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APPENDIX 30: WOMANHOOD

A WOMAN'S PRAYER FOR WISDOM:

Dear Lord, I pray for Wisdom to understand a man, Love to forgive him, and Patience for his moods. Because, Lord, if I pray for Strength, I'll just beat him to death.

A WOMAN'S RANDOM THOUGHTS:

1. If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it will always be yours. If it doesn't come back, it was never yours to begin with. But, if it just sits in your living room, messes up your stuff, eats your food, uses your telephone, takes your money, and doesn't appear to realize that you had set it free... You either married it or gave birth to it.

2. Insanity is my only means of relaxation.

3. Reason to smile: Every 7 minutes of every day, someone in an aerobics class pulls a hamstring.

4. Women over 50 don't have babies because they would put them down and forget where they left them.

5. One of life's mysteries is how a 2 pound box of candy can make a woman gain 5 lbs.

6. My mind not only wanders, it sometime leaves completely.

7. The best way to forget all your troubles is to wear tight shoes.

8. The nice part about living in a small town is that when you don't know what you're doing, someone else does.

9. The older you get, the tougher it is to lose weight because by then, your body and your fat are really good friends.

10. Just when I was getting used to yesterday, along came today.

11. Sometimes I think I understand everything, then I regain consciousness.

12. I gave up jogging for my health when my thighs kept rubbing together and setting my pantyhose on fire.

13. Amazing! You hang something in your closet for awhile and it shrinks two sizes!

14. Skinny people irritate me! Especially when they say things like, "You know, sometimes I just forget to eat." Now I've forgotten my address, my mother's maiden name, and my keys, but I've never forgotten to eat. You have to be a special kind of stupid to forget to eat.

15. A friend of mine confused her valium with her birth control pills. She had 14 kids, but she doesn't really care.

16. They keep telling us to get in touch with our bodies. Mine isn't all that communicative but I heard from it the other day after I said, "Body, how'd you like to go to the six o'clock class in vigorous toning?" Clear as a bell my body said, "listen witch...do it and die."

17.The trouble with some women is that they get all excited about nothing and then they marry him.

18. I read this article that said the typical symptoms of stress are: eating too much, impulse buying, and driving too fast. Are they kidding? That is my idea of a perfect day.

19. I know what Victoria's Secret is. The secret is that nobody older than 30 can fit into their stuff.

20. If men can run the world, why can't they stop wearing neckties? How intelligent is it to start the day by tying a noose around your neck?

Send this to five bright women you know and make their day!!!

ADVICE TO GIVE YOUR DAUGHTERS:

1. Don't imagine you can change a man; unless he's in diapers.

2. What do you do if your boyfriend walks out? You shut the door.

3. If they can put a man on the moon, they should be able to put them all up there.

4. Never let your man's mind wander, it's too small to be let out alone.

5. Go for younger men. You might as well, they never mature anyway.

6. Men are all the same, they just have different faces so you can tell them apart.

7. Definition of a bachelor: a man who has missed the opportunity to make some woman miserable.

8. Women don't make fools of men, most of them are the do it yourself types.

9. Best way to get a man to do something is to suggest they are too old for it.

10. Love is blind, but marriage is a real eye-opener.

11. If you want a man who is committed look in a mental hospital.

12. The children of Israel wandered around the desert for 40 years. Even in biblical times, men wouldn't ask for directions.

13. If he asks what sort of books you're interested in, tell him checkbooks.

14. Remember: a sense of humor does not mean that you tell him jokes, it means that you laugh at his.

15. Sadly, all men are created equal.

ADVICE FOR EVERY WOMAN:

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD HAVE:

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW:

ASS STUDY:

There is a new study out about women. I thought these results were pretty interesting.

AGES OF WOMEN: [The]

Age 8: Looks at herself and sees Cinderella/Sleeping Beauty etc.

Age 15: Looks at herself and sees Cinderella/Sleeping Beauty/Cheerleader or if she is PMSing: sees Fat/Pimples/UGLY "Mom I can't go to school looking like this!"

Age 20: Looks at herself and sees "too fat/too thin, too short/too tall too straight/too curly, but decides she's going anyway.

Age 30: Looks at herself and sees "too fat/too thin, too short/too tall, too straight/too curly, but decides she doesn't have time to fix it so she's going anyway.

Age 40: Looks at herself and sees "too fat/too thin, too short/too tall, too straight/too curly and says "at least I'm clean" and goes anyway.

Age 50: Looks at herself and says "I am" and goes where ever she wants to.

Age 60: Looks at herself and reminds herself of all the people who can't even see themselves in the mirror anymore. Goes out and conquers the world.

Age 70: Looks at herself and sees wisdom, laughter and ability, goes out and enjoys life.

Age 80: Doesn't bother to look. Just puts on a red hat and goes out to do anything she damn well pleases.

