail therapy.

But shopping for my new body-by-cortisol? It’s not easy.

For a few moments there, I was beginning to feel like I had lost my will ….to shop.

Thankfully, I was revived by my cousin and a sweet sales associate who looked like she was 12. I was disoriented at first. But before long, they talked me out of the fitting room and into something more suitable (for my new potato shape).

There was a lot of self acceptance and self discovery going on in that boutique.

I sipped my water and pinched my cheeks and told myself I CAN DO THIS.

I expanded my options (and my dress size) and paired what they recommended with higher heels. Taking boxed breaths, I stepped out of the room as well as my comfort zone. I stood in front of the mirror and reminded myself, “Everything is going to be ok”.

When dealing with all the hormonal imbalances that come with mid-life, moments like these require tremendous patience.

By shifting my attitude, I opened myself up to new styles. New looks. New colors. And I’m hoping what I left with works.

I chose a leisurely linen ensemble that at first made me look like one of the Golden Girls had started a house painting business. But I know on my next shopping conquest I WILL find the best coordinating accessories.

I have to remind you: Retail therapy is real. And it can still work no matter what your shape or size.

After all, I may have spent hundreds of dollars on new clothes, but I saved myself dozens of hours of therapy.

So…there are no push presents for this stage of life?

07 Tuesday Apr 2026

Posted by Jackie in Uncategorized

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Tags

gen x, men in menopause, push presents

I think it’s time we take a moment to vent about something that’s happening to our bodies. I actually have no idea what happened to my OLD body, the one that could buy a bikini off the clearance rack. And that is precisely my point.

Disclaimer: I am a Gen exer, forgive my bluntness. If you happen to be a man, I advise you to stop reading for fear that you may no longer be attracted to your life partner after hearing what else I have to say.

For crying out loud. I’m talking about menopause.

It’s a totally different animal compared to becoming a mom. No one tells you what it’s like to have a baby. I mean really tells you. After the baby shower, you think it’s going to be all rainbows and unicorns. The next thing you know, you’re wearing a pad the size of Alaska and smelling your baby’s head every 20 minutes because you’re so in love. Yet you still feel like your lady parts have been hit by a truck.

Thankfully, being a new mom means despite all the painful stuff, you get to bring home a precious bundle of joy.

But when it comes to menopause? Oh no.

There are no prizes.

There are no rainbows or unicorns.

The only baby you get out of it? A FOOD baby.

It’s basically a splash of so many side effects (minus the fine print) that shock your system around the time you become an empty nester.

I think of it as being roasted by your old self on a daily basis. Only the celebrity emcee is the OLD YOU and turns the mic on about the same time you are thrust into this crazy stage.

I envision my roasting going something like this:

Jackie:

Remember when you had a jawline?

Remember your old butt?

Remember when you had a metabolism?

Remember when you could eat a bag of tortilla chips and wake up without a pooch?

Remember when you remembered things?

Remember when you didn’t have arms that dangled?

Remember when you were always cold?

Remember when you could remember why you walked into the kitchen?

Remember when you had a neck without rolls?

Remember when Aunt Flo trashed your favorite pair of white pants? Well she’s dead to you now. So you’ve got that going for you.

I can picture a collage of old photos of me being splashed across a big screen TV. Like a before and after, only I AM the after.

Why!

Why?

Why do we have to deal with this?

There is no honeymoon phase.

No one’s throwing a shower for Aunt Flo’s year-long retirement.

There are no lullabies for hot flashes.

No symphonies for sweat shadows.

No burrito blankets to soothe us after stepping on the scale.

No prizes at the bottom of the last box of pads.

And there are definitely no push presents for reaching this stage of life!

I have come to realize a few things since Aunt Flo stopped visiting:

Tank tops should no longer be a part of my wardrobe.

My long legs have turned into tree trunks.

My back fat has back fat.

I retain water just by looking at a glass of water.

My body was once a rectangle and it is gradually turning into a giant square.

I eat protein.

I eat vegetables.

I exercise.

I also eat lots of chocolate but at least doing some of the above has prevented me from turning into the girl that gets sucked up the tube at the chocolate factory.

There are some pluses. (If you want to call them that.)

