I'm entering my second adolescence.

For the second time in my life I am catastrophically clumsy.  I didn't get the memo.  The one where it tells you that when you hit peri-menopause you enter your second adolescence.  I trip,slip, bump into things, drop dishes, stub my toes and fall up the stairs.  Not down, but up.  My dork factor is at 11.

In the space of two days, I gave myself a black eye with the chest freezer door and pinched a nerve in my neck rolling over in bed.  If they'd happened at the same time I could have done a great impression of a pirate with a health insurance claim.

This is NOT me sporting a jaunty cap,
I have a cold pack over one eye

Dorky McDorks a Lot

There's nothing quite like believing you've paralyzed yourself to push you directly into hysterical hyperventilation.  Still half-asleep, I realized that my chin was stuck looking over my left shoulder.  When I tried to move it at all, sharp stabbing pains shot through my neck and then stabbed down into my right shoulder blade.  David was awakened by the sounds of my panic.

"Wha...  what is it??"

"I can't move!  I can't move!"

"WHAT?!?"

"My head, it's stu... stu... stu..."  If I could have moved my head at all, I would have searched the room for a paper bag into which I could  hyperventilate/vomit in terror.

"It's okay, it's okay.  You need to breathe."

"Can't! I CAN'T!!!"

Now I would have slapped me at this point.  David didn't of course.  I was still trapped on my side, so he would have been slapping my head into the bed.  If I'd been sitting up, he might have been able to slap the neck loose if he hit me from the other side. There must have been lots of the whites of my eyes showing because David was starting to look pretty terrified himself.  He managed to get me sitting up - my head still trapped looking left.  I had those hiccuping sobs going - still half asleep and by no means rational.

"What if it stays like this?!?"

"It's not going to stay like this."

"You don't know that!!  YOU DON'T KNOW!!!  Did we write about this in our living wills?  I've changed my mind, don't pull the plug."

"You've pinched a nerve.  I'm going to get you some anti-inflammatories."

"DON'T LEAVE ME!!!"

"I'll be right back.  I promise.  Just breathe."

It took David 33 seconds to come back with drugs.   "Now I'm just going to go downstairs and heat up the bean bag for you.  You need to stay calm."  He helped me lie back down.

I was awake enough then, that I tried to put on a brave face. I didn't claw at him, I didn't wail.  I wasn't going to be a baby about it.  The panic was still there, but fuck it!  I could pretend that it wasn't.  I counted while he was gone.  While counting to 197, I deliberately moved my head through the pain so that I could at least look straight up at the ceiling.  There were some crunching sounds, but as I was much less panicked with my head facing up, it was totally worth the pain.  David came back, armed wtih a cold pack, a heating pad and his lap top.  "Hey!  You're looking at the ceiling!  How did you do that?"

"Determination."

"It says that you need to alternate ice and heat.  Muscle relaxants are helpful.  You can have massage." 

If you are in desperate need of massage therapy or chiropractic adjustment, you will injure yourself at 4:00 a.m. on the Sunday of Thanksgiving Weekend.  I was on my own until Tuesday.  Sure, we could have trundled down to the ER, but it was a pinched nerve; they would have pumped me full of drugs, but not much else.  

This injury also coincided with the beginning of tech week for my latest play.  I had to be in rehearsal that night - it was a slapstick comedy.  To ensure that I wouldn't move my head when I was at rehearsal, David took me to Shopper's Drug Mart to get me a neck brace.

"I'm going to look like a dork!"

"Yes, but you will be a dork who won't hurt herself more."

If you ever want attention?  Show up anywhere with a neck brace on.  Complete strangers will ask you what you've done.

Now, 10 days later, after two massages and a chiropractic adjustment I have almost full mobility and the complete certainty that I won't survive paralysis.

Rissa's new career path

Last night at bedtime.