BARBECUE: [WHY MEN ~]

Men like tools. The bigger, the better. And a barbecue grill is the biggest, most powerful tool there is. It has sheet metal, racks, dials, gauges, switches, fuel, and best of all, flames. It's like an airplane cockpit attached to a blast furnace. With it he can turn flesh into food. He is man. He is macho. He is caveman: "Catch mountain lion. Heave carcass onto fire. Eat." Okay, so it's more like: "Form ground round into patties. Season with flavor pouch. Sear, flip, sear. Serve with endive salad and a crisp Bordeaux." Give him a great barbecue and he will happily stand in driving rain, hail, sleet, or a blizzard cooking dinner on his grill. You will eat well without cooking or cleaning up. (Why do you think cavewomen invented fire in the first place?)
--Sara Beth Andrews and James Dale, Rules for Wives

BARBIE DOLLS FOR BOOMERS:

At long last, here are some NEW Barbie dolls to coincide with her and OUR aging gracefully. These are a bit more realistic...

1. Bifocals Barbie. Comes with her own set of blended-lens fashion frames in six wild colors (half-frames too!), neck chain and large-print editions of Vogue and Martha Stewart Living.

2. Hot Flash Barbie. Press Barbie's bellybutton and watch her face turn beet red while tiny drops of perspiration appear on her forehead. Comes with hand-held fan and tiny tissues.

3. Facial Hair Barbie. As Barbie's hormone levels shift, see her whiskers grow. Available with teensy tweezers and magnifying mirror.

4. Flabby Arms Barbie. Hide Barbie's droopy triceps with these new, roomier-sleeved too, outfits -- muumuus with tummy-support panels are included.

5. Bunion Barbie. Years of disco dancing in stiletto heels have definitely taken their toll on Barbie's dainty arched feet. Soothe her sores with the pumice stone and plasters, then slip on soft terry mules.

6. No-More-Wrinkles Barbie. Erase those pesky crow's-feet and lip lines with a tube of Skin Sparkle-Spackle, from Barbie's own line of exclusive age-blasting cosmetics.

7. Soccer Mom Barbie. All that experience as a cheer-leader is really paying off as Barbie dusts off her old high school megaphone to root for Babs and Ken Jr. Comes with minivan in robin-egg blue or white, and cooler filled with doughnut holes and fruit punch.

8. Mid-life Crisis Barbie. It's time to ditch Ken. Barbie needs a change, and Fred (her personal trainer) is just what the doctor ordered, along with Prozac. They're hopping in her new red Miata and heading for the Napa Valley to open a B&B. Includes a real tape of "Breaking Up Is Hard to Do."

9. Divorced Barbie. Sells for $199.99. Comes with Ken's house, Ken's car, and Ken's boat.

10. Recovery Barbie. Too many parties have finally caught up with the ultimate party girl. Now she does Twelve Steps instead of dance steps. Clean and sober, she's going to meetings religiously. Comes with a little copy of The Big Book and a six-pack of Diet Coke.

11. Post-Menopausal Barbie. This Barbie wets her pants when she sneezes, forgets where she puts things, and cries a lot. She is sick and tired of Ken sitting on the couch watching the tube, clicking through the channels. Comes with Depends and Kleenex. As a bonus this year, the book "Getting In Touch with Your Inner Self" is included.

BEAUTY OF A WOMAN:

The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears,
The figure she carries, or the way she combs her hair.
The beauty of a woman must be seen from her eyes,
Because that is the doorway to her heart,
The place where love resides!
The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mole,
But true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul.
It is the caring that she lovingly gives,
The passion that she shows.
The beauty of a woman
With passing years -- only grows.

CLASSIC HOUSEHOLD HINTS:

ESTROGEN ISSUES:

Ten Ways To Know If You Have Estrogen Issues

1. Everyone around you has an attitude problem.

2. You're adding chocolate chips to your cheese omelet.

3. The dryer has shrunk every last pair of your jeans.

4. Your husband is suddenly agreeing to everything you say.

5. You're using your cellular phone to dial up every bumper sticker that says "How's my driving-call 1-800-***-."

6. Everyone's head looks like an invitation to batting practice.

7. You're convinced there's a God and he's male.

8. You can't believe they don't make a tampon bigger than Super Plus.

9. You're sure that everyone is scheming to drive you crazy.

10. The ibuprofen bottle is empty and you bought it yesterday.

GENDER BIAS:

An English professor wrote the words, "Woman without her man is nothing," on the blackboard and directed the students to punctuate it correctly.

The men wrote: "Woman, without her man, is nothing."
The women wrote: "Woman! Without her, man is nothing."
[Also printed in MANHOOD; Appendix 29]

GENDER DIFFERENCES:

The mission: Go to the Gap and buy a pair of pants. The result: see the diagram.
[Also printed in MANHOOD; Appendix 29]

GIVING UP WINE OR BEER:

I was walking down the street when I was accosted by a particularly dirty and shabby looking homeless woman who asked me for a couple of dollars for dinner.

I took out my wallet, got out ten dollars, and then asked, "If I give you this money, will you buy some wine with it instead of dinner?"

"No, I had to stop drinking years ago", the homeless woman told me.

"Will you use it to go shopping instead of buying food?" I asked.

"No, I don't waste time shopping," the homeless woman said. "I need to spend all my time trying to stay alive."

"Will you spend this on a beauty salon instead of food?" I asked.

"Are you NUTS!" replied the homeless woman. "I haven't had my hair done in 20 years!"