I’m acting more like a man than ever before. Probably why the word “men” is in menopause.

I am braver.

I am never cold at night. In fact, I’m like an oven!

I am thicker-skinned.

I face things head on.

I don’t care what other people think.

(Including the sassy old me emcee.)

I am not afraid to speak my mind.

I have zero tolerance for rude people.

I have zero patience for bull$hit.

I am more relaxed.

I am more content.

I am more self-aware.

I am more confident.

I suddenly want to participate in March Madness brackets and play video games on my phone. (If you consider Wordscapes and Mahjong video games.)

I sweat constantly.

I am not embarrassed.

I crave me time.

I drone out sometimes without realizing it.

And for some odd reason, maybe because I can’t fit into anything else, I find myself drawn to wearing the same pair of wide leg jeans on repeat. OK, I promise to talk more about this soon.

Cheers to pushing for push presents for this crazy stage of life!

Is your cell phone acting like a mean girl?

02 Thursday Apr 2026

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Tags

books, cell phone, life, mean girls, pressure to meet unrealistic expectations, siri, writing

Do you remember the mean girls at your school? Maybe one queen bee in particular?

Where I grew up (in a suburb outside Houston, Texas) the mean girls had these Valley girl accents with a slight twang that made them SOUND sincere. But bless their hearts, they were SO NOT. Think Regina George with a bi-level and braces. I grew up in the 1980s. I’m a proud Gen Xer. But those mean girls did a number on my self-esteem.

Fast forward to 2026.

I’m a grown woman. A mom, a wife. My hair, heart, and skin have all thickened up (thank you Lord). I am no longer a scraggly teen sporting jelly shoes. (Well at least not the ones I got at the mall in 1984.) What mean people think of me doesn’t (always) bug me.

But when it comes to my cell phone? The one device I rely on to make my life a little easier? It’s a totally different story.

What I’m trying to say is: I fear my iPhone (who I call Siri Lou) is turning into a mean girl. There I said it.

Every day, it’s: “You haven’t taken as many steps as you did this time last year.”

Seriously? I don’t need this. Especially after the sleepless night I had.

“You aren’t burning as many calories as you did last month.”

Such unrealistic expectations, Siri Lou. I’m dealing with a LOT of hormonal changes right now.

“You are taking fewer steps this week than you did last week.”

I literally just got back from vacation. You were barely with me! Can you NOT?

And my personal favorite, when she doesn’t recognize my face first thing in the morning. (It could have something to do with the fact that I woke up in my own sweat shadow, but still.)

Why does she have to be so mean?

Does she not know that I fractured my toe several weeks ago?

That taking even 10 steps in a pair of boots hurt like heck?

You took 250 steps today.

I left you on the passenger seat!

Every pathetic reminder is like being teased for wearing off-brand jeans.

Siri Lou can kiss my grown rear. I mean, I adore her when she’s being helpful. But lately, she only cares how far, how long and how often I’m stepping.

If she only knew HOW I fractured my toe. (I’ll save that for another time.)

Although I enjoy keeping my step count when I AM keeping up, I think it’s time for Siri Lou to be sent to detention.

Some tips for managing a toxic relationship with your cell phone (and Siri Lou-like apps):

#1? Turn off the “Mean Girl” Features!

Turn Off Notifications: The quickest way to put an end to the shame spiral is to turn off the very notifications that make you feel like crap.

Stop keeping score and ignore the “Scores”: Apps like Fitbit and Apple Health are great when they help, but not when they force arbitrary daily goals. Edit like heck to hide those daily reminders.

It’s time to start making new friends. Switch to some new friendlier apps such as:

“Hot Girl Steps”: An app designed to track steps with “better energy” even if you don’t walk one day.

Gentler Streak: Another happier app that encourages a “gentle” streak rather than punishing you with unrealistic goals.

Bearable: A tracking app that helps you identify patterns between symptoms and lifestyle.

Take a Break: You don’t need to measure your steps to be healthy. Sometimes the best move is to delete the app for a week.

She is Flawed: Fitness trackers can seem pretty and perfect, but they can be inaccurate, and their algorithms are not necessarily designed for your body or background.

Focus on How You Feel: Prioritize you and not how some app makes you feel.

