This Baby Boomers Real Life Uncategorized

Day Off Work

I planned a productive day!  Just because I don’t know how to do something doesn’t mean I can’t do it! After surviving an hour with a devil trainer at the gym, I’ve got the confidence of a tiger. I head straight to Sears to get a spark plug and filter to fix my lemon lawnmower.  I feel lucky! I get home; get settled with tools, supplies and the mower. I can’t get the old spark plug off. My 78-yr-old neighbor sees me in the garage. She comes over to coach me. She has her dachshund, which looks just like her, on a leash. She quickly ties him to a chair, bends over to pull the plug off, and then tells me it’s stuck.

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Forget the Mower!

I go to Lowes to buy a seal for the rocking toilet in the master bath. I’ve bartered with my son-in-law, Chris. I’ll watch his pugs; he’ll change the seal. The Lowes guy doesn’t know which seal I need so I buy two. I also buy a big manual hedge trimmer because my electric hedge trimmer almost electrocuted me last year when I got the cord caught in the blade. New plan: Trim bushes; tiger confidence intact.

Driving home from Lowes I get a text from a co-worker.  There’s a problem at work, which delays me 60 minutes.  It’s nearly 3:00 and nothing is fixed. All I’ve done is spend money and get caught by a co-worker.

Jan calls. “What are you doing?”

I tell her and she tells me I should throw the lawnmower into the pond.

My tiger confidence is gone.  I decide I’ll go out on the patio eat lunch, read, and relax. The sun is shining. I strip out of my “public clothes” and put on my “private clothes”, which include shorts that are too short and a tube top so I can get a tan. Things are looking up.

I settle down with my lunch and book. I look out toward the pond and see a tree split in two lying all over the ground and on my fence.


Within minutes two big mountain men pop up from behind the foliage.

Want us to take care of that there for ya?

“I just noticed this tree 10 minutes ago,” I tell them. “I don’t know when it happened.”

Happened last night. My old lady woke me up this mornin’ and told me to go look for tree work. There was a power outage and big winds. I can get this all hauled outta here for …uh…. $300.

“I don’t have $300 right now. Give me your card and I’ll call you.”

What I don’t add is, Get out of here. I’m wearing a tube top.  I want to eat my lunch and I don’t give a flying rat’s ass about this toppled tree right now.

Instead I say, “Hey, can you fix a lawnmower?”

No Ma’am, I’m not a lawn service.

“Okay, well my daughter told me to run it into the pond.”

Oh…you can’t do that or they’ll sue you for spillin’ oil in the pond.

It’s getting cloudy. I leave the mountain men,  go inside, dump my lunch and look at the clock. Is it too late to go to work?

Just Do It This Baby Boomers Real Life

Fat Pants

Nothing is right when my “fat pants” are too tight.  I have bad-hair days, my eyelids sag, my skin is dry, and my wrinkles are deeper.   I toss clothes all over the bed, ripping them off trying to find “something to wear.”  It looks like I’ve done deep closet cleaning once I find a shirt I can wear in public.  I hate it, but apparently I don’t hate it enough.  Grrrrr….  Teri Reynolds I need a shot of “what the hell is wrong with you?”

There are several ways to lose weight.  My problem is I’ve been mixing diets, a little bit of Weight Watchers, a little of South Beach, and a little of Common Sense.

Common sense is the most dangerous approach.  Common Sense affords me freedom to rationalize.  I mix all the approaches.   I can eat just about anything if I eat it in moderation.  If I weren’t a sugar addict this diet might work.  Good or bad stress causes an increase in my sugar cravings. With my addictive personality, I don’t do well with cravings.  Generally, I give up the Common Sense diet once I’m disgusted with my weight gain while dieting.

Today I’m switching to South Beach with a planned cheat Friday evening then right back to South Beach on Saturday.  So…here goes.  I’ll keep a food log for a few days.  Off to the scale.  Scary.

Just Do It This Baby Boomers Real Life

Fatty Bo Batty Post

Hi Teri Caffeine Deprived, 

I don’t know if what I write is going on your blog or mine.  Pretty sharp, huh?  Anyway, if this is on your blog then get blogging because I need to know how your lifestyle change is going.  Mine is not so great right now.  Too many interruptions.  The best way for me to lose weight is to seclude myself – locked inside – with very little food I like and lots of rabbit food.  I’m heading to the grocery to once again shop the perimeter of the store.  

Your struggling to stay off the obese chart friend,



Daughters and Their Babies This Baby Boomers Real Life

24 Hours With The Babies

My daughter and her husband leave town every year around July 4th to visit college roommates, suck down Jell-O shots, pretend they’re twenty-something and forget they’re parents.   While the parents party, the grandparents go on active duty.
I share Henry and Ruth with their other grandma for the weekend.  Gigi, my co-grandma, can outlast me in patience, stamina, tolerance, and flexibility.  She takes the first shift beginning Saturday morning and because she never says no, she spends the night with 3-year-old Henry on the couch.