"Well," I said, "I'm not going to give you the money. Instead, I'm going to take you out for dinner with my husband and me tonight."

The homeless woman was shocked. "Won't your husband be furious with you for doing that? I know I'm dirty, and I probably smell pretty disgusting."

I said, "That's okay. It's important for him to see what a woman looks like after she has given up shopping, hair appointments, and wine."

HAIR REMOVAL:

All the hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises of easy, painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now . . . the wax.

My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner and play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom.

It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard could it be? I mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out. (YA THINK!?!)

So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold wax," yeah . . . right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.

With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the wax strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my *hoo-hoo* and stretching down to the inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it was a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself . . . RRRRIIIPPP!!!!

I'm blind!!! Blinded from pain!!!! . . . OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip.

CRAP!!! Another deep breath and RRIIPP!! Everything is swirly and spotted. I think I may pass out . . . must stay conscious . . . Do I hear crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe . . . OK, back to normal.

I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???

Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I see the hair, the hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am touching wax.

CRAP! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, which is now covered in cold wax and matted hair.

Then I make the next BIG mistake . . . remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down.

DAMN!!!!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door. *hoo-hoo*? Sealed shut! Butt?? Sealed shut!

I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do. I think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!" What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water melts wax!!!

I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right??? WRONG!!!!!!!

I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I sit.

Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the tub . . . in scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax.

So, now I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain!!

God bless the man who had convinced me a few months ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!

I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation starter - "So, my butt and *hoo-hoo* are glued together to the bottom of the tub!"

There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or *hoo-hoo*?"

She's laughing out loud by now . . . I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. YEAH!!!!! Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night.

While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!!

By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.

My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace . . . the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY GOD!!!!!!!

The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of my friend.

It's sooo painful, I but I really don't care. "IT WORKS!! It works!!" I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she hangs up.

I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice to my grief and despair . . . THE HAIR IS STILL THERE . . . ALL OF IT!!!!!!!!!!

So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb by now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this point.

Next week I'm going to try hair color. . . .

HIGH STRESS DAY EXPRESSIONS FOR WOMEN:

1. You - Off my planet.

2. Not the brightest crayon in the box now, are we?

3. Well, this day was a total waste of makeup.

4. Errors have been made. Others will be blamed.

5. And your crybaby whiny-flanged opinion would be? . . .

6. I'm not crazy, I've just been in a very bad mood for some years

7. Allow me to introduce my selves.

8. Sarcasm is just one more service we offer.

9. Whatever kind of look you were going for, you missed.

10. I'm just working here until a good fast-food job opens up.

11. I'm trying to imagine you with a personality.

12. Stress is when you wake up screaming and you realize you weren't asleep.

13. I can't remember if I'm the good twin or the evil one.

14. How many times do I have to flush before you go away?

15. I just want revenge. Is that so wrong?

16. You say I'm a flange like it's a bad thing.

17. Can I trade this job for what's behind door #2?

18. Nice perfume. Must you marinate in it?

19.Chaos, panic, and disorder. . . . my work here is done.

20. Earth is full. Go home.

21. Is it time for your medication or mine?

22. How do I set a laser printer to stun?

23. I'm not tense, just terribly, terribly alert

HORMONE HOSTAGE: [THE]

The Hormone Hostage knows that there are days in the month when all a man has to do is open his mouth and he takes his life in his own hands! This is a handy guide that should be as common as a driver's license in the wallet of every husband, boyfriend or significant other!

DANGEROUS: What's for dinner?
SAFER: Can I help you with dinner?
SAFEST: Where would you like to go for dinner?

DANGEROUS: Are you wearing that?
SAFER: Gee, you look good in brown.
SAFEST: WOW! Look at you!

DANGEROUS: What are you so worked up about?
SAFER: Could we be overreacting?
SAFEST: Here's fifty dollars.

DANGEROUS: Should you be eating that?
SAFER: You know, there are a lot of apples left.
SAFEST: Can I get you a glass of wine with that?

And my personal favorite.....

DANGEROUS: What did you do all day?
SAFER: I hope you didn't overdo it today.
SAFEST: I've always loved you in that robe!

Pass this on to all of your hormonal friends.

HOW A WOMAN'S BRAIN WORKS:

Ever wondered how a woman's brain works? It's finally explained here in one, easy-to-understand illustration:

Every one of those little blue balls is a thought about something that needs to be done, a decision or a problem that needs to be solved.

A man, of course, has only 2 balls and they take up all his thoughts

HOW TO NOT LET A MAN GUESS A WOMAN'S AGE:

A woman decided to have a facelift for her 50th birthday. She spent $5,000 for the surgery and felt pretty good about the results. On her way home, she stopped at a news stand to buy a newspaper. Before leaving she said to the clerk, "I hope you don't mind my asking, but how old do you think I am?"

"About 32," was the reply. "Nope! I'm exactly 50," she said happily.

A little while later she went into a McDonald's and asked the counter girl the very same question. The girl replied, "I guess about 29." The woman said, "Nope, I'm 50."

She was feeling really good about herself by now. She went into a drug store on her way down the street, went up to the counter to get some mints and asked the clerk this burning question.

