sleep number and menopause?!

I had the pleasure of spending time with some funny, wonderful ladies last week.  We enjoyed our time by the water as our kiddo’s enjoyed their time in the water or collecting pretty lake rocks.  Our topic; menopause and sleeping.   I can’t help but laugh as I type, so I’ll apologize for type-o’s now!

I’m the senior of this group.  At fifty-five thirty-five, no fifty-five.  Daina is fresh out of the forty bracket and Tanya is permitted to have her forty plus years of life.  Daina and I have more in common when it comes to the circle of life.  No, I mean the cycle of life.         We both know what hot flashes can and will create in the middle of the night.  Hot flashes create monsters.   Pillow becomes a sponge for the base of your neck and hairline.  Where you’re up changing nightshirts and mumbling because the night sweats woke you from a wonderful slumber.   I always feel sorry for bears who hibernate and are dragged out of their cozy dens by researchers trying to poke and probe them for their weight.   I would so become grizzly-like if someone woke me up just for my weight!   Daina not only experiences night sweats, she also gets leg cramps.  So basically….it’s as if Daina is running in her sleep.   Sweating and leg cramps.   Wonderful.   One thing we all agreed on was our ability to fall asleep like clock work.  Lights out.  Sleep.

I rarely get night sweats but apparently I’ve become “child-like” in my sleeping pattern.  Football Superstar has been poking me – like the grizzly bear and the researcher – to move over.  Move over?   I’m on my side of the bed!     This can’t be possible because I sleep like a baby.  I rarely flip over from side to side.  I am the hibernating bear.                   My husband tells me that I have been “flipping” from side to side.  And I’m sleeping on an angle.    I laughed because he must have surveyed my sleep pattern as he was reading at 1pm.     So  now I’m sleeping with one leg hanging out over the bed while the other is fully wrapped in the sheet.   I pull the entire sheet over to my side in such a coordinated way – he can’t figure out how I’m able to get a tightly tucked in flat sheet out from under this once football player who hasn’t lost much of his strength – well maybe a little.               As my adorable husband tells me this – I’m almost spitting my hazelnut coffee out into the morning air.  No way!    I have this Cirque Soleil image in my mind.   Tokyo-Girls-Collection-11AW-15-Cirque-du-Soleil-004

My gal pals begin to laugh to the point of hick-ups.  They’re trying to imagine – yet not imagine this.  There’s nothing but laughter.   I seriously have no idea that I’m sleeping in such a way.  I have no memory of my talent.   I give my friends a follow up on the sleeping conversation with my hubby.    A Sleep Number Bed!   There is no doubt in my mind – my husband did his research.   He consumer reported.  He researched local companies that supply these SNB’s, and he probably already went to the store to check them out just so he could come back to me and “sell” me on the idea.    He’s a professional.    Again, I have this vision.   What if…..what if I’m still Cirque Soleiling while I sleep on the Sleep Number Bed?!     Sleep-Number-Bed

Is it possible for my (one) leg to still have its freedom?

There’s quite a few questions I have for the Sleep Number Bed salesman before I agree to this not-so-new idea of my husbands.    I know he had this planned out for some time now.  Football Superstar is just so sweet and kind hearted he didn’t want to hurt my feelings by pointing out that I’ve become a monster in the middle of the night.  I prefer a Cirque Soleil performer thank you very much.


Regardless of what menopause has contributed to my cycle of life… thing I can count on and that is my ability to fall asleep.  Stay asleep (unless a monsterous night sweat surfaces) and share some of the funniest stories with my gals who know what it takes to be a great menopausal performer!


Until next time….






no More shopping 101?


I recently had an inbox question regarding Shopping 101 post.

“Dear Momma Daisy,  what ever happened to your Shopping 101 post?  Are you no longer food shopping? ”   – M.L.  Kansas  

My family…sure they are fed, healthy and happy.   Not sure they are happy with each meal  I lovingly create.  Perhaps I should say throw together.   My menu planning has taken a back seat to other work related stuff.  As I sit here typing this post – my menu dinner planner is peaking out from behind a file titled “Family Meal Planner”.   Even I get such a chuckle out of the clearly marked vintage style tag attached to the vintage style folder placed neatly in the vintage galvanized organizer.   This brings out my inner Joanna Gaines, and because I am NO Joanna….my office area clearly shows this file has not been touched in months.   Except for the occasional dusting.

