The Best Kept Secret Blog - I'm Poised Like I've Never Been Poised Before

I accidentally bought incontinence products at the drug store last week. It could happen to anyone really.

I nipped in quickly last Monday afternoon, my mind on kids, work and how many minutes to go before Friday afternoon cocktails.

On my list of things to pick up were sanitary napkins. Given my perimenopausal age, things can be a little unpredictable and I thought it best to get something reliable.

I scanned my options. I definitely wasn't ready for Ultra Plus but would Extra be up to the task? Settling for what seemed like the middle ground, I grabbed a pink package labeled Extra Plus and headed for home.

It wasn't until much later that evening after I had peeled and stuck said product that I noticed something strange. Said product was huge. Said product was like wearing an oven mitt.

Only then did I read the package more carefully. I had bought 16 Poise brand bladder protection pads.

The whole episode got me thinking about women and incontinence.

If the truth be told, I've always had a wee bit of a problem. My first inkling that this might be an issue goes back to Grade 1, a big puddle and my teacher Ms. Cormack shaking her head and saying "Tsk, tsk."

A few weeks after my eldest daughter was born, I remember complaining to the OB/GYN that I was having a speck of trouble with "holding it". "You'll never have the same bladder control you had before children," she informed me. When I recounted the discussion to my husband his response was, "You're in big trouble now."

Despite the fact that urinary incontinence is a common problem among middle aged women, things did seem to improve. Until recently.

One weekend I watched my youngest daughter jump rope. Remembering the fun I used to have skipping, I decided to show her a thing or two. Taking the rope and telling my daughter to "Count for mommy" I went into a mad frenzy of red hot pepper. I got all the way up to two before I realized that each time I jumped, I leaked.

I don't think I'm ready for my Poise pads just yet. I don't think I look like the silver haired, smiling woman in the commercials who sails across the dance floor on the arm of a distinguished gentleman, confident and "poised".

But I am thinking of writing the Poise people's marketing department to suggest they change their commercials. Instead of the smiling dancers, how about a slightly frazzled 40-something woman jumping rope with her legs crossed.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - Never Say Never But I'm Never Doing That (Maybe)

I was born on the cusp of Libra and Scorpio. And while I don't particularly follow the zodiac, I do like the image of the willful and dramatic scorpion superimposed on the balanced, see both sides of the coin, Libran.

Except this week. This week the mix of the drama and balance is giving me pause.

It all started on Saturday when I read the Style section in The Globe and Mail.

It seems Jeanne Beker, she of FT t.v. fame, has had some cosmetic enhancements. She has been injected with Sculptra, a synthetic polymer that is touted to make our skin firmer and improve the appearance of lines and the gaunt look that often accompanies aging. Go Jeanne.

The last two pages of the Style section were then devoted to an "information supplement", comprised of glowing testimonials, depressing "before" and successful "after" shots, and headlines that extolled the virtues of quick treatments, immediate results and short recovery periods.

So why does all this have my knickers in a knot? Because my gut reaction (it's the Scorpio in me) is to scream, "Nooooo".

Why are women doing this? Why do we feel compelled to spend literally thousands of dollars each year for this? Why aren't there any men in the advertisement - ooops, I mean "information supplement"? Why are the lines and sags and droops that come with age so bad? Why, why, why?

But then, my inner Libran kicks in. Why not? I colour my hair, wear make up, enjoy the occasional pedicure.

Who am I to judge someone if this is important to them? What if their appearance is their stock in trade, as in Ms. Beker's case?

I keep remembering an incident a couple of years ago. I was volunteering at our local hospital and chatting with a patient, a woman in her 60's, about women and cosmetic surgery. I was 41 or 42 at the time, still plumped and not too lined. I went on and on about how awful it was for women to do this and why can't we just appreciate who we are and embrace our ageing selves, blah, blah, blah.

She let me go on for some time and when I finally came up for air, she replied in a surprisingly calm voice, "You know, having my face lift two years ago was one of the best things I've ever done."