The clerk answered, "Oh, I'd say 30." Again she responded proudly; "I'm fifty, but thank you."

While waiting for the bus to go home, she asked an old man waiting next to her the same question. He replied, "Lady, I'm 78 and my eye sight is going. Although, when I was young, there was a sure way to tell how old a woman was.

"It sounds very forward, but it requires you to let me put my hands under your bra. Then, and only then can I tell you exactly how old you are."

They waited in silence on the empty street while curiosity slowly got the better of her. Finally she blurted out, "What the hell, go ahead."

The old man slipped both of his hands under her blouse and began to feel around very slowly and carefully. He bounces and weighs each breast, gently pinches each nipple, pushed her breasts together and rubbed them against each other. After a couple of minutes of this, she says, "Okay, okay...How old am I?"

He completes one last squeeze of her breasts, removes his hands, and says. "Madam, you are 50."

Stunned and amazed, the woman says, "That was incredible, how could you tell?"

He answered, "I was behind you in line at McDonald's."

HUSBAND SHOPPING CENTER:

A new Husband Shopping Center opened where women could go to choose from among many men for their husbands. It was laid out in five floors, with the men increasing in positive attributes as you ascended up the floors. The only rule was once you opened the door to any floor, you must choose a man from that floor, and if you went up a floor, you couldn't go back down except to leave the place. So, a couple of girlfriends go to the place to find a man as a prospective husband.

First floor, the door had a sign saying: "These men have jobs and love kids." The women read the sign and said, "Well that's better than not having jobs, or not loving kids, but I wonder what's further up." So up they go.

Second floor says: "These men have high paying jobs, love kids,are extremely good looking and don't play golf." Hmmm, say the girls. But, I wonder what's further up?

Third floor: "These men have high paying jobs, are extremely good looking, love kids and help with the housework." "Wow!" say the women. "Very tempting, BUT, there's more further up!" And up they go.

Fourth floor: "These men have high paying jobs, love kids, are extremely good looking, help with the housework, and have a strong romantic streak." "Oh, mercy me. But just think! What must be awaiting us further on!" say the women.

So up to the fifth floor they go. The sign on that door said: "This floor is just to prove that women are impossible to please."

IMAGES OF MOTHER: [THE]

4 YEARS OF AGE: My Mommy can do anything!
8 YEARS OF AGE: My Mom knows a lot! A whole lot!
12 YEARS OF AGE: My Mother doesn't really know quite everything.
14 YEARS OF AGE: Naturally, Mother doesn't know that, either.
16 YEARS OF AGE: Mother? She's hopelessly old-fashioned.
18 YEARS OF AGE: That old woman? She's way out of date!
25 YEARS OF AGE: Well, she might know a little bit about it.
35 YEARS OF AGE: Before we decide, let's get Mom's opinion.
45 YEARS OF AGE: Wonder what Mom would have thought about it?
65 YEARS OF AGE: Wish I could talk it over with Mom.

LEATHER CLOTHING:

Why do men go weak in the knees, get dry throats, feel their hearts begin to beat faster and think irrationally whenever a woman wears leather clothing? Because she smells like a new truck.

MEN:

Men are like a fine wine. They start out as grapes, and it's up to women to stomp the shit out of them until they turn into something acceptable to have dinner with.

MEN ARE LIKE . . . :

01. ~ Laxatives: They irritate the crap out of you.

02. ~ Bananas: The older they get, the less firm they are.

03. ~ Weather: Nothing can be done to change them.

04. ~ Blenders: You need one, but you're not quite sure why.

05. ~ Chocolate Bars: Sweet, smooth, & they usually head right for your hips.

06. ~ Commercials: You can't believe a word they say.

07. ~ Department Stores: Their clothes are always 1/2 off.

08. ~ Government Bonds: They take soooooooo long to mature.

09. ~ Mascara: They usually run at the first sign of emotion.

10. ~ Popcorn: They satisfy you, but only for a little while.

11. ~ Snowstorms: You never know when they're coming, how many inches you'll get, or how long it will last.

12. ~ Lava Lamps: Fun to look at, but not very bright.

13. ~ Parking Spots: All the good ones are taken, the rest are handicapped.

MEN AS HAPPIER PEOPLE:

Men Are Just Happier People - What do you expect from such simple creatures?

No wonder men are happier.

MENOPAUSE:

From the latin, meaning to stop acting like a man once a month.
--Fang-Face DreamWeaver

MOTHER INSTINCT RESPONSE SYSTEM:

My mother-in-law (originally from Saskatchewan, then spent many years in the desert in NZ and the desert in interior BC) was horrified that I dressed my little children up to go outside and play in the rain. "Mother, if they don't play outside when it's wet, they'll be stuck inside 9 days out of 10."

"That's true," she said, watching the kids having a ball splashing in puddles with all of the neighbourhood kids. "It is a Wrongness, though. It violates the Mother Instinct Response System."

She never scolded me for it again, but she was never comfortable with it.
--Laurie Campbell, 14 Jan 2005

MOTHERHOOD:

Sometimes, 'Tis better to receive than to give'

By CAROLYN SCARBOROUGH
Special to the Leader

Thursday, December 25, 2003

Some people may want to pin up my picture next to Scrooge's, but I'm gonna say it anyway -- 'Tis better to receive than to give. Yes, you heard right. Everywhere you look the message is just the opposite, with churches, malls and charities all extolling the virtues of giving. It's a great message -- except for mothers. They have the unselfish giving gig down pat. It's the receiving that could use a little work.