"New career path Mummy!  No longer will I be a chiropractor or massage therapist.  I will now be... a NINJA.  My catch phrase shall be "You will never see me coming!"  From her position lying in the bed, Rissa launches herself up at me, pulling me flat against her chest, her arms iron bars against my back.  "See? You didn't see me coming!"  Releasing me, she takes a deeply satisfied breath.   "I'll have a cool ninja name too.  Like Lotus Flower or Turtle Swan..."

"Turtle swan...?"

She mimes the action of a turtle retreating into its shell before morphing into a swan.  "Does this look like a turtle swan?  Or more like a frog elephant?"

"Hard to say."

"Or maybe I'd be more like Ninja who attacks at dusk because she has a curfew...  or Ninja who attacks before dawn so that her parents don't know what she's up to and she has time to change before going to school... "

She gets a crazed glint in her eye.  "You'll never see me coming!!!!"  She grabs me again, clutching me tightly to her torso once more.

Trapped in the crook of her neck, I manage a muffled, "I totally saw you coming!"

"No you didn't."

"I'm thinking that you might want to go with the catch phrase AFTER the attack."

And that's why I'm supposed to cut down on my alcohol...

Cause it gives me hot flashes.  And now, apparently... Night Terrors.  Not just regular nightmares, but crazy-ass, finding out that Nate Berkus, in addition to being an interior designer, is the leader of a boy band who has people eviscerated when you discover that they are 100% auto-tuned, full-on NIGHT FREAKING TERRORS.

I had two drinks.  Is my ability to handle my alcohol also being compromised by peri-menopause?  (That would be incredibly sad, given my Scandinavian heritage.)  Or is it because the second drink,  "Oh, don't worry, the ice is displacing the alcohol - it's really only a double," actually was a quadruple?   Plus?  Over Thanksgiving - to cope with the pinched nerve in my neck?  I may have imbibed a bit to take the edge off.  During the full course of the day, I might have had a couple of pina colada coolers and a couple of glasses of wine.  And again - the hot flashes were like rocket liftoffs.   One drink?  I'm fine.  More than one?  You can BBQ on my torso.

And then there's  caffeine.  Not only will it keep me up at night if I ingest it after noon, but waking up with the night sweats adds a certain - I was about to say je ne sais quoi, but I totally quoi - it's just that I don't have enough adjectives to adequately describe the sensations in a way that men will understand.  Other women of a certain age get it.  They know all about it.  But most dudes?  They have not one freaking clue as to how those hot flashes can turn you from rational wife and mother to slathering murderous wielder of words and weapons.  My middle name during one of these spells could truly be 'harangue' - not necessarily at other people, but towards the universe in general.  Men not in the know, pass it off as us being hormonal and 'tut-tut' us and give us patronizing little pats on the shoulder.  Experienced husbands and partners know the drill.  They duck and roll - find the safe spot in the house - don't make eye contact - stay under the radar - hand you a bag of frozen peas to put on the back of your neck.  They are the ones who know not to mock, at least not while you're in the room... Mostly, methinks, so that one's harangue doesn't devolve into a crying jag that could rival Biblically proportioned floods. 

So no caffeine or alcohol for me... not now.  Most doctors will agree on that point anyhow.   I'll be smart - it's for my own good.  I anticipate quite a bender though, when I've actually made it to menopause. 

Canada: Back to the Dark Ages

Allow me to wax hyberbolic for a moment.  I love being Canadian.  It is the absolute best country in the galaxy!  I LOVE it.  LOVE, LOVE, LOVE it!!  I love living in Canada.  The people, the wildlife, the breadth and scope of our land, the change in seasons...  I am proud to be a Canadian and to live in our democratic, and yes, somewhat socialist state.  I revel in our beauty and spirit of bon amie.  Very little in the Canadian experience causes me true ire because the abundance of good that we have as Canadians is so vast, so spectacular, so unlike anything else in the world...  But Holy crap, do I DESPISE losing the sunlight in the winter! 

