Watch this before you consider plastic surgery.

Backyard with Benefits

I’m enjoying a new, secluded vacation spot this week - my backyard. For the last fourteen years, our backyard has been pure kid territory, but this week, it belongs to me. My 11-year-old daughter, Emma, is off to overnight camp, and my teenager, Nick, has a job! So it’s quiet back there. No kids bouncing on the trampoline, running through the sprinkler or demanding popsicles. With my newfound backyard access, I’ve discovered a few luxurious pastimes that I can’t do anywhere else.

I’ve embraced wanton, shameless sunbathing. Oh, I know all about the dangers of UVA and UVB rays. But I live in Chicago, man, and sometimes a northern girl needs a fix of vitamin D and some genuine, natural color. In my backyard I can put on the ratty bikini that I wouldn’t dare wear to the beach and sprawl on a blanket without worrying about my flabby stomach or razor stubble. Age spots be damned; letting it all hang out in the sunshine is bliss.

Another pursuit I’ve taken up is tacky decorating. I’ve been combing the sale aisles of Marshall’s and TJ Maxx for little treasures to spruce up my favorite new space. Silly, cheesy doodads that are too trashy for the inside of my home look charming and whimsical when dangling from a tree branch. Bird houses, ladybug garden stakes, alligator stepping stones. I’d never appreciated the garden gnome before, but mine looks so cute peeking out from under the rosebush.

Last, I’ve found the joy of something I haven’t really done since I was a kid: daydreaming. It’s not even close to meditation, which I’ve always found to be way too much work. I mean pure daydreaming, staring up the sky and letting my mind flit idly from one inconsequential topic to the next. Why do I only see robins on the ground, never up in trees? Is my right big toe bigger than my left? Would it be wrong to drink a Corona with a slice of lime at 11:30 in the morning?

I’ve only got a few days left of privacy, then my kids will reclaim the backyard along with their lemonade-swilling, soccer ball-kicking, water-squirting pack of friends. But for now, I’m making the most of my daytime retreat. I may even try the trampoline.

Aunt Mary's Life Lessons

Last week, I imagined what I’d tell my 24-year-old self to do differently based on what I know now, 21 years later. I realized that while it was too late to change the person I was back then, I could take advantage of the wisdom of older women right now. Since my female family members have never been shy about expressing themselves, they seemed like a good place to start. Seeking advice, I called my 67-year-old mother, Jane, in Florida.

“One thing I learned from having breast cancer”, she said, still out of breath from her three-mile walk, “is to stop and smell the roses. Don’t be so overscheduled – that goes for your kids too.” Wow, that sounded really enlightened. I wanted to hear more, but my mom was running late for her painting class, book club, and library board meeting.

So, I moved onto Mom’s younger sister, my hip Aunt Mary, who has always lived life with flair and enthusiasm. Aged 64 and a former therapist, Aunt Mary has a lot of knowledge and experience to share with women our age. She emailed me this comprehensive list, and I am now passing it on to you.

• Forget the word "don't." Think "do."
• Enjoy the present. Life is not a dress rehearsal. Not only is "a lot still going to happen," a lot is happening right now.
• Talk to your 60 and 70-year-old mothers, fathers, aunts and uncles. Get to know them now. Encourage your children to do this too.
• Planning for the future should be part of your present. Have frequent talks with your partner about the values, ideals, desires you each have and what kind of future you would like to have together.
• Find some way to give to your community. Make it a priority.
• Stay healthy with exercise, a good diet, and yes, frequent sex!
• I have a prediction: You will go through a period of uncertainty, even chaos, and you will get through it. Be patient.

Okay, the uncertainty and chaos part is a little unsettling, but overall, I really appreciate Aunt Mary’s advice. Older chicks really are wiser and there’s a great body of knowledge out there for us to tap into. If we think we’ve learned a thing or two since our twenties then we can expect to become even savvier in our sixties and beyond. Until we get there, let’s value the lessons already learned by our more mature friends and family members. And if you discover anything juicy – post it here!

Advice to my 24-Year-Old Self

I've been keeping a journal since I was fifteen years old and I still have every volume. This morning I leafed through my journal from 1987. Ugh. I had just ditched my boyfriend and well-paying corporate job to move to Chicago and start over. While I searched for a job, I lived in a tiny studio apartment near the lake.

I was lucky to have some good friends in Chicago, but it was still an unsettling time for me. Reading through my journal entries, I can see now that I was insecure. I was lonely. Oh, I have to face it - I was an idiot. Why did I waste so much time obsessing about things that have turned out to be completely unimportant? I wish I could go back and give my 24-year-old self a few sound pieces of advice.