For us, giving to our kids is like breathing. Imagine, for instance, that your son's school play just happens to fall on the day of the hair appointment you've waited two months to get. Your child doesn't even have any lines in it. Do you go to the play, or color and cut? And after the play, when he's crying about tripping on the steps to the stage, we know just what flavor of Blue Bell ice-cream will make him feel better. We know when a quiet hug and no words are necessary at the end of the school day. We know just how to rub their backs at night -- even when we're falling asleep ourselves -- so they can unclench cares of the day.

I was with a group of women at a workshop once and the presenter asked what made us happy. We sat. We squirmed. We looked blankly at each other, then embarrassed, looked down at our hands. These hands that had been so busy helping everyone else had no idea how to help themselves, or to reach out for help. We didn't know how to ask others for what we needed, because often we didn't know ourselves. We had been too busy...giving.

My mother was strong and independent and gave voraciously. Comment that you admired a holiday decoration in her house, and by the time you got to the door it had been secretly stowed in your purse. Arrive on the 2 a.m. red-eye, and she'd not only greet you at the airport, but take you home for a bowl of Greek avgolemeno soup. Show her your broken heart, and she'd break her own to help mend yours. Yes, my mother would give us anything -- except the joy of giving to her.

I remember when feminism started picking up steam in the 60's. My mother was excited about the movement and lectured me, over and over, to not depend on anyone. Be self-sufficient, she said. Be strong. In high school, I sported one of those t-shirts that said, "A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle." Like so many women, those messages led us towards independence, but with a price. We didn't want to ask for help from anyone, and didn't know how to receive it.

The heart of receiving is vulnerability. A willingness to be open and ask for help. It takes courage to believe that we're worthy enough to accept wonderful things for ourselves. It also takes a lot of self love and acceptance -- more than we have, some days.

When my mother got cancer, the pattern continued. Rather than having bottled water delivered, or letting us drop it off for her, in her weakened state she'd still schlep over to the grocery store to get it herself. But as time wore on and her cancer progressed, things slowly changed. Suddenly my invincible mother was crying, for no other reason than that she saw something beautiful and it moved her. The barriers between her and her ability to receive were dissolving. By the last week of her life, they we re completely gone. As she lay in bed, we tenderly swabbed her mouth to keep it moist, put compresses on her head, rubbed her feet. We hugged her and told her how much she meant to us. When she had almost run out of a lifetime of words, she mustered a few more -- a request for Hagen Das chocolate ice-cream. We giddily, tearfully complied.

Ultimately, this was her final and greatest gift -- the ability to receive our love at its fullest.

So this year, celebrate the season to receive. Open up enough to receive all the love that others have been waiting to give you, and that you have been afraid to give to yourself. After all, if Scrooge can figure out how to give, we can certainly figure out how to receive...

You can email comments to Carolyn at Carolyn@radiantwomen.com

[This entry is Copyright Carolyn Scarborough 2003; reprinted here with permission. --MN]

NEO-NATAL CARE:

Subject: The Answer Man tackles baby questions

Q: Should I have a baby after 35?
A: No, 35 children is enough.

Q: I'm two months pregnant now. When will my baby move?
A: With any luck, right after he finishes college.

Q: How will I know if my vomiting is morning sickness or the flu?
A: If it's the flu, you'll get better.

Q: What is the most common pregnancy craving?
A: For men to be the ones who get pregnant.

Q: What is the most reliable method to determine a baby's sex?
A: Childbirth.

Q: The more pregnant I get, the more often strangers smile at me. Why?
A: 'Cause you're fatter than they are.

Q: My wife is five months pregnant and so moody that sometimes she's borderline irrational.
A: So what's your question?

Q: What's the difference between a nine-month pregnant woman and a model?
A: Nothing (if the pregnant woman's husband knows what's good for him).

Q: How long is the average woman in labor?
A: Whatever she says divided by two.

Q: My childbirth instructor says it's not pain I'll feel during labor, but pressure. Is she right?
A: Yes, in the same way that a tornado might be called an air current.

Q: When is the best time to get an epidural?
A: Right after you find out you're pregnant.

Q: Is there any reason I have to be in the delivery room while my wife is in labor?
A: Not unless the word "alimony" means anything to you.

Q: Is there anything I should avoid while recovering from childbirth?
A: Yes, pregnancy.

Q: Does pregnancy cause hemorrhoids?
A: Pregnancy causes anything you want to blame it for.

Q: What does it mean when a baby is born with teeth?
A: It means that the baby's mother may want to rethink her plans to nurse.

Q: What is the best time to wean the baby from nursing?
A: When you see teeth marks.

Q: Do I have to have a baby shower?
A: Not if you change the baby's diaper very quickly.

Q: Our baby was born last week. When will my wife begin to feel and act normal again?
A: When the kids are in college.