Sunday, I go to church to pray for strength then go home to sprawl on the couch for a few hours to conserve energy.  Gigi and the kids play Barber- Shop-Play- Dough after breakfast.  Then Gigi joins the kids on the Slip-N-Slide, takes them to see ducks on the canal,  stops at the ice cream shop, jogs with them on the Monon Trail pushing a “special stroller” she keeps in her garage, while pointing out dogs, squirrels, and pretty flowers, then the three of them bake brownies for Meme.  All of this happens before nap time.

I arrive at 3 p.m. just in time for Ruth and Henry to get up and be ready for second shift.  I see disappointment on Henry’s face.  Ruth’s happy; she doesn’t realize the difference in her grandma’s yet.   I talk more than I move.  I don’t play in a swimsuit and I don’t like 90 degree heat.  I don’t travel with a 3-year-old and one-year-old.  I don’t jog.  I don’t spend the night with 3-years-olds on the couch.  I don’t always say yes, and I never get out a mixing bowl.

We begin our 24 hours.

Henry’s smart.  He knows Meme’s a good listener.  I follow a toddler’s story like no one else.  He begins his stories.  Ruth brings me a book.  All she wants me to do is turn pages, bark or quack, and make occasional eye contact.  I can do two things at once so that makes both kids happy.  Henry wants a snack.  I’ve brought mini-cookies in a cup, .99 from Target.  We go to the front enclosed porch and make three piles of cookies on an end-table, while two pugs snort by our feet.  One-and-a-half-year-old Ruth wants to double-fist her cookies.  The pugs are excited.  Ruth drops most of her cookies and then goes for Henry’s.  He head-butts her.  I understand.

I console Ruth and give her my cookies, two at a time.  She eats one, drops one.  The snorting gets louder.   The cookies are gone.   The tile floor is covered with books.  Henry brings couch cushions to the porch and both kids pole-vault over the entry rug onto the pillows and slip on the books.  Within minutes both are crying and Ruth’s diaper is looking dark.  Diaper change, no poop.  Henry brings drums to the porch.  He wants me to dance while he plays.  I dance.  Ruth wants the drums.  Another fight.  Henry’s thirsty so he grabs Ruth’s drink.  She screams because she doesn’t talk yet, though I’m sure she could.  I grab Ruth because she’s hitting Henry.  She rips out my earrings.  Henry throws her cup at her and she cries.

I play the drums and we dance.

Henry wants the TV on.  I can’t figure out the three remotes.  Henry wants gum.  I don’t have gum.  He doesn’t believe me.  I give him one of Gigi’s brownies that he helped make.  Ruth wants a brownie.  She runs to the couch, chews on the brownie, spits it out.  I clean her and the couch.  She gets in the dog cage then cries because the dogs won’t come in with her.  I give her some pretzels.  Ruth and the dogs sit in the cage eating pretzels.

I’m working with the three remotes.   Henry wants Spiderman.  The dogs run to the porch to bark at the door.  Ruth cries and follows them.  Newman, the fat pug, starts crying.  I drop the remotes, go to the porch and see Newman’s got his toenail caught in the wicker shades on the door.  He’s jerking; the shades are being pulled by Newman and Ruth.  Henry is yelling at Newman.  The other pug is still barking.  I look at my watch.  It’s 4:30.

I get the TV working.  I can’t find Spiderman, but I’ve found King Kong.

“Look Henry, it’s the biggest monkey in the world.”

“That’s a gorilla”

“Oh, yeah you’re right.  Look how nice he is to that girl.  He’s holding her while she sleeps”

The monster-bats sweep in, the gorilla wakes up, the girl’s boyfriend tries to save her, and the gorilla tries to kill him.  The monster-bats get bigger and multiply.  This isn’t how I remember King Kong.

“The gorilla is mean.  This is scary.”

“I’m going to change it.  Henry, it’s not real.  Nothing on TV is real.  That monkey is a robot.”

I find Strawberry Shortcake and get a dirty look.  Ruth likes it.  Henry starts stuffing a blanket in his mouth.  He can stuff about 8 inches of a crochet blanket in his mouth.