If I could sit myself down over cocktails, here's what I'd tell me:

Shut up, you look great!  Stop being so critical of your appearance.   You're not fat and you're not ugly; you're young and gorgeous. Embrace who you are and stop comparing yourself to other people. Don't take your perky breasts, tiny waist, smooth complexion and bright smile for granted. Give yourself permission to celebrate your body and the unique way you look.

Leave those old boyfriends in the past. You broke up with them for a reason; now let them go. So you haven't found anyone new in Chicago - that doesn't mean you can reel your former lovers back in whenever you need an ego fix. Let those guys get on with their lives and stop depending on them to make you feel good. Move on.

You will not end up alone. Honey, you are just getting started. You're not supposed to have everything all figured out right now. There are a lot of places to go and people to meet, including a charming Irishman who hasn't even set foot on American soil yet.  Relax, enjoy the freedom of being single, and spend some time getting to know you. A lot is still going to happen.

If my younger self were still paying attention, I'd advise me never to perm my hair, wear stirrup pants, or do shots of Jagermeister. I'd also urge me to save more money, visit my grandmother, and join a gym. But by then, my 24-year-old self would be heartily sick of being lectured by some middle-aged shrew and would have slipped off the barstool and out the door to flag down the nearest taxi.

I know there's no rewriting the past. The only self I can influence is the one who is 45 years old, sitting right here and now. Perhaps I'd better focus on the advice that she needs to hear. Anybody got any pearls of wisdom? It's a topic we'll explore next time.

Moms ♥ Cubs Games

Last Thursday, three of my girlfriends and I snuck off to an afternoon Cubs game. We rearranged carpools and called in favors for after school play dates for our kids. Feeling as giddy as teenagers cutting class, we stuffed cash and lipstick into our back pockets, shoved baseball caps on our heads, and caught the “EL” into the city. Once on the train, packed with like-minded Cubs fans, we grinned at each other. We’d successfully made our escape.

The weather was gray and chilly, but it was warm and toasty within the friendly confines of Wrigley Field ‘cause the Cubs were up and the Padres never got on the board. Winning Cubs fans are happy Cubs fans and Lisa, Suzanne, Cheryl and I were no exception. Especially after we’d chugged down a couple of the big Bud Lights we bought from the beer vendor.

We weren’t up to speed on the nuances of the game but the guys sitting behind us – Desmond, Tom and Tommy - were happy to educate us. “ This may be the last time you’ll ever see Greg Maddux pitch at Wrigley Field,” Desmond informed us, as Tom passed around his nachos. They were nice. Everyone around us was nice - and almost entirely male. We four gals found ourselves getting a lot more attention than we were used to on an average weekday afternoon.

And it wasn’t because we were looking all that hot. We sported sweatshirts and fleece, sneakers and scarves. One of us (okay, it was me) wore long underwear. But who cared? It was two-thirty in the afternoon and the Cubbies were ahead and the good will and camaraderie flowed through the stands along with the Budweiser. When we stood to sing “Take Me out to the Ball Game” during the seventh inning stretch, I knew there was no better place in the world for a forty-something suburban mom to be.

The beer buzz wore off on the train ride home, when we had to switch seats to avoid being barfed on by a drunken high school girl who really was playing hooky. We shook our heads with maternal concern. As the train lurched north, reality began to seep in. There was dinner to make and homework to supervise and bedtimes to enforce.

But still, we’d had our afternoon in the (figurative) sun. And now, a week later, what Lisa, Suzanne, Cheryl and I want to know is this – anyone got Cubs tickets?

Privacy Alert - Your Secrets Aren’t Safe With Me

Over the years, my hometown has produced some big celebrities: Charlton Heston, Bill Murray, and Ann Margaret to name a few. Younger and hipper stars are actor Rainn Wilson of TV’s The Office, and rock band Fall Out Boy bassist, Pete Wentz. Wentz, 28, announced his engagement to pop singer Ashley Simpson a few weeks ago. This mildly interesting tidbit hit my radar in an unexpected way that made me realize how much my notion of privacy has changed.

My involvement came through a friend of a friend, like the game “Five Degrees of Separation.” My buddy Tammy* has a high school pal, Shelly*, who writes for People Magazine. Shelly was assigned a story on the hometown reaction to the Wentz/Simpson engagement. Tammy circulated Shelly’s email asking if anyone knew the Wentz family and would agree to be interviewed. While I've never met the Wentzs myself, I do have another friend, Jennifer*, who knows the family well. So, trying to be helpful to Tammy, I shot Jennifer an email.

My email went something like: “Hey Jen, I know you’re friends with the Wentzs – any interest in being interviewed for People Mag for local reactions on P & A’s engagement? Could be fun!”

Cause everybody wants to get into People - don’t they? Not so much. Jennifer made it clear that she would never consider violating the Wentzs’ privacy. Her tactful but firm reply made me think about what I’d really asked her to do.