Cheers to staying healthy without all the pressure! Delete the mean girl apps from your life and be your best YOU!

Aren’t tangents the best?

26 Thursday Mar 2026

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blog

Something has to be said about spending time with a dear friend.

In person. In real life.

You get them. And they get you. And the fact that they let you go on and on about something until you’re both sitting on a metaphorical leather sofa eating chips and guac.

It is pure bliss.

And what cracks me up? The tangents. The winding road an initial conversation takes you on because you’re so excited to catch up.

I will accidentally do this with my husband with vastly different results. When a tangent begins to emerge, the look on his face is indescribable.

It could start out innocently enough, with me asking him: “Does this look OK?”

“You look beautiful.”

“But this blouse makes my neck look creasy.”

“You look beautiful. Are you ready to…”

“This is a blouse from that thrift store we went to. I’ll definitely put on more neck cream if I wear this one. Oh wait I have a different one from the same shop.”

“ I don’t know what you’re…”

“Remember the thrift shop we went to years ago where S and I found so many designer pieces? And you and C wanted to leave? This one or this one?”

“I see zero difference. I’m not following you. Are you ready to…”

I will then change my entire outfit and wonder why he isn’t following me.

Maybe he just zones out when I break out mid-tangent? I will go off and then boom, all he hears is white noise?

I love this man and Lord knows he has a lot of patience.

But when it comes to Jackie tangents?

Less than zero.

I don’t know if it’s because of our age or the way we are wired, but I believe when you have a similar conversation with a dear friend who happens to be female, there’s often a mutual acceptance. A knowing. For some reason, you end up following all the zig zags, tangents and ramblings. Kind of like what I’m doing right now. I mean if Reese were reading this, she’d probably understand.

“She doesn’t know you.”

“But I feel like I know her.”

And…. I digress ;).

My friend and I will start off talking about the best hot roller brushes available that don’t cost $400, then a childhood memory of hot rollers pops up followed by Rave home perms and why my mom set my hair using soft pink rollers after giving me a home perm over the kitchen sink that made the whole house smell like a chemical spill. I can almost sense the pungent scent right now.

I believe professionals would have a more specific medical term for female mid-life ramblings but I take comfort in the chaos and the conversations. The laughing until I’m not actually making a sound because I’m cackling so hard. I honestly see it as a form of comic relief. Like free therapy.

With all the estrogen being rinsed away daily, I can honestly say it helps keep me sane. And smiling. Not to mention remembering why I walked into the kitchen.

My cousin came to visit this past week and I swear we went off on so many tangents. In the middle of Homegoods, mind you. We started talking about Lord knows what and then…three tangents later, we wound up totally forgetting what we were talking about.

The fact that we couldn’t remember made us laugh even harder. By the time we reached the next aisle, in front of the most random collection of ceramic frog-shaped planters filled with fake flowers, I almost wet my wide legged jeans. (Something I definitely need to address another time. Not that. You know. How we all adore this store despite the occasional ceramic frog. And how much longer do we have to wear wide-leg jeans? I’m in my mid-50s. I like to stay on trend, but I have to admit, when I pair them with sneakers and a parka, I look like I’m a senior citizen rehearsing for a boy band. How much longer do we have to wait until the more slimming straight-leg-denim-with-knee-high-boots look comes back in fashion?)

Until then, cheers to women friends, belly laughs and all the tangents!

Why it’s OK to spend $79 on neck cream (and other mid-life stuff we totally need to catch up on)

21 Saturday Mar 2026

Posted by Jackie in Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

health, life, menopause, mid-life mishaps, neck cream belly laughs, perimenopause, venting sessions chin hair, writing

Hi there. It’s been a while. A long time. Years actually. I get it.

I hope this blog post finds you well. Aside from the hot flash that just hit me mid-sentence, I’m actually doing really well. You could say there was so much going on in my life over the past few years, I didn’t feel like writing about it.

I spent a long time bottling all the stuff up in my mom brain.

And I think it’s time.

Time for what, exactly?

Another chocolate covered almond, you say?

Well, that and time to use this space to vent again.

But not just about motherhood. I mean, motherhood is never off the table. Lord knows we have enough stories to share.