Every year, come October, the sun rises a little later - which means that when you get up in the morning you're staggering from your bed in the dark.  And not in that fun, because you've just had that drunken hookup with an ex and have to make it home before work, kind of staggering.  You're staggering because without your bedside light on, you literally can't see.  And, with due respect to our hardworking farming communities, unless you're a shift worker, waking up when it's still dark outside, just seems fucked up. 

They say that Daylight Savings Time helps, but really??  At 7:00 a.m. in November?  It's pitch black.   And then, by about 4:30 p.m.?  PITCH FREAKING BLACK.  Three words: Seasonal Affective Disorder.  I don't personally lose my mind (well not completely anyway) in the winter months, but my get-up-and-go gene tends to lay dormant, and I know plenty of folks who bring out their inner cave dweller for the duration of the winter... Monosyllabic, furrowed of brow and prone to beating things with sticks.

And those sunrise lamps for your bedroom?  Not sure if they actually work.  Over the course of 30 minutes, our light comes on very gradual-like to simulate the sunrise.  Now it might just be because right now we're still staying up too late because we've got shit we need to get done, but in the morning, even with that gradual increase in light in our room, when you step into the hall, you still trip over cat toys because it's so freaking dark.  WAIT!!  WAAAAIIIIIT!!!  Every home north of the 49th parallel could have an entire house that's set up on solar battery powered sunrise simulators!!  So that, no matter where you are in your house, it seems like it's actually day time.  You acclimatize yourself to that state for the the 1/2 hour 45 minutes before you leave for work and then... you step into darkness.  CRAP.  Suggestions?  Anyone?

Next time it'll be fire engine red!

I have been a redhead for more years now than I haven't.   There have been occasional comments on the colour now and again, but something about this newest shade is driving folks wild.

Recently, I was in Toronto for a public speaking engagement.  As I was walking to the venue, a very attractive, incredibly well dressed man in the Gay Village, stopped me on the street.

"I LOVE YOUR HAIR!!!   OH MY GOD IT'S STU...U...U....NNING!!!"

At the grocery store, two men, in separate aisles, stopped me.  I was standing next to the sauces and one guy said to me, "This sauce is SO hot, it'll turn that gorgeous red hair... BROWN."  Sometimes guys aren't quite on their game. 

This morning, in the kitchen, I marvelled that this shade was getting so much attention.

Rissa:  You know what you should do next time?

Me: What?

Rissa: Dye it FIRE ENGINE RED (she uses jazz hands to signify the colour's vibrance.)

Me: Huh?

Rissa:  Yep.  Like literally the colour of a fire engine.  AND,   ANNNNNND... you add a little siren in your hair too... so you'd be going "Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo..." with the light all rotating...

David: (piping in) And maybe have a little ladder at the back too.  THEN you'll get noticed.

Me:  Uh-huh...

Rissa:  OR!!!  WAIT!! WAIT!!! ORRRRRRRR.... you turn it into an Arctic scene - you put little penguins up there, maybe some polar bears...

Me:  What does that have to do with red hair?


Rissa:  Nothing, but it'd be cool, you have to admit...

David: Depends if you're clubbing seals...  

Me: DAVID!!!  (He shrugs)


Me:  So basically, you're saying that I should treat my hair as an ever-changing diorama?

Rissa & David: YES!!!

David:  Then when you go to a royal wedding you can kick everyone's asses with YOUR fascinator!

(The best part of ALL of this might just be that David knows what a fascinator is.)

From 2010 Fantasy Hair Competition
Manchester, NH
Rachel Bishop (model)
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1268235/International-Fantasy-Hair-Models-fashion-ships-castles-dos-blow-bubbles.html

M... M... M.... My Melasma

 This is the soundtrack for this post.

I have always been fish belly white.  Some smatterings of freckles on my face in the summer, but traditionally, my pale skin could be used as a signal point in the dark. Like you could line a bunch of me up on a runway and we'd be great markers for night flights arriving at Toronto's Pearson Airport.