Hmm, I guess I can see how you might not want to expose your friends to media scrutiny, especially when it’s about a personal matter like their son’s engagement. Real friends probably don’t exploit relationships for personal gain or to get their picture or name into a national magazine.

I felt kind of like a loser. Why hadn't I thought of that beforehand? 

It’s because I blog. Even though I’ve only been blogging for a few months, I’ve come to accept a loss of privacy as the norm. Friends have said, “I read your blog, you’re so brave.” Brave? I haven’t written anything all that revealing. Oh sure, I’ve discussed my fantasies, sex life, skin problems, parenting issues, and character flaws - but nothing personal.

I don’t have the clearest idea of what should be kept private anymore. With the prevalence of the Internet, this is an issue we all will have to negotiate. If your view of privacy has changed recently, please share your story.

And feel free to use a pseudonym.


*Names changed to make sure my friends don’t get mad at me.

Forty-Four More

According to the National Vital Statistics Reports, the average life expectancy of a 44-year-old white woman in the United States is 38 years, meaning she is most likely to die at age 82. That means statistically, my life is more than half over. Say what? I admit, 82 sounds like a ripe old age, but it’s not nearly old enough for me. I, for one, am not going to accept the data - I refuse to conform to the mean. I really liked my first 44 years of life, so I’m ordering up 44 more.

How can I get an extra six years out of life? Forbes Magazine reports that there are ten things you can do to live longer: don’t oversleep, be optimistic, have more sex, get a pet, get a VAP test (whatever that is), be rich, don’t smoke, chill out, eat your antioxidants, and marry well.

Looking over the list, I feel pretty good about my chances. I actually sleep between six and seven hours a night, the recommended length. (Who knew that sleeping too much could actually be bad for you?) I’m an optimistic person, I have an adorable little West Highland terrier, and I don’t smoke. I’m happily married to the father of my children and while we’re not exactly rich, we’re doing okay. Other than freaking out about the fact that I only have 38 years left to live, I’m pretty chill. But there are a few areas where I can do better.

First of all, I’ve never heard of a VAP before. Apparently, it’s an advanced cholesterol test that detects heart disease much better than regular tests. It’s been a few years since I’ve had even a basic cholesterol test. If I want to live to see 88, I better make an appointment for a physical and get that VAP. I’m just glad I can wait a few more years before getting my first colonoscopy.

As for eating enough antioxidants, I’m falling short here too. Antioxidants, found in a variety of foods like blueberries, artichokes and beans, are great for cleansing the body of free radicals – the toxic molecules of oxygen that can damage and age our bodies. Antioxidants are like an inner fountain of youth. From now on, walnuts, kale and raspberries are going to be my foods of choice.

Finally, I’m going to step things up in the sex department. In addition to the obvious physical gratification, frequent sex has lots of other benefits – like stress reduction and better sleep – that can lower blood pressure and reduce risks of stroke and heart disease. Besides, this is a fun way to increase my life span. And it will benefit my husband too. As a 44-year-old white male, Liam can only expect to live another 34 years unless he takes action.

I just hope he’s interested in living longer too or else improving in this area is going to be a little tricky for me.

Look Younger and Hotter or Your Money Back

There are a lot of fashion and beauty companies catering to us these days. Women over age 40 are emerging as a powerful economic force. And though we may be getting smarter, wiser and even richer, one thing’s for sure – we ain’t getting any younger. Many of us have mixed feelings about aging, and the beauty industry is poised to take advantage of our insecurities.

A book that’s getting a lot of buzz right now is called “How Not to Look Old - Fast and effortless ways to look 10 years younger, 10 pounds lighter, 10 times better” written by Charla Krupp. Krupp, a veteran beauty editor and style expert for NBC’s The Today Show, provides detailed advice for women over 40 regarding clothing, make-up, hair, and skin care. While she offers some good suggestions, I wouldn’t exactly call them effortless.

If you’re too busy to develop an intimate relationship with your hair stylist and refuse to wear those tight tubes of constriction known as Spanx, then my rules are the ones to follow. They are guaranteed to make you look younger and hotter – or your money back!

1. Ditch Your Younger Friends
Hey, we only look old compared to people who are younger than us. So don’t hang out with them anymore. Would you have hung out with high school kids when you were in college? No way. We’ve always had more in common and better conversations with people our own age. And compared to them, we look as good as ever. If you want to branch out and make new friends, consider the older set. And remember, you’re still a sweet young thing for a big portion of the male population, even if they are in the AARP.

2. Dim all the lights.
When my friend Lisa enters a party, she marches straight past the cocktail bar to the nearest dimmer switch. And she’s right; we all look better when the lights are low. So whether you are entertaining at home or dining out at a restaurant, seek out flattering lighting and candlelight. In addition to softening the lines on your face, it’s romantic.