NEW DRUGS FOR WOMEN:

DamitolTake 2 and the rest of the world
can go to hell for up to 8 hours
St. Mom®s WortPlant extract that treats mom's depression
by rendering preschoolers unconscious
for up to six hours.
Empty NestrogenHighly effective suppository that eliminates
melancholy by enhancing the memory of how
awful they were as teenagers and how you
couldn't wait till they moved out.
PeptobimboLiquid silicone for single women. Two full
cups swallowed before an evening out increases
breast size, decreases intelligence, and
improves flirting.
DumerolWhen taken with Peptobimbo, can cause dangerously
low I.Q. causing enjoyment of country western music.
AntiboyoticsWhen administered to teenage girls, is highly
effective in improving grades, freeing up phone
lines, and reducing money spent on make-up.
MenicillinPotent antiboyotic for older women. Increases
resistance to such lines as, "You make me want
to be a better person... can we get naked now?"
BuyagraInjectable stimulant taken prior to shopping;
increases potency and duration of spending spree.
Extra Strength
Buy-One-All		When combined with Buyagra, can cause an
indiscriminate buying frenzy so severe the victim may
even come home with a Donny Osmond CD or a
book by Dr. Laura.
JackAsspirinRelieves headache caused by a man who can't
remember your birthday, anniversary or phone number.
AntitalksidentA spray carried in a purse or wallet to be used
on anyone too eager to share their life stories
with total strangers.
SexcedrinMore effective than Excedrin in treating the,
"Not now, dear, I have a headache," syndrome.
RagamatWhen administered to a husband, provides the same
irritation as ragging on him all weekend, saving
the wife the time and trouble of doing it herself.
TyenunonFor administration to a husband before allowing him
out with the boys to ensure he comes home sober.
Die-AgraFor administration to a husband before allowing him
out to ensure temporary impotence and marital fidelity.
FlipitorIncreases life expectancy of commuters by controlling
road rage and the urge to flip off other drivers.

PROFESSIONAL MOTHERHOOD:

A woman named Emily, renewing her driver's license at the County Clerk's office, was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself. "What I mean is," explained the recorder, "do you have a job, or are you just a .. ?

"Of course I have a job," snapped Emily. "I'm a mother."

"We don't list 'mother' as an occupation...'housewife' covers it," said the recorder emphatically. I forgot all about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall. The Clerk was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient, and possessed of a high sounding title like, Official Interrogator" or "Town Registrar."

"What is your occupation?" she probed.

What made me say it, I do not know. The words simply popped out. "I'm a Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations." The clerk paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair, and looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly, emphasizing the most significant words. Then I stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.

"Might I ask," said the clerk with new interest, "just what you do in your field?"

Coolly, without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself reply, "I have a continuing program of research, in the laboratory and in the field. I'm working for my Masters, and already have four credits, (all daughters). Of course, the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities, (any mother care to disagree?) and I often work 14 hours a day. But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money."

There was an increasing note of respect in the clerk's voice as she completed the form, stood up, and personally ushered me to the door.

As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants - ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old baby), in the child-development program, testing out a new vocal pattern. I felt triumphant! I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and indispensable to mankind than "just another mother." Motherhood. . . . What a glorious career! Especially when there's a title on the door.

Does this make grandmothers "Senior Research Associates in the field of Child Development and Human Relations" and great grandmothers "Executive Senior Research Associates"? I think so!!! I also think it makes Aunts "Associate Research Assistants."

PUBLIC TOILETS:

My mother was a fanatic about public toilets. As a little girl, she'd bring me in the stall, teach me to wad up toilet paper and wipe the seat.

Then, she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat. Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, never sit on a public toilet seat." And she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make contact with the toilet seat. But by this time, I'd have peed down my leg. And we'd go home. That was a long time ago.

I've had lots of experience with public toilets since then, but I'm still not particularly fond of public toilets, especially those with powerful, redeye sensors. Those toilets know when you want them to flush. They are psychic toilets.

But I always confuse their psychic ability by following my mother's advice and assuming The Stance.

The Stance is excruciatingly difficult to maintain when one's bladder is especially full. This is most likely to occur after watching a full-length feature film. During the movie sometime you'll have to go pee, and it is nearly impossible with a full bladder to hold The Stance. You know what I mean. You drink a two liter cup of Diet Coke, then sit still through a three-hour saga because, for God's sake, even if you didn't wipe or wash your hands in the bathroom, you'd still miss the pivotal part of the movie or the second scene, in which they flash the leading man's naked derriere. So, you cross your legs and you hold it.

And you hold it until that first credit rolls and you sprint to the bathroom, about ready to explode all over your internal organs.

And at the bathroom, you find a line of women that makes you think there's a half-price sale on Mel Gibson's underwear in there. So, you wait and smile politely at all the other ladies, also crossing their legs and smiling politely. And you finally get closer. You check for feet under the stall doors. Every one is occupied. You hope no one is doing frivolous things behind those stall doors, like blowing her nose or checking the contents of her wallet.

Finally, a stall door opens and you dash, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter. You hang your handbag on the door hook, yank down your pants and assume The Stance. Relief. More relief. Then your thighs begin to shake.

You'd love to sit down but you certainly hadn't taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold The Stance as your thighs experience a quake that would register an eight on the Richter scale.