More about mid-life.

The whole sha-bang.

The brain fog.

The empty nest.

The elderly parent-ness.

The retail therapy.

The insomnia.

The belly laughs.

The middle-of-the-night social media strolling. Only to wake up realizing you ordered an $79 bottle of neck cream because *Jane Seymour convinced you to do it. (*The actress is so beautiful and almost as old as my mother and she somehow has no jowels or turkey neck? This is definitely a topic I will be revisiting. I was not paid for these comments about a product I’d definitely love to share more about in the future as soon as my neck rolls smooth out.)

I’m talking about imperfect womanhood. Imperfect motherhood. Imperfect mid-life moments.

The realities that catch you mid-day with a row of chin hairs blowing in the wind (an hour after plucking).

And facing it all mid-hot flash after trying desperately to sleep five hours without relying on sleep supplements you purchased at 2 a.m. because another celebrity with 10 percent body fat told you to.

I have tried to NOT write about it. My husband can share how well that’s been going for me. My cousin texted me yesterday and literally highlighted my comment on one of Reese Witherspoon’s social media outlets. I thought she was proud of me for wishing the super woman a happy 50^th. And sharing with Reese how much I love my 50’s. (My husband has reminded me, “She doesn’t know you” but this has not exactly hit me yet.)

Oh no. My cousin (who also happens to be my best friend) said, “Why are you commenting to Reese about turning 50? You should be writing about this!”

Dang.

You know what?

She’s right.

I have tried everything to avoid the inevitable.

She is right. And my husband too.

I need to write.

I have missed it.

So here I am. Chin hairs and all.

I mean, it’s not like I don’t talk about my feelings with friends and family. My husband gets it. And he is very understanding and realizes when I need girl time. (Aside from celebrities who don’t know me, of course.)

In fact, I did this just the other day. This sweet woman asked about my day ..and my dog.

I shared about my Golden, my (grown) kids, my husband, my friends, AND how long we’d been in town. It felt so good to get so much off my chest in a matter of minutes. I mean, she was so friendly.

And you know what she said after I shared my life story?

“Do you want to buy a bag?”

I stood there, took a look at her and then around me. Oh yes.

I was in line at a farm fresh grocery store in the middle of Vermont.

This woman was not my friend. She doesn’t know me from Alice. Bless her heart. All she did was ask me about my day…and my dog.

It’s days like this that I honestly think I’m turning into my grandmother. The woman knew every cashier at Stop n Shop. (They adored her.)

But I’m only 54.

Some days, I fear I am becoming the characters in the Progressive commercials. The ones who are turning into their parents.

“Babe,” my husband said the other day as he caught me mid-laugh during a commercial break. “You ARE a Progressive commercial.”

I had to run to the bathroom so I didn’t pee myself. (This is also something I hope to revisit here.)

So there you have it.

My cousin and my husband know me better than I know myself. I look forward to sharing more of my mid-life mishaps.

And for the record, I did all my grocery shopping at CVS this morning. I wish I was kidding….

Cheers to new faces, places and hand sanitizer that doesn’t smell like a Vodka shot

16 Friday Jul 2021

Posted by Jackie in Uncategorized

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Goodness gracious. Can we say a collective hallelujah for this new normal?

For fresh air and maskless faces?

For seeing loved ones and finally going places?

Before I start singing along to my own post-quarantine country song, I need to express how thankful I am.

And can we please talk about hugs?

Who else missed hugs? I think I’ve hugged every person I know since I was vaccinated. And I would like to take this opportunity to formally apologize to all the acquaintances I hugged after the mask mandate was lifted. I know we may not be close and Lord knows it must have been awkward for you, but I needed it.

I consider myself a social butterfly by day (and sometimes an octogenarian by night) and being cooped up for a year was not easy. It was hard on so many and there’s so much to be grateful for, and so much to reflect upon.

Without getting all sappy, I have to admit, since the quarantine ended, there are days I think I may be turning into a human version of a Golden retriever. And we’ve always had Goldens, so I know these traits all too well.

Let’s see, I’m happy.

I always need to tinkle.

I’m grateful.

I like cute sweaters.

I’m loyal.

Excited.