As for food shopping, well my latest experience at Costco was more like a skit from Seinfield.    Normally my blue ticking linen backpack is placed in the shopping cart in place of a child.   If it’s on my back where backpacks are to be displayed – then I run the chance my phone will chime and I may miss a call from school (never get calls) , college daughter (prefers texting) , hubby (reminding me to get shaving cream) my mother-in-law, my father…. you get my point.   Tuesday my backpack played the part of being just that- a backpack and looking quite cute if I may say.   Not me…the backpack.     I was seeking out the ginormous bag of Krusteaz Buttermilk pancake mix when my eyes caught the book section.  I can not stay away from books.  I smell them.  I track them down like a bloodhound on its trail.   I love books.   While joyfully filtering through the latest selection of arrivals (the dude was just opening up boxes of newly pressed hardbacks!) I forgot there was a linen growth attached to my back.  As I slowly turned to make my way up the sea of words, the growth then attached itself to the handle of a shopping cart.  As I walked….so did the cart.   A woman laughing – chuckles out  “hey…excuse me ma’am…you have my cart!”    Oh, well, yes, yes I do!

Released from the metal monster I waltzed down the bakery aisle remembering how much Football Superstar and I love Rosemary-Parmesan cheese bread.  Two come in one sleeve.  ($6.99)   It’s not exactly our favorite bakery’s version but dang when it’s pumped out of the mega ovens and placed (again TWO) in a plastic sleeve while still warm and seeping the aroma of rosemary…..sold!     I know I was smiling not only on the inside but my exterior had to be exploding.   You have no idea how much I LOVE fresh baked breads.   Just as I was walking towards the produce selection a quiet voice appears from behind Aloutte’s Goat Cheese vendor booth.  Wait…goat cheese?   Rosemary-Parmesan cheese bread needs goat cheese.  I gently pick up one of the teeny-weeny cupcake like papers with a morsel of Aloutte goat cheese just enough for a mouse – when out of nowhere a couple, well dressed , possibly between the ages of 65-70, pushes my arm to grab three teeny-weeny cupcake papers when my morsel of goat cheese went flying in the air directly landing on the gentleman to my left – his black dress coat.   Sticking to his coat.   Do I pick at the tiny morsel of cheese – do I tap him on the shoulder as he was looking at a selection of Cheval Blanc.   Do I walk away.   Did you know goat cheese can be rather sticky?  Firm curds that react when pitched in the air.

I shuddered in my L.L. Bean duck boots.  Just as I was about to pass by and pray my linen backpack would come in handy as the tool it was designed to do (not really) and gently knock the morsel of now warm and less firm goat cheese from this gentleman’s black dress coat – I noticed it on the floor by his shiny black loafers.    This tiny morsel of goat cheese went from its wrapper to a teeny-weeny cupcake paper to my hand to a coat to the floor in a matter of seven minutes.    There was no way I was about to approach the vendor for a second sample.   But. There. They. Were.  The couple.  The couple that first took THREE teeny-weeny cupcake papers.   They were back for more.   I watched from the other side of the aisle pretending to be selecting guacamole.  This couple went from sampling more Aloutte goat cheese to the happy vendor warming up organic Al Fresco tomato&basil 60% less fat chicken meatballs.     It was lunch time.

I made my way through the paper product aisle making a U-turn down the frozen fruit aisle.   No way.  A vendor sampling frozen smoothies (didn’t get the brand name) was talking rather loudly to – yep – the couple.     It was lunch time.

Fifteen minutes later I’m waiting in the check out line.  Backpack is now sitting in the child seat of my mega cart.  I’m smiling because the aroma of fresh bread is still seeping through its plastic wrap.  My membership card is placed between my fingers so the kind check out lady can quickly retrieve it.  And just then….there they are.   The couple.   Two rows across from where I wait.   Talking.  Sweetly laughing with each other.   And in their hands….more teeny-weeny cupcake papers that held small morsels of granola.

It was lunch time.

My food shopping days have been of no value to report.  Meaning, I am not saving as I should to be bragging of my hours spent at Wegmans, Costco or Harris Teeter.   My backpack and sometimes my black leather tote bag at times are filled with receipts.  If I were an accountant I would have them neatly organized and categorized on display in a vintage file holder labeled with a vintage tag.

Maybe, just maybe some day I will be back on track with my Shopping 101.  Until then I’ll waltz through Costco watching and waiting for the couple.

ranting and its songs

Rant – verb.   To speak loudly or shout at length in a wild, impassioned way.

I’m about to rant.     But it’s not your momma’s ordinary rant.

Song – noun.   A short poem or words set to music.

There are songs floating like a butterfly in my head.


As much as I promised myself that I would not allow the opinion of others to affect my own worldly view, this past week my promise was broken.   I’m not exactly sure how the conversation even began.  But one thing I do know is there were several topics floating around the pool deck while those who were doing exactly what I should have been doing – that’s right – floating inside the pool ignoring the words that have become like toxin.

Instead of floating around the pool on Apple’s pink striped noodle [I so appreciate her reminding me to take the noodle as she heads to school and I head to the pool] I sat desperately trying to focus on my summer read – Just Beyond the Clouds – when a mom decided to openly discuss the gorilla incident and after fifteen minutes of listening it turned to Donald Trump which then turned to free health care which then turned to ordering lunch from Delhi 6.  My head was spinning. And I’m not sure if it was due to the direct sunlight without my sunglasses [forgot them, but got the noodle] or the conversations taking place while truly, honestly, sincerely spoken here – we were to be organizing end of year events.   I was volunteered by an acquaintance, whom will remain nameless.