To take your mind off it, you reach for the toilet paper. Might as well be ready when you are done. The toilet paper dispenser is empty.

Your thighs shake more. You remember the tiny napkin you wiped your fingers on after eating buttered popcorn. It would have to do.

You crumble it in the puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail. Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work and your pocketbook whams you in the head.

"Occupied!" you scream as you reach out for the door, dropping your buttered popcorn napkin in a puddle and falling backward, directly onto the toilet seat.

You get up quickly, but it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with all the germs and life forms on the bare seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper, not that there was any, even if you had enough time to. And your mother would be utterly ashamed of you if she knew because you touched a public toilet seat with your bare bottom, because, frankly, "You don't know what kind of diseases you could get." And by this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, sending up a stream of water akin to a fountain and then it suddenly sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged to China.

At that point, you give up. You're finished peeing. You're soaked by the splashing water. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a Chicklet wrapper you found in your pocket, then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to operate the sinks with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past a line of women, still waiting, cross-legged and unable to smile politely at this point.

One kind soul at the very end of the line points out that you are trailing a piece of toilet paper on your shoe as long! as the Mississippi River. You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it in the woman's hand and say warmly, "Here You might need this."

At this time, you see your spouse, who has entered, used and exited his bathroom and read a copy of War and Peace while waiting for you.

"What took you so long?" he asks, annoyed. This is when you kick him sharply in the shin and go home.

This is dedicated to all women everywhere who have ever had to deal with a public toilet. And it finally explains to all you men what takes us so long.

(Return to Main Volume of Encyclopedia)

SNAPPY ANSWERS TO PICK UP LINES:

Man: Haven't I seen you someplace before?
Woman: Yes, that's why I don't go there anymore.

Man: Is this seat empty?
Woman: Yes, and this one will be if you sit down.

Man: Your place or mine?
Woman: Both. You go to yours, and I'll go to mine.

Man: So, what do you do for a living?
Woman: I'm a female impersonator.

Man: Hey baby, what's your sign?
Woman: Do not enter.

Man: How do you like your eggs in the morning?
Woman: Unfertilized.

Man: Your body is like a temple.
Woman: Sorry, there are no services today.

Man: I would go to the end of the world for you.
Woman: But would you stay there?

Man: If I could see you naked, I'd die happy.
Woman: If I saw you naked, I'd probably die laughing.

SWIMSUIT SHOPPING:

In days gone by, the bathing suit for the over 40 crowd was boned, trussed and reinforced. Not so much sewn, as engineered to fit.

They were built to hold back in the right places and give some uplift - and, they did a good job.

Today's stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure carved from a potato chip

The mature woman has a choice -- she can either go up to the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus who escaped from Disney's Fantasia -- or, she can wander around every run of the mill department store trying to make a sensible choice from assorted florescent rubber bands being sold as bathing suits.

What choice did I have? I wandered around, and in desperation, picked out one and entered the fitting room (which is known to most of us "older girls" as a chamber of horrors).

The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material. The Lycra in that bathing costume must have been developed by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot. I fought my way into it, but as I "twanged" the shoulder strap in place, I gasped in horror -- my boobs had disappeared!

Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took a while to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside my seventh rib.

The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman is meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed bump.

I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment. The bathing suit fit all right -- but it only fit those bits of me willing to stay inside it, unfortunately. The rest of me rebelliously oozed out from top, bottom, and sides. I looked like a lump of play dough wearing undersized cling wrap.

As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, "Oh, there you are!" she said. "That is a lovely suit." I curtly asked what other suits she had to show me.

I tried on a cream-crinkled one that made me look like a lump of masking tape.

I tried on a floral two-piece which gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serving ring.

I struggled into a 2-piece leopard skin that covered my stomach with ragged frills and I looked like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a rough day.

I tried on a black number with a bare midriff and looked like a jellyfish in mourning.

I tried on a bright pink one-piece with such a high cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear it.

Finally, I found a suit that fit . . . .. A two-piece affair with a shorts style bottom and a loose blouse-type top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. I figured at least I had something I could wear and that the hours of search had been productive.

Life is not fair -- when I got home, I found a label that read: "Material might become transparent in water."

So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of water this year and I happen to be there too? . . . I'll be the person in cut off jeans and a t-shirt!

TALKING TO MEN:

A man was sitting on the edge of the bed, observing his wife turning back and forth, looking at herself in the mirror. Since her birthday was not far off he asked what she'd like to have for her Birthday.

"I'd like to be six again," she replied, still looking in the mirror.

On the morning of her Birthday, he arose early, made her a nice big bowl of Lucky Charms, and then took her to Six Flags theme park.

What a day! He put her on every ride in the park; the Death Slide, the Wall of Fear, the Screaming Monster Roller Coaster, everything there was.

Five hours later they staggered out of the theme park. Her head was reeling and her stomach felt upside down.

He then took her to a McDonald's where he ordered her a Happy Meal with extra fries and a chocolate shake.

Then it was off to a movie, popcorn, a soda pop, and her favorite candy, M&Ms.

What a fabulous adventure! Finally she wobbled home with her husband and collapsed into bed exhausted.