My hair is highlighted.

I’m overly excited about leaving the house to do anything. As long as it involves leaving the house.

In the car, I like having the window down to let the breeze blow past my crispy, quarantined hair, roots and all. I exercise in the morning so I can sneak in as many treats as possible throughout the day.

I’m also like a Golden mama to my kids, making sure their needs are met especially after this past year, which is one of the reasons this site collected so many dust bunnies. I couldn’t really talk about everything that was going on as a mom of teens because I wanted to respect their privacy. And God knows there’s a lot to talk about when it comes to parenting teenagers and college-age kids. But this is me NOT talking about them. And this is me venting about other things because it helps prevent me from wandering around my yard in foam rollers waiting for them to come home by curfew.

(Everyone is healthy and great btw, my husband included and I’m so grateful to have everyone home for the summer, except when it’s close to dinner time and everyone is suddenly hungry and I’ve totally forgotten to get anything except snack food at the grocery store. There is nothing exciting in the kitchen because I’ve been too busy doing other things because I don’t have to wear a mask any more. They will have to be happy with chicken parm for the upteenth time, thank you very much.)

And then there’s the flip side to my Golden behavior, when I crave quiet time from everyone and everything. Turning a milestone age combined with all the new post-quarantine commotion is a lot. I mean I love activity, but I’m exhausted from it too. Sometimes I need to find a quiet space and just be.

Sometimes I get tired from smiling and close my mouth. My Golden does this too. I keep checking to see if my mask is swinging from my face, but it’s gone. It’s just the skin under my chin. And that’s ok, because I’m thankful to feel my face again rather than fabric.

Golden-ness aside, cheers to no more mask-ne (Mask Acne). And washing and drying masks. Oh and cracked hands, dry from all the hand sanitizer. Palmolive would have been welcomed, but Instacart didn’t always have it in stock.

Have you noticed that hand sanitizer smells like liquor? Finding sanitizer that offers a pleasant aroma rather than one that smells like a shot of Smirnoff has been an art form in itself.

I have to admit, as I watched many people accomplish lifelong bucket lists during quarantine, I was just happy to get through each day with my sanity and health in tact. Crossing off my to do’s. Finishing a conference call. Catching up with friends on Zoom. And getting dinner ready by 6 pm. That was good enough for me.

There were days when I thought I’d never leave the house. The computer. The phone. Or the kitchen.

There were afternoons I thought I’d end up circling my yard in a shower cap.

But I didn’t.

I mean, I guess when I look back upon the past year, I didn’t really accomplish anything noteworthy. Some wrote novels. Some got in amazing shape.

Others threw out anything that didn’t spark joy a la Marie Kondo.

I ate enough tortilla chips to feed all of Texas. I did aerobics. (Yes I said aerobics). I got on my Peloton here and there. I met deadlines, I laughed and spent glorious quality time with my husband and kids. (We played a lot of poker.) I stayed in touch with friends, and I folded a $hit ton of laundry. Not necessarily in that order.

I also watched a lot of Hulu and HBO. And often pretended the characters (Carrie and Miranda especially) knew me.

It was awesome and at times, borderline pathetic. Yet weirdly cathartic.

Then again, I never wandered around my yard in foam rollers and slippers. And I tried my best to be positive (not Covid positive) despite it all. So maybe I accomplished something worthwhile after all…

Spreading some sanity during a quarantine

27 Friday Mar 2020

Posted by Jackie in Uncategorized

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I don’t need to remind you of what’s going on in the world. I hope you and your family are staying healthy. And sane. Aside from all the family bonding, I think there are some silver linings in all of this. As a 40-something mother of two teens, I’ve realized I have to maintain some semblance of sanity and take each day one at a time. (Or I’ll end up wandering around my yard in a robe and pink foam rollers.) So…..I have come up with a list of things that are helping me stay sane and I had to share them with you.