It took me a long time to remove the shoe leather from my mouth. And I haven't come up with an answer that sits well with me yet. If only I had been born in the spring.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - Giving The Old Heave Ho To My Inner Nice Girl

I envy the mean girls, the tough girls, the girls who smoked in the washroom, who weren't afraid to elbow other players in the chest during field hockey games, who could seamlessly lie to their parents about where they really were on Friday night.

I suspect these girls have grown into women who buck the trend, rise up the corporate ladder and march to their own drummer.

I was never one of these girls. No, I was a nice girl. The "go-to" girl if you needed someone to help you out, pump you up and cheer you on.

And quite frankly, the persona served me well.

Early on in my career, people liked having me around. I was reliable. Dependable. Malleable.

I was always a great side-kick for my more diva-esqe friends. I played Betty to their Veronica. It worked.

But something changed when I turned 40. Along with all the superficial hoop-la that accompanies that milestone, I remember telling myself that my new mantra would be "I'm 40 years old, dang it, and I'm old enough to do what I want."

Translation: I would no longer be so nice, so all-pleasing. I would speak my mind and do as I pleased.

At first it didn't work. Try as I might, my inner nice girl had a strangle hold on me. I kept smiling too much. I kept hearing myself say, "I can help with that."

But slowly, very slowly, things are changing. And not because of any effort on my part. It's like a chemical change is going on in my brain and I just don't care as much what people think. (Nor can I remember as much what people say and I suspect that might have something to do with things.)

I spend less time on looking good and looking in mirrors. I speak my mind and have no problems saying no if I don't want to do something. And, with a devil-may-care attitude, I'm starting to do what I want. (Much to my husband's dismay.)

If this trend continues, I'm on my way to becoming a cranky, old b. . . woman. (Okay, okay. I said things were changing slowly.)

The Best Kept Secret Blog - Grey Hair In The Nether Regions

This morning I discovered my first grey hair - you know, down there.

I have to tell you that despite the hundreds of dollars I spend each year colouring the hair on my head, I have never given a minute of thought to hair in, you know, other places. I guess I kind of assumed that it would never change.

My first inclination was to pull it out but then I recoiled when I remembered the old wives tale that three will grow in its place. What if that's true?

I'm wondering about dying it but it's always a slippery slope. What about roots? How do you grow it out if you decide to go au natural?

Maybe a Brazilian is the answer but all I can think of is Steve Carell's character in the movie The 40 Year Old Virgin when he's getting his chest hair removed. Not pretty.

It does appear to be just one grey hair. Maybe I've been worrying about things too much lately and I've brought this on myself. Perhaps relaxation and stress management are the best remedies.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - Gay Men and Mid-Life Women - Two Peas In A Pod

I recently enjoyed a smart little cocktail with a dear friend of mine, R. who happens to be a gay man in his early 50's.

As we caught up on each other's news, I told him that I was about to launch an on-line resource for Toronto women over 40.

"You know," he told me, "I've got some great friends who are women around that age. We relate to each other so well."

"Really," I wondered. "How so?"

"Because of the sex," he replied.

I was getting a little confused at this point. I wasn't quite sure if I had had too many smart little cocktails or if cutting those Grade 8 health classes was finally catching up with me.

Reading my confusion, R. continued.

"From what my friends tell me, by the time a woman reaches this point in her life, she enjoys sex for what it is. Not as a way of attracting a man or of keeping a man or of getting something from a man. When a middle-aged woman has sex, it's because she wants to have it. Period. And, because she isn't exhausted from caring for small children all day like when she was younger, she wants it."

While I know it doesn't apply to every woman, I have to say that a lot rings true about R.'s theory. Think about it the next time you're enjoying your cocktail.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - The Awakening - Midlife Re-Invention

A few years ago, my friend T. asked me if I had experienced "The Awakening".

I didn't have a clue what she was talking about and immediately wondered if she had fallen prey to some weird, cult groupies. She did live in Vancouver after all.

"No, no" she insisted. "You'll go through it. It's what happens to women when our children are older, our bodies move towards menopause and we wonder what to do with the rest of our lives."

Being a late-in-life mother, my children were still young at the time and I dismissed the whole idea. But in the last few years, I think I'm beginning to understand what she was talking about.