3. Put a smile on your face.
No matter what age you are, you’ll look younger and more vibrant when you are smiling. Do the things that make you happy - and learn to tell a good joke. Everyone has smile lines when they’re laughing, and a good sense of humor is the most attractive thing of all.

4. Get into the trenches.
I’m no stylist, but one thing I’ve learned is that a great trench coat can disguise almost any fashion blunder or figure flaw. I’ve worn my Burberry trench coat to the grocery store over my pajamas and people assumed I was on my way downtown to the office. A classic trench coat is universally flattering and, especially if worn with sunglasses and tall boots, is sexy and mysterious. Forget the designer wardrobe, accessories and shapewear - all you need to look hot is the right coat.

My tips are 100% guaranteed to work. If you have any foolproof suggestions for looking younger and hotter, please share them.

Sizing up my Competition

I started playing tennis four years ago and now I play on a mid-level women’s doubles team (4.0 level for you tennis players). There is a lot of variation in skill at this level. You’ve got former high school champs getting back to the game after twenty years. There are women in their sixties who have been playing tennis their whole lives. And enthusiastic middle-aged newcomers like me. So when my partner and I walk out onto the court for a match we really don’t know what to expect.

The first thing we do to size up our competition is check out how they look. Now, I’m not a physically intimidating person. By that I mean I am short. And not particularly buff. Almost everyone I face on the court is either taller or more muscular than me. So if you walked onto a tennis court and found that I was your opponent, you probably wouldn’t feel too worried. But in tennis, looks can be deceiving.

I found that out the hard way when my partner, Susan, and I were matched against a pair of wealthy-looking babes in their late fifties. Lipsticked up, with diamond tennis bracelets dangling from their wrists, the gals limped onto the court with their knee braces and ibuprofen. You knew they wouldn’t be able to do much sprinting. “Let’s just have fun, girls” they called as they popped open the new can of balls. I grinned confidently at Susan and murmured, “Let’s move the ball around. Make ‘em run.”

Yeah, right. Our opponents may have been older and less agile, but we were the ones doing the running. They placed their shots with the precision of surgeons. If I charged the net, they lobbed it over my head. If I hung back, they executed a perfect drop shot. They had spin, they had angles, and they had strategy. By the end of the first set, Susan and I were panting and dripping with sweat while our opponents’ lipstick wasn’t even smudged. After that match, every time I faced an older woman with a knee brace I knew I was in deep trouble.

So, now, when I meet my competition and see that they are 34 years old, six feet tall and as toned as Maria Sharapova, I tell myself not to worry. I’ve got a trick or two up my sleeve that might surprise them. I’m even thinking about getting my own knee brace.

Too Old to be the Next American Idol

In our forties, we often get a second shot at pursuing dreams we’d put on hold to focus on careers, marriage and kids. For me, one of those dreams was to become a singer. But according to American Idol, the national showcase for emerging vocal talent, it’s too late. I am just way too old.

In 2004, American Idol decided to increase the maximum age for contestants from 26 to 28 years of age. The minimum age, 16, remained in place. The reason for the change, explained FOX programming chief Gail Berman, was that the network felt too many talented “older” people had been turned away in prior seasons.

What I want to know is this: why must American Idol impose an age limit at all? Musical knowledge and ability don’t peak at age 28. According to Joni Wilson, renowned voice trainer and performance coach, "There is no reason for the voice to age except for poor voice technique." And American Idol knows this. FOX’s Berman stated, "I'm sure there are people who are tremendously talented above that age, but we're talking about people who hope to have pop careers afterward."

So, according to FOX, people over age 28 can have tremendous talent. They just can’t expect to be pop stars. Well, I guess no one told that to Sheryl Crow, Daniel Powter, or KT Tunstall, all successful pop artists who each had their first record released when they were past American Idol’s age limit. Older touring acts are some of the industry’s top sellers – just look at the Police, the Rolling Stones and Madonna. They’re all over 50 years old, practically geriatric by American Idol’s standards.

Age is the single demographic characteristic regulated by the show. The only other requirements are that a contestant be a U.S. citizen or permanent resident and not have a recording contract at the time of his or her audition. A contestant can be of any ethnicity, income bracket or sexual orientation. They can even be (like this season’s David Hernandez) a former male stripper. They just can’t be “older.”

Winning American Idol doesn’t guarantee a successful pop career anyway. Yes, Kelly Clarkson and Carrie Underwood have been hugely successful. But Ruben Stoddard and Taylor Hicks haven’t fared as well. Does that mean men should be barred from the competition?

Of course not. Musical stardom is a chancy dream for anyone to pursue; the odds of making it are miniscule. But making predictions based on a contestant’s age is plain discrimination. American Idol should accept contestants on the basis of their talent, not their age, and let the audience decide who has the most appeal. Only then will we really know what Americans want from their pop stars.

And only then can I audition.