It is quite possible that our home has become a House of Hormones. With Halloween quickly approaching, it is likely that our cozy little ranch might be confused with a House of Horrors. A recent check-up with the pediatrician confirmed that Junior is in the early stages of puberty. This would explain certain physical changes, including a sometimes rebellious, tart little tongue. While his hormones have begun their awakening in an effort to transform boy into man, Mom’s biological ticker is chiming menopause, or most definitely peri-menopause. Like many businesses that have fallen victim to tough economic times, Joan’s Factory is shuttin’ down!

According to my lady friends whose cakes have more candles than mine, I may begin looking forward to night sweats (have already had some pajama-soaking events to-date), hot flashes, and sleepless nights. Geez, thanks for the positive feedback. It isn’t possible that thirty-five years of monthly cycles, headaches, cramps and acne have been enough? There is more fun to be had?

Consider yourself forewarned when approaching a particular taupe-colored one-story in the burbs. Inside lurks a boy ravaged by hormones as he morphs into man, and a sweating, insomniac prone to either tears or tirades, all within a matter of seconds. Be afraid. Be VERY afraid……..

One week ago, I was privileged to attend a fiftieth wedding anniversary celebration. The happy couple, long-time family friends, were married August 15th, 1959, and are both seventy-two years young. It was a festive occasion, complete with dinner, dancing and a video scrapbook of the couple’s life, from birth until present.  I could not help but think that I probably will receive very few silver anniversary invitations in my remaining lifetime. The average age for first-time marriages has risen, and divorce gobbles up 40-50 percent of those once happy unions. Life expectancy for women is currently 80 years, however her spouse can only expect to live to an average age of 73. Widowhood puts a kabosh on the prized half-century anniversary party.

For our friends, Mary Ann and Dave, I raise my glass and toast the rare milestone that you achieved last weekend. It was an honor to celebrate a healthy, committed relationship that has survived the ups and downs of a fifty year ride. I wish you both continued good health and happiness, and would welcome an invitation to a party in honor of your 75th anniversary. Cheers!

It would seem that everyone has some sort of vice, or two, or more. Typical vices might include drinking, smoking, gambling, illegal drug use, and incessant viewing of reality TV shows. (I made up the last one.) I do not partake in any of the above mentioned activities, but would include a sugar addiction and cursing as my two vices. I am not sure how or when I actually sprouted my sweet tooth, but I have on occasion attempted to ban refined sugar and other processed white stuff from my diet. I do not usually stay on the wagon for any notable length of time.

I am currently considering eliminating curse words from my vocabulary.Unlike my sugar habit, I am able to pinpoint the moment in time when my potty mouth was born. In seventh grade, I befriended two girls in my grade-Terry and Terry. The two Terrys were already traveling in the fast lane at the advanced age of thirteen, and I hitched a brief ride. They cursed like sailors, and I, their naive follower, began mimicking their not-so-ladylike vocabulary. A habit was born. I have been cursing now for about thirty-six years. I am proud of the fact that I am able to turn my toilet mouth on and off at will. I do not swear when involved in professional situations at work, and rarely swear at home except for the occasional s_ _ t or d_ _ n when I spill or break something.

I do often swear in my car, because it seems that on most days, I appear to be the only one on the road who actually passed a driving test. I also curse in conversation as a means of emphasis. It’s like adding another adjective in front of an adjective in an effort to really drive home a point, or more accurately describe something. This is my most preferred use of the curse word, and will probably be the hardest to give up.

In an effort to continually strive to improve myself, I will attempt to bite my tongue or seal my lips when the urge to curse seems warranted. I hope like hell that I am able to do it!

It’s that time of year again. I’ll bet you are thinking picnics, baseball, ice cream, vacations, etc. You would be correct, however, I am referring to those days in June, July and/or August when the water quits falling from the sky and instead flows from my outdoor faucets, through a garden hose, into a sprinkler and out onto my lawn and landscaping. I long for an in-ground sprinkler system, but until I win the lottery or am bequeathed a huge inheritance, I AM the sprinkler system. In the early mornings or evenings, you may find me outside, dragging hoses and adjusting sprinkler heads to just the right angle. I turn on the faucet and let the water flow, while my water meter goes “cha-ching!” (I live in one of the counties in our state with the highest water rates.)

The weather has been decent so far this summer. The temps have remained seasonal for the most part, and we have been blessed with weekly showers. However, it is mid-July, a month full of “dog days.” Lawns are turning from a lush green to a crunchy brown, and the flowers and shrubs beg for a drink. I, the nurturing caretaker, give them what they ask for-a refreshing hosing down at least once a week.The only good thing about a lack of rainfall is that my car stays shiny and clean.