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….