While Ruth watches TV and Henry sucks on the blanket, I go make dinner.  Grilled cheese, potato chips, and Spaghetti-Os requested by Henry.  I cut the sandwiches into fours, and heat up the Spaghetti-Os in a coffee cup.  I lock up the snorters and take the food to the coffee table.  Ruth starts eating grilled cheese and chips.  Henry sucks on the blanket.  Ruth wants the Spaghetti-Os.  Henry doesn’t care.  I give Ruth spoonfuls of Henry’s dinner.  I make Henry take his blanket out and take a bite.  He says it’s too hot.  Ruth keeps eating Henry’s food.  I warn Henry.  Ruth keeps eating until the spaghetti is gone.  Henry hates grilled cheese.  He’ll eat peanut butter on crackers.  He looks at the crackers and keeps sucking.  I take the blanket away and he eats two crackers.  Ruth takes the crackers to the dogs.  Henry puts the blanket back in his mouth.

Cups, dirty dishes, cushions, toys, books, bedding, clothes, playing cards, and crayons are all over the porch and house.  It’s bath time.  Henry gets in the tub and starts opening shampoo bottles.   He gets soap in his eye and cries.  I fix Henry’s eye.   I take Ruth’s diaper off and poop falls on the floor.  The pugs are snorting.  Ruth is trying to climb in the tub.  Henry is shooting me with a squirt gun.

The day has been chaotic with some crying, but there has been much more laughing clapping, singing, and dancing.  There have been lots of hugs and kisses.  There have been no phone calls, texts, internet, or emails.

The babies get out of the tub.  Ruth pees on the bath rug.  I hurry the naked babies to their bedroom.

I get Ruth’s pajamas on her.  Henry wants to sleep in Aunt Jill’s old little league softball shirt.  He wants to know the number on the shirt.  He takes Ruth to mom and dad’s bedroom.  Both of them climb up on the bed and start diving and doing somersaults.  The dogs are snorting and the kids are laughing.  Twenty minutes later, both are in bed and I’m telling them stories.  I forget that Henry believes everything I say, so I have to explain that a witch cannot really cast an evil spell and turn a man into a frog.  I’m not sure if he believes me, but he’s exhausted.  I hope the nightmares from a day with Meme hold off until his parents come home.


My Life - How I think and how I live... This Baby Boomers Real Life

TIME and To-Do Lists

Ever wonder where the time goes?  I’m not talking decades.  Hours turn into days, days into years, years into decades and suddenly I’m a young person in a granny body bouncing a baby on my knee wondering if I have enough decades left to see the baby grow up and have babies, or will I be lucky enough to remain independent, relativity pain free, and then die suddenly?   These are my inner thoughts as I travel down life’s hill.

But what about today?

Since I have the day off, I made a to-do list last night… – go to the grocery, pay bills, do laundry, exercise and visit with my sister on this hot summer day at her pool.

It’s 11:15 a.m. I cannot check one thing off my list. In four hours I’ve started one load of laundry and hauled my trash to the curb.  I’m going to need to postpone a few things.  I’ll pay bills past due dates, exercise tomorrow, and skip going to the grocery.  I still plan on going to the pool, but nothing’s written in stone.

These are the reasons a to-do list doesn’t work.

Before I get to the list I must…

  • Edit contacts in my cell phone – and add pictures so that when someone calls caller ID is their face.
  • Try on clothes to see if I need to exercise.
  • Get on Facebook and respond to everyone’s comments.
  • Post comments.
  • Read personal email and wonder why people send such pointless emails.
  • Read work email and respond as if I’m in the office.
  • Check work voicemail. Make notes to call the person back when I have time. Save the voicemails because I’ll lose the notes.
  • Debate on taking a shower and then put it off because I might exercise.
  • Answer the phone.
  • Shower and then meet a friend for lunch.
  • Check Facebook to see if I’m missing something.
  • Post comments on people’s post.
  • Look through the mail. Get on the internet to check out the store that sent me a catalog.
  • Check email.
  • Answer the phone.
  • Take my granddaughter to the drug store to get a poster board.
  • Take her to McDonalds.
  • Visit with the neighbors gathered across the street
  • Plan tomorrow’s to-do list

If I wasn’t so busy a to-do list might work.

Just Do It This Baby Boomers Real Life

Rewind, Same Tape, Different Outcome??

My dieting diary can be rewritten with a simple copy/paste.  I live in one of three paragraphs and weigh-in accordingly.

#1 – Fatty –  Beginning tomorrow, I’m on board. No matter what I’m beginning a healthy lifestyle. What? Someone wants to meet for lunch? Mexican? Shoot, she’s down-in-the-dumps and she loves Mexican. She needs me. Okay, I’m a good friend and I’ll be fine. No chips. Well, maybe 5 chips. Wait. If I don’t eat after 7PM tonight I could have 10 chips. We meet. I eat a basket of chips. I know I ate a basket because we finished off two baskets and I can’t be out-eaten. I blew it. That means I can eat after 7PM and start tomorrow. These set-backs go on for about 2 years and then I’ve had it. I buy a new weight-loss book or join a program and kick it into high gear.