He leaned over his wife with a big smile and lovingly asked, "Well Dear, what was it like being six again?" Her eyes slowly opened and her expression suddenly changed.

"I meant my dress size, you dumb ass!"

The moral of the story: Even when a man is listening, he is gonna get it wrong.

TO BE A MOM:

We are sitting at lunch one day when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of starting a family.

"We're taking a survey," she says half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"

"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral.

"I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations."

But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes. I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking, "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die. I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.

I feel that I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for child-care, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.

I want my daughter to know that every day decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that rest-room. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.

Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish hers.

I want her to know that a Cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving. I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children's future. I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real it actually hurts.

My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say. Then I reached across the table, squeezed my daughter's hand and offered a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings . . . that of being a Mother.
[Also printed Appendix 31: PARENTING]

TOP TEN THINGS ONLY WOMEN UNDERSTAND:

10. A cat's facial expressions.

9. The need for the same style of shoes in different colors.

8. Why bean sprouts aren't just weeds.

7. Fat clothes.

6. Taking a car trip without trying to beat your best time.

5. The difference between beige, ecru, cream, off-white, and eggshell.

4. Cutting your bangs to make them grow.

3. Eyelash curlers.

2. The inaccuracy of every bathroom scale ever made.

AND, the Number One thing only women understand:

1. OTHER WOMEN

WHAT I WANT IN A MAN:

What I Want in a Man, Original List (age 22):
1. Handsome
2. Charming
3. Financially successful
4. A caring listener
5. Witty
6. In good shape
7. Dresses with style
8. Appreciates finer things
9. Full of thoughtful surprises
10. An imaginative, romantic lover.

What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 32):
1. Nice looking (prefer hair on his head)
2. Opens car doors, holds chairs
3. Has enough money for a nice dinner
4. Listens more than talks
5. Laughs at my jokes
6. Carries bags of groceries with ease
7. Owns at least one tie
8. Appreciates a good home-cooked meal
9. Remembers birthdays and anniversaries
10. Seeks romance at least once a week.

What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 42):
1. Not too ugly (bald head OK)
2. Doesn't drive off until I'm in the car
3. Works steady -- splurges on dinner out occasionally
4. Nods head when I'm talking
5. Usually remembers punch lines of jokes
6. Is in good enough shape to rearrange the furniture
7. Wears a shirt that covers his stomach
8. Knows not to buy champagne with screw-top lids
9. Remembers to put the toilet seat down
10. Shaves most weekends.

What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 52):
1. Keeps hair in nose and ears trimmed
2. Doesn't belch or scratch in public
3. Doesn't borrow money too often
4. Doesn't nod off to sleep when I'm venting
5. Doesn't re-tell the same joke too many times
6. Is in good enough shape to get off couch on weekends
7. Usually wears matching socks and fresh underwear
8. Appreciates a good TV dinner
9. Remembers my name on occasion
10. Shaves some weekends.

What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 62):
1. Doesn't scare small children
2. Remembers where bathroom is
3. Doesn't require much money for upkeep
4. Only snores lightly when asleep
5. Remembers why he's laughing
6. Is in good enough shape to stand up by himself
7. Usually wears clothes
8. Likes soft foods
9. Remembers where he left his teeth
10. Remembers that it's the weekend.

What I Want in a Man, Revised List (age 72):
1. Breathing
2. Doesn't miss the toilet

WHY IT IS GOOD TO BE A WOMAN:

1. We got off the Titanic first.

2. We can scare male bosses with the mysterious gynecological disorder excuse.

3. Taxis stop for us.

4. We don't look like a frog in a blender when dancing.

5. No fashion faux pas we make could ever rival the Speedo.

6. We don't have to pass gas to amuse ourselves.

7. If we forget to shave no one has to know.

8. We can congratulate our teammate without ever touching her rear end.

9. We never have to reach down every so often to make sure our privates are still there.

10. We have the ability to dress ourselves.

11. We can talk to the opposite sex without having to picture them naked.

12. If we marry someone 20 years younger, we are aware that we will look like an idiot.

13. We will never regret piercing our ears.

14. There are times when chocolate really can solve all our problems.

15. We can make comments about how silly men are in their presence because they aren't listening anyway.

WHATEVER YOU GIVE A WOMAN:

Whatever you give a woman, she's going to multiply.
If you give her sperm, she'll give you a baby.
If you give her a house, she'll give you a home.
If you give her groceries, she'll give you a meal.
If you give her a smile, she'll give you her heart.
She multiplies and enlarges what is given to her.

WHY WOMEN TALK SO MUCH:

A husband was trying to prove to his wife that women talk more than men.

He showed her a study that reported that men use an average of 15,000 words a day, but women use 30,000 words a day.

The wife promply told him that women use twice as many words because they have to repeat everything they say to men.

Looking stunned, the husband said, "What?"

"Women use twice as many words because they have to repeat everything they say to men!"

WOMAN'S PERFECT BREAKFAST:

She's sitting at the table with her gourmet coffee. Her son is on the cover of the Wheaties box. Her daughter is on the cover of Business Week. Her boyfriend is on the cover of Playgirl. And her husband is on the back of the milk carton.

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