Some sprinkles of sanity in light of the $h*t show that’s surrounding us:

Our roots. I believe roots will be back in style. I’m talking salt and peppa here. After the highlights disappear and our roots begin to sprout, I believe they will be back in style. If Sarah Jessica Parker could pull off dark roots and make them look adorable and sexy in the city, why shouldn’t we? Until this is over, may our dark headbands (the ring of wretched roots that surround our parts) unite us, girls. Oh, may we shine together.
Old pairs of pants will be like new again. Guess what? No one can see that you’re sporting sweatpants on video conference calls. They can’t see your flannel lama PJ pants on the call. So maybe, when this is over, our old pairs of pants will feel new again! (That is, if we can still fit in them.) And yes, I had to put down a sleeve of Ritz as I typed that.
Top prop. Speaking of video conferencing, you CAN make yourself look adorable and presentable. All it takes is a cute top! Why not pair a colorful blouse with those three-day-old sweaty yoga pants? That new blazer you found back when the stores were open? Grab it from your closet. It’s probably the only clean top you have right now. SO PUT IT ON!
The ladies are happy. This probably doesn’t even need to be mentioned. But for the sake of this space, let’s just say I have worn the same bra for eight straight days. Most of my friends have gone bra-less. Whatever floats your boat, ladies. Go for it!
Zoom loungewear? Remember 1970’s leisure suits? With all the quarantine comforts, could we see more and more people out in public sporting vintage loungewear as daywear? I cringe and cackle at the possibilities.
Quarantine parodies and dog videos. I have never watched so many parody dog videos in my life. And I can’t stop. I can’t believe I’m admitting this but I don’t think I will ever tire of quarantine dog videos where canines, in high-pitched human voices complain about their humans always being home. (I have a feeling my two Goldens talk about us when we’re asleep.)
Big brows. My teenage daughter has been encouraging me to grow out my eyebrows. Oh, it’s happening. At an unprecedented rate. I pray ungroomed brows will be back. In case you didn’t know, when you’re about to turn 49, you start to look like Andy Rooney in that area. (RIP.)
Shorter lashes. If stumpy, clumpy eyelashes are in, I’m the quarantine queen. Out of sheer panic, I purchased drugstore mascara recently and I think it has shortened the lifespan of my already wimpy lashes. But I’ll let you in on a little secret – you can use a filter to make yourself look better on video calls on days when you’re feeling especially crusty.
On toes and fingernails. I honestly wonder if Lee Press on Nails will be making a comeback. I had a pedicure about a month ago. You would not know this if you saw my toes. I cannot for the life of me remove the nail polish that has not chipped off. I have tried everything except paint thinner. I think the color is actually pasted on. Plus I have accidentally injured my husband in the middle of the night with my un-manicured nails knives.
Not touching hands. If not shaking hands becomes a post-quarantine habit, maybe moisturizing our hands will no longer be necessary? Can we talk about how dry our hands are with all the excessive hand washing? Mine are like sand paper. I could use some Polmolive right about now. I need to soak them for a month. I was going to give them an overnight Vaseline and plastic glove solution, but unfortunately, there are no gloves left in the free world.
Work it out. Maybe Jane Fonda’s workouts will come back? I have been taking walks, jogging or doing aerobics along with online Pilates classes to stay in shape. If we’re all working out at home and trying to mix it up, why not grab a can of soup and do like Jane Fonda did in the 80’s? Jog around the room. The yard. Do jumping jacks. Turn up some Bananarama. Feel the burn, ladies!
Dance it out. Another habit that has helped me stay sane is turning up my tunes while doing the dishes or fixing dinner. It’s all about dancing it out in the kitchen. I’m talking Stevie Nicks, Madonna, even the Beastie Boys. Oh my kids shake their heads in embarrassment. And laugh…with me?
Chopping expectations. We placed an online grocery order the other day, but it couldn’t be delivered. Many essential items, as I’m sure you have discovered, were not available. So we decided to make what we had left in the kitchen. After noticing all the leftovers had been devoured, we checked the freezer. And there, buried under waffles and a pint of ice cream, lay a single box of family size frozen lasagna. So we plopped it on a cookie sheet and baked it for 90 minutes. As the four of us huddled around the kitchen island, eating boxed lasagna and frozen creamed spinach, we could not stop laughing. It was not a proud culinary moment. (I’m not exactly a chef anyway.) But it was one we will never forget. We all giggled while we ate. And it wasn’t that bad. (Btw, this happened the day before one of us escaped to the grocery store for much healthier options.) Hey, in a quarantine, you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do, right? When my son went in for seconds, I realized that it honestly doesn’t matter. We are grateful. Giggling, but grateful. What matters is that we have our health. We have each other. And we have our sanity!

