Good Morning! It's time for your 3:30 a.m. Panic Attack!

Perimenopause.  It sounds like it could be a new color in the Crayola Crayon box or a cocktail you might order at a tropical resort:  Just add two parts pushing 50, with a splash of night sweats. Shake vigorously with some over the top rage and heart palpitations, pour over ice cubes made from uncontrollable tears and be sure to add a garnish of Trump really is the President.  Oh, and this drink can only be made at 3:30 in the morning.





 There's quite a bit of preparation for girls before they start menstruating.  There is the big talk in middle school when they separate the boys and girls and show a movie about your changing body.  Girls whisper about whether the curvy girl with the training bra has started her monthly visits.  My mother, who was not one to talk about these things, brought a very worn copy of, Are You There God? It's Me Margaret home from the library for me to read.  I knew what to expect and I had my diaper sized sanitary napkins ready in anticipation.




There is no such fanfare surrounding menopause  and I don't think there is a Judy Blume book, but maybe I should check. When you reach your mid forties, there are questions from your gynecologist about whether you have missed your period and when I went a few months without, I thought, "I guess that was menopause.  That wasn't so bad."

Not so fast ladies!  Menopause is when it is all done!  You get a 3 to 4 year farewell tour for the end of your reproductive years.  Only the staying up all night isn't because you are partying, it is because you are vacillating between being overheated and having chills while your heart feels like it might burst out of your chest because a fleeting thought in the middle of the night about this year's garden or your plans for the weekend, leads you down a mental road to Armageddon.

It makes perfect sense really.  The female reproductive system is an impressive mechanism. My notion that it would just quietly stop working one day is embarrassingly naive. So my advice to any of you out there who are experiencing or will be experiencing the joys post fertility, dress in layers, exercise, meditate and if none of that works add a little Xanax to your Perimenopausal cocktail. 

All Dogs Go to Heaven

It is funny how certain seemingly inconsequential memories stick in your head for years.  Mine is from a warm autumn Sunday four and a half years ago.  The boys and I had spent a fun afternoon with friends hanging out at the park.  When I got out of the car, enshrouded in my confidence that I was indeed a fantastic mother for giving my kids this wonderful experience,  I looked over to see the tears streaming down the face of my little Prince.

"Prince, why are you crying?"

"I miss my friends!"

Ahh.  Therin lies the problem.  We had just moved up to the farmette full time from the city and when you are ten and you have a fun day in a new place with new friends, it reminds you of the fun days you used to have in your old place with your old friends and that can make you feel even more sad and lonely.  And that is when it happened.

"I am lonely," the sad little Oliver Twist sobbed.

"Do you want a puppy?"

"OK."

Now it probably didn't go down quite like this but I did suggest a puppy almost immediately despite the fact that we already had a 9 month old dog we rescued a few months earlier.  As soon as the words came out I wanted to go just 10 seconds back in time and have a Harry Potter Dementor suck the words and soul out of my body.

The husband was not pleased.

Less than a month later we had a four month old black lab.

The puppy tincture worked for a while. There was talk of taking her for long walks at the lake and she was absolutely going to head of to college with him when the time came.  I could keep Pepper the Great Pyrenees but Athena was all his.  But when the novelty wore off and the loneliness subsided a bit, Athena was left to me.  He still loved her and there were concerns about whether or not she would be too old to go to college with him, but the Timmy and Lassie days were over.

Athena grew into a big sweet pain in the ass. Her entire existence revolved around a neurotic need for love and food.  She could move like a ninja to devour an unguarded plate of muffins on the counter and return to her resting place under the dining room table in seconds.

Her same ninja moves enabled her to escape from the fenced in yard whenever the need moved her which was usually when her people went for a walk through the trails without her.  No matter how many times I was sure she was barricaded in, she would show up tongue hanging down to the ground and tail wagging wherever we were.

Sadly her Houdini qualities cost us all dearly the other night and she was struck and killed by a car.

Scrappy and I clung to each other and sobbed when we found out.  Prince and James Dean cried quietly and even the husband got choked up when we buried her in the backyard.

As we all gathered at the grave united in our sorrow and the absolute knowledge that if there is a heaven, Athena had a non-stop flight there, we hugged and consoled each other. Sure, we had the chicken massacre and we put Billy Beef in the freezer, but this was different. Athena was family.

Walking back toward the house, I realized that my memory from four and a half years ago was anything but inconsequential.  It was a memory of agreeing to give my son one of the greatest gifts anyone can know; the love of a dog.  Athena's love and loyalty were unwavering.  She had a gentle nuzzle when I was sad and tried relentlessly to cheer me when I was mad. Popcorn Bowl moments are not always happy ones, but Athena's death is one that the five of us will all share for years to come. Strangely, having her buried out by the blackberry briar makes the Farmette 2.0 seem like even more of a home than any other place we have lived.  Where there is loss there is also love.