A couple of years ago I started developing melasma (a tan or dark skin discoloration) upon my face.  Pregnant women occasionally get this - it's dubbed The Mask of Pregnancy - kind of like the Mask of Zorro, but you can't take this mask off.

I'm NOT pregnant and I never had it during pregnancy, but turns out other hormonal changes in women can bring it on too.  Like, say... peri-menopause.   And, I've just now read, thyroid disease.   ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!?  What do I have? Peri-menopause AND thyroid disease.  So basically, I'm doubly screwed without any of the benefits.

I went to a skin clinic to see how much it would cost to treat.  For a mere $1000 they could give me laser treatments and accompanying cream that might help.  MIGHT?  For $1000, they should give you a freaking guarantee, I'm thinking.  I figured that using some BB Cream would be a lot cheaper and would mostly mask the mask.  Now it just looks like I'm new to this whole 'makeup' thing and have forgotten to smooth my foundation on my jawline.

"You know if you feather out the edges..."

"I HAVE feathered out the frickin' edges - my face is a whole different colour than the rest of me!!!  This colour?!?  It's doesn't come off!"

Every time I've mentioned it to David, he just shakes his head.  "You look beautiful.  You always look beautiful."

"To YOU!  I always look beautiful TO YOU!!"

"No, I think we can state empirically..."

"You have love juice in your system - you're not thinking rationally!!"  I hold up my arm to my face.  "See this?!?  THIS is the colour my face should be!"

"Yeah, but your face gets sun..."

"I wear SPF 30 EVERY day, I should have NO colour on my face, I should look like a freaking MIME!"

"A little colour is good - makes you look healthy.  When you don't have colour on your face, people usually ask you if you're okay."

"BLAAAAARGH!!!"

Mentioned the melasma to my doctor at my yearly physical.  "Oh, that's hardly noticeable at all.  You just have a bit of colour in your face.  If it's hormonal you can't really do anything about it anyway."   He was facing away from me when I made to strangle him.

The good news is... after my body has decided its hormonal future, these particular delights should stop.  After I've truly made it through THE CHANGE I might get my skin back - possibly my rationality too.

R'UH R'OH!! I'm behaving inappropriately... AGAIN.

I'm screwed.  My new crush is totally inappropriate on at least 2 levels (there might be more).

1. He's an 18 year old boy.
   
   *face palm*
   
   (But really, if you think about it - this isn't as bad as when I had a crush on Taylor Hanson when he was 16, because at least this kid is technically LEGAL.)
2. He bears more than a passing resemblance to my daughter's 13 year old boyfriend.  And that, my friends, makes me a perv AND a bad Mom.
   
   *face palm*

I recently heard him interviewed on a rebroadcast of yesterday's Q with Jian Ghomeshi.  This 18 year old was so freaking well-spoken that I actually got turned on listening to him. (Quick!  Hit the listen button on the Q page right now before you even scroll down - experience what I initially experienced while driving home last night .) The fact that's he's adorable and articulate??  I was already in the midst of indecent day dreams about the kid WHILE DRIVING HOME.  Eloquence is my crack.  That doesn't sound right.  Eloquence is like crack to me.  Someone who can turn a phrase with confidence?  sigh. 

But then I got home and Googled the kid  and he looks like this:

Jan Lisiecki.

I mean LOOK at him.  Just LOOK at him.  I want to pick him up and squidge him!  PLUS, in addition to being my latest skinny blonde boy crush (young Leonardo DiCaprio, young Taylor Hanson, young Ilia Kulik), he's this astoundingly fantastic pianist.  I listened to him play two Chopin Etudes and got positively light-headed.  Then I might have watched a video of him playing and of course had to extrapolate about how all that intensity and manual dexterity would make for some pretty spectacular fireworks in a more intimate arena... Hold on... wait a second... I just need another second here...

NO!!!!!!

Bad Heather.  Very bad Heather.   But I mean, come on, LOOK AT HIM!!!