I’m sure most of you – no make that all of you have been listening to the news, reading your news feed, finding it posted on Facebook or like me….sitting poolside having several different topics spewed out in one direction within 22 minutes.   Exactly 22 minutes.

So my rant if you will, became more like a recording studio in my brain that just couldn’t turn off the topics being discussed.  Or argued whined about.

*Harambe. The massive silverback gorilla who was shot by a zookeeper after a child fell-climbed-slithered down-slipped-somehow this young child ended up in the gorilla outdoor exhibit at the Cincinnati Zoo.    I was not there.   I’m not exactly sure CNN found the most reliable sources for interviewing.   I was not there.  I’m not going to blame anyone because I am not a zoo official, I’m not a key witness to the incident.  I am not the parent of this young boy.   I’m thankful I wasn’t placed in the situation as the zoo officials were when making the life or death decision to save this childs life.   We were not there.               I was not there.   I wouldn’t want to be in this child’s mothers shoes.   Because all over the world we’ve placed the child second.

The song “Take a Walk in Someone Else’s Shoes” by swingsetmomma’s came to my mind.  Okay, okay…so maybe it’s not the best song to describe this horrible situation – but the verse “just imagine walking in someone else’s shoes” pretty much summed it up.

I’m just thankful the little boy is fine.  And this is coming from someone who followed PETA for many years.  I’ve matured some since those days….some.

*Donald Trump.   OhMyGosh!   I’m SO over hearing about his nastiness, his wealth and his private jet.  His wives and his children.   I don’t like him.  I don’t like his long ties either.  They are ugly.    But as the moms were discussing the latest on Hilary and the Trumpster, the song “Born in the USA” came to my mind.  I had a silent giggle.   I’ve seen Bruce too many times back in the day – and I’ve seen him in Atlantic City directly where the Trumpster built his empire in NJ.    Sorry Bruce, you’re getting a little old and rusty, as is the Trumpster.   America is great.   I’m happy.   Sorry you’re not.

*footnote:  Bono isn’t walking around shouting at either party.  Take note entertainers who are all talk and rusty.

*Muhammad Ali.   I grew up hearing his name in our home.    My father enjoyed boxing, only because my uncle was a boxer.  Mr. Ali didn’t really mean anything to me….I just knew about him.  He was a great athlete.  He worked on making changes.   He had a soft adoring voice.   And there was a song about him with lyrics “float like a butterfly, sting like a bee“.   That’s exactly what floated through my head as conversations swirled like the crystal blue water in the pool.    Another private giggle.

I did not order from Delhi 6.  I decided at that moment…it was a perfect time for me to slither off of the noodle like a slippery eel, and return to my pink polka-dot beach towel to finally pick up my good summer read and do just that.   That was my “momma daisy time to myself day” and I wasn’t going to waste my time planning a meeting to have another meeting

I read and in my mind I heard Ruth B singing “Lost Boy“.   “usually hanging out with Peter Pan, and when we’re bored we play in the woods, always on the run from Captain Hook….”

America is great!











We’ve become a society of hashtags.  We can label and post with #.  We can use it on Twitter and Pinterest and Instagram.

But if my memory serves me correctly [maybe I’m aging myself] wasn’t this # once referred to as the pound sign?   Once you reached the customer service number, you needed to listen to a series of instructions – and when all else failed you pushed the pound sign.   Sorry…I don’t know that extension…. pound sign.   I ordered the $500 exercise equipment only to return it two weeks later – pound sign.    Long distance phone calls on hold…..operator instructs you to push – pound.   That  meant, next months phone bill would highlight the phone call to Italy, costing you $75 – because you pushed – pound.

I’m one of many now hashtagging my way through post and tweets.

For instance…. when you post something on Facebook or Twitter…. why not hashtag this

I love you!   #besthubbyever    #heforgottogetmechocolate

My kids are awesome!    #mykidsarebetterthanyourkids

Best dinner tonight!   #hereisapicofmyleftoversupersaladandmydirtynapkin

Selfie!     #myhairstylistrocks   #myhairisorange!

Rockin my new glasses!   #needglassesbecausemynightvisionsucks    #cantseethrumykatespadeglasses

Having fun on vacation!!   #rainraingoaway     #losttheroomkey      #myvacationwasmuchbetterthanyours

Flowers for my birthday!!     #ididnotwantroses    #morecrowsfeet     #stilllooklikemyyearbookpic

Christmas album 2015   #whymustweposelikethis      #doggotmoregiftsthanthekids

As I continue hashtagging my way through post and tweets, I’ll keep them short and sweet…. #betterrhymethandrseus