Are you ready for fall?

04 Friday Oct 2019

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Holy Moly, it’s October. Seasons change quickly in New England. It can be a lot of fun if you just embrace it. I know, I know. You’re peeved about summer being over. I get it. It’s all about pacing yourself and making it enjoyable. Mum by mum.

Here are some tips to help get your home ready for the fall (even if you’re still wearing sandals and shorts) from my latest post on Providence Mom Collective. Enjoy!

https://providence.momcollective.com/home-lifestyle/ready-or-not-its-time-for-fall-decor/

How an obsession with celebrities (and shoes) helped shatter my writer’s block

20 Thursday Jun 2019

Posted by Jackie in Uncategorized

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Did you have any celebrity crushes when you were 12? Come on. I know you did. Me? Oh, I watched Family Ties religiously back in 1980-something every week, and I had like, you know, a major crush on Michael J Fox. Alex P Keaton to be exact. Marty McFly too. Let’s just say my friends and I saw Back to the Future in the movie theater five too many times.

So I did what any pre-teen would do and wrote a fan letter to Michael J Fox. I found his address from Tiger Beat magazine. (Along with thousands of other girls, I’m sure.) In my form fan letter, I asked him if he’d ever consider marrying me. I also told him I thought he was a total fox.

In case you haven’t guessed, I never heard back. (Maybe it was the “fox” comment?)

The good news is, celebrity crushes come and go. Although my heart was wrecked because I would never become Mrs. Alex P. Keaton, I moved on. I became obsessed with Kevin Bacon. You know, Ren from the original Footloose? I never wrote a letter to him. But I pinned a lot of his posters up (thanks to Tiger Beat) in my room. Just think. For a time, my wall was only one degree separated from Kevin Bacon.

So, yeah, I guess I had an obsession for celebrities. Maybe I still do? Thankfully, my husband of 24 years is understanding about my celebrity “friends”.

It’s not like I ever sent Carrie, Samantha, Miranda or Charlotte fan mail. I only fold laundry and laugh along with them as they banter over brunch, being their stylish selves, chatting about everything from sex to the city.

My husband will walk in while I’m in the middle of folding to remind me, “You know they don’t know you.”

As if that has anything to do with it.

I mean I don’t get THAT crazy about celebrities any more. Well. There was that time I saw George Strait in concert and Faith Hill was a surprise opener. My husband recorded me as I cried tears of joy in the middle of This Kiss. To be fair I was on my second beer and it had been a very long week.

I also get excited about celebrity and royal babies. (I’m still shaking my head over Apple. Was Gwyneth fond of fruit?)

So when I was on Poshmark a couple weeks ago, my favorite fashion online consignment store, I didn’t think it would be any big deal that I waited for a pair of Tory Burch flats to go on sale. I was super busy with other work, suffering from writer’s block and passed on them when I learned the price. Then when I received a special discount offer via direct message, I realized I HAD to have them. They’re white, green and navy with a nautical rope pattern and well, they’re Tory. So I made an offer. After hitting purchase, I noticed it was from a Posher named Jen Lancaster. The name sounded familiar. Too familiar. Wait. Could it be THE Jen Lancaster? Nah. Then I read her About the Posher bio and IT WAS THE FAMOUS AUTHOR! You may have heard of her? She has written tons of books from Bright Lights, Big Ass to Bitter is the New Black. As if the titles don’t spell it out, she’s very witty, snarky and dry. She never holds back and she was quite an inspiration to me when I first started blogging. (I appreciate how she and I both reference characters from John Hughes movies, because they, after all, are so intricately tied to childhood memories.) So, she’s a bad ass author and she owned the shoes. And she was selling them to me! Oh m Gee! And she was following me on Poshmark? Shut the front door!

I immediately turned 16. Well, 13. I sent her a direct message and explained that I was a fan, but not a crazy fan and how she inspired me, yadda yadda yadda. Which, now when I look back on it, probably made me sound like a crazy person. Fan-effing-tastic. But guess what? She not only mailed me the adorable shoes, she included a handwritten thank you note, a pair of earrings and a copy of her book called Things I’d Tell in Bars. It was so thoughtful.