#2 – Becoming a Former Fatty – I start my new lifestyle and there is no looking back. I can kick-it-up a notch like no one else. I’m not even tempted to cheat. I feel sorry for people who can’t control what goes in their mouths. Really, it’s easy if they’d just get serious. Don’t they know that nothing tastes as good as skinny feels? We’ve all heard that at Weight Watchers and WW knows their stuff! I’ve done this many times. I’ve lost 10, 20, 30, 40 pounds. I know what to do and I’m doing it.

#3 – Feeling Good to What Happened?  – I’m coasting along in my new stylish clothes feeling pretty darn good about not being a fatty. Then I forget I’m not a fatty. Life throws a curve ball…then another…and another.  I get occupied in other people’s crap and forget I’m supposed to be taking care of ME. And the more I forget, the more I eat and then I gain all of the 10, 20, 30, or 40 pounds back and for good measure add an extra 5 or 10. My only saving grace is I can blame the weight gain on someone else. If I wasn’t such a good person, caring for the world, I’d be skinny!

Right now I’m in the middle of my copy/paste weight story. Barely into paragraph #2.

Will I be able to rewrite paragraph #3 or will it be the same old story?

My Life - How I think and how I live... This Baby Boomers Real Life

Where Is It????

I always buy with my American Express card.  It’s easy and I get points that I’ve never used.

I swipe my credit card, put it away, and wait to sign for my purchase at JC Penny. Instead of wanting my signature, the little swipe machine wants me to show the sales associate my credit card. Darn.

“I’ve got it here somewhere.  Hold on.”

I start fumbling through the mess in my purse.

How can I have a mess?  I’ve got a case for lipsticks, nail files, dental floss, lotions, and antibacterial.  I’ve got another case for cough syrup, magnifying mirror, Q-tips, tape measure, roll-on deodorant, and a bottle of uncoated 21 mg. aspirin for heart attack symptoms.    What is all this extra junk in here…receipts, beef sticks, gum, a squirt gun, hairspray… where’s the credit card?

“I just swiped it.  Sorry.  It’s in here somewhere.”

I’m furiously digging through debris.

The sales associate breaks my concentration, “It’s alright.  I don’t need it.”

I thank her and mumble something about being sure it’s in my purse as I grab the sack.

“Are you leaving?” she asks.  “Don’t you want to find your credit card?”

“No.  If I stopped what I was doing every time I couldn’t find something, I’d spend half my day in lockdown. “

I listed my home with a realtor a while back and he wanted a house key.  I couldn’t find one.   I spent about six hours putting a new lock on the front door.   I gave the key to the relator, but forgot to make a duplicate key.  I try to have duplicates of things that if lost could cause tachycardia.  I have an extra set of car keys, an extra month of Rx drugs, lots of shoes, hair brushes, and reading glasses.

Almost everything I own has been lost at least once.  I’ve been looking for the car charger for my cell phone for a few weeks.  I didn’t loan it to anyone or take it out of the car, but it’s gone.  I lost my Dust Buster, a little hand-held vacuum, about a year ago.  I bought a new one last week.   I’m lucky that I don’t get too attached to my stuff.  All of it could be gone tomorrow.

My Life - How I think and how I live... This Baby Boomers Real Life

My Best Friends Talk

Fear: A loss of control over what is pending causing a sense of doom, therefore halting further action.

It must be a common emotion, why else would we hear “frozen in fear”?  Once frozen, it can take seconds or years to thaw.  Sometimes it never happens.  It depends on the perceived consequence of a wrong choice.

Some people are frozen solid.  They exhaust me.  “Where do you want to go for dinner?  Do you want to see a movie?  Which one?  Want to go to Vegas?  Do you believe in euthanasia, like M&Ms, prefer dogs or cats?  Frozen people never have an opinion.  Pleasing everyone is more important than having an opinion.

My friends say what they feel.  They trust me to remain their friend even if they are tree-hugging Democrats who are more worried about the life-span of a gnat and global warming than sex-trafficking and genocide.   They accept people like me who vote Republican and believe we should teach people to fish hoping they buy a lake house so we have a place to share “deep thoughts”.   We love each other.  And, we argue long enough to see each others absurd reasoning.

Frozen people are sometimes a nuisance, but they can be included in groups, unlike the immoral, selfish, narcissistic, sociopaths, who try to pass themselves off as caring people, while inflicting physical or emotional abuse on anyone who will accept it.  They need their own planet.

But for all the good people…  Let’s not be frozen in fear.  Let’s have fun, say what we think, love our diversity, and accept that 89.5% of the time I’m right.