Jen's Shoes

No Tiger Beat magazine or fan form letter involved. It was a sign. It had to be, right? Of what, you ask? That I needed a pair of Jen Lancaster’s Tory flats to give me the kick in the (big) ass to get back to writing here. My home blog base for writing out loud. Thank you, Jen!

Queen of distractions

28 Tuesday May 2019

Posted by Jackie in Mommy Musings, Uncategorized

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Tags

graduation, mom of high school senior, mom of teens, mother, motherhood, writing life

So, hi. I know it’s been a while. Did I mention that my oldest child is graduating from high school in the next couple of weeks? As a mom, it feels surreal. Wasn’t he just learning how to roll over in our first apartment? I realize he’s old enough to vote (thank God). And go to college, which he is this fall. I’m fine, really. I’m so excited for him. Proud of him. But holy schnikies. You never realize what this feels like until you’re a mom of a teen who is about to graduate.

I’m so thankful for distractions. Meetings, track meets, lacrosse games, banquets, calls, girls’ nights out, lunches, Netflix parties for one. I’ve had all of the above, thank you very much. I am the queen of distractions. My friends and I joke that we are a lot like the dog in the movie Up that has a voice simulator. Even in the middle of a life or death mission, the minute he sees a squirrel, he runs to it. To avoid the inevitable.

In this scenario, which is my so called life, the inevitable is change.

Graduation is coming soon. I’m excited for my son and his friends.

But holy…“Squirrel!”

This is big.

I’m fine. I really am. I’m a mom of teens. I know how to adapt. Heck, ever since I was a teen, I’ve been the master of adapting to change. Moving from Texas to Rhode Island in the middle of high school can have that effect on you. Imagine showing up on the first day of school in cowboy boots pronouncing your Rs. In the middle of a Rhode Island suburb. That’ll make you grow up fast.

I’ve had a lot of distractions over the past few months. I ended up getting lost in everything except my saving grace. Right here. Write here. Where I usually spit things out on the page so quickly, they don’t take up as much space in my mind. The truth is, I’ve been writing professionally, but not for myself.

I’ve been distracted. Too distracted for my own good.

I think I hit my breaking point when I caught a nasty cold a few days ago. I took enough vitamins and supplements to bring a squirrel down. I tried to pretend I was Ok, and even managed to go out with my girlfriends. But by the end of the night, my voice got so hoarse, my inner Demi Moore was beginning to shine. My throat was on St. Elmo’s fire. I had no choice but to crawl into bed, exhausted both physically and emotionally. On one of the most beautiful holiday weekends of the year. I was protected from the sun, under the covers. In my room. I started sneezing and coughing at the same time. I’m calling it a snough. Not a pretty sight. I became glued to Netflix like the mom in the movie Joy starring Jennifer Lawrence (played brilliantly by actress Virginia Madsen, who never left her room).

Photo from 20th Century Fox- from the movie Joy.

My TV became my best friend for two days straight. I’ve named her Fern. I binge watched enough shows that should have been spread out over the course of two months. I hid under the covers as the sun snoughed through the blinds. But no. I yanked the shades down lower. I looked out on my back porch a couple times, then slid under again. Blew my nose. And gobbled up The Imposters. Then Renee Zellweger in her new series. Distracted by her plastic surgery, or non plastic surgery but different and not-exactly-just-as-you-are-Bridget face, on one of the sunniest, clearest days of the year. I wasn’t going on a ferry. Or to a friend’s cookout. I wasn’t hanging with my friends and family. I wasn’t heading for dinner with my husband. Not with a high fever and a head cold like I had. Then I rolled out of bed today to a wake-up call. It’s a longer story, but the gist is my laptop was screaming my name. Fern needed to go bye bye.

I needed to get back here. Write here. Or else I’d end up like the mom in the movie Joy.

No one wants to be stuck in bed, lost in a land where Erica Kane’s twin lives on forever.

At least not when you have only one life to live. That’s another soap, another dish for another post. SQUIRREL!