T. calls it "The Awakening". Books and the media refer to "mid-life reinvention". Some women ask "Now what?". And one friend describes laying awake in bed at night, a sense of panic flooding through her, as she tries to figure out what to do with the rest of her life.

At first I thought it had something to do with our children growing older. After years of trying to get pregnant, then having children, then more Raffi songs than I care to remember, it's only recently with my youngest starting school full time that I've been able to come up for air.

But I'm hearing the same refrain from women who don't have children.

Is it due to the hormonal changes women experience at this stage? Maybe.

I am keenly aware that we have to be pretty high up on Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs before we can give this much thought, let alone do something about it. Maybe it's a cultural thing.

Regardless of the source, it appears to be a common thread among mid-life women.

And how do women deal with "The Awakening"? From what I'm seeing, it's all over the map.

Some friends have made life-altering moves like leaving unhappy marriages. I know others who stayed but had affairs.

Many have taken practical steps like changing jobs or quitting altogether to enjoy a well-earned break. And then there are the women who take on new challenges like running a marathon.

And some find their outlet on a smaller scale. T., for instance, took up belly dancing.

Personally, I'm enjoying this state of change and restlessness. I like the sense of new adventures just ahead. Some of my friends aren't doing well while others are doing things they never dreamed possible.

It will be interesting to see the outcomes of this tugging to do something else, something more, this awakening. I plan to be there to support my friends in their quest, just as I've had support in mine. Maybe we should start a cult.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - Back To Work

When my eldest was born, I cut back on my training and consulting business to spend more time with her. When number two (a.k.a. "The Destroyer") came home, I decided to take a complete, albeit temporary, break.

So when I got the itch to re-enter the paid workforce, I found myself in the same boat as many other mid-life women who are trying to get their foot back in the corporate door.

While many of you likely sailed into plumb positions that fit snugly with your lifestyle, my re-entry has been choppy, more like paddling upstream in a leaky row boat.

A few examples . . . .

January 2005
While off work, get caught up in a knitting craze. Have idea to start craft business. Buy lots and lots of supplies, assuring husband I'll re-coup expenses once things start to sell. Decide to make and sell scarves since they are the only things that take less than a year to knit. Do two craft shows over the course of three months, sell five scarves and calculate my wages to be .49 cents per hour. Craft business is closed.

June 2005
Update resume. Debate whether printing it on special paper with happy face border will divert attention from the BIG GAP during which time I was home with children. Decide to go with functional style resume and highlight skills gained while home. Volunteer lice lady position is rejigged to read "dedicated problem solver".

December 2005
Get interview for perfect job. Interview with hip, young owners of hip, young start-up to be held in Starbucks on Yonge Street. Immediately focus on what to wear. Wore navy suit, beige hose and minimal jewelry to last interview. It was 1992. May not be allowed in Starbucks in said outfit. Go with ubiquitous black pants and clean shirt.

January 2006
Receive rejection letter in e-mail. Go into deep depression. Figuring no-one will ever hire me for rest of my life, attempt to come to terms with being a stay-at-home mom for indeterminate period of time. Vaguely wonder if children will mind me walking them to school when they're in university.

February 2007
Working on web-site to inform and inspire women over 40. Hold focus group session. See February 15th posting.

March 2007
Logo and business cards ready for pick-up. After years of conditioning to save money for the household by buying in bulk, can't resist deal printer gives me for 10,000 cards. Ever resourceful husband comments we can always use them for kindling.

June 2007
The Best Kept Secret is open for business. Weigh pros and cons of re-entry journey. Cons: Currently earning less than .49 cents per hour. (Okay, I'm kidding.) Pros: Have a job that I love.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - Lucy, you got some 'splaining to do!

If curiosity killed the cat, it's put me in the doghouse. You see I accidentally joined LavalifePRIME, an on-line dating service for people over 45.

This would be a good thing if I was single. Problem is, I'm happily married and now I'm getting e-mails from people with names like Dr. Love who type subject lines that read "Do you want some candy?"

Lucy, you got some 'splaining to do!

Okay, the first question you're asking is "Why were you on Lavalife in the first place?" Good question. I was there doing research for my web-site The Best Kept Secret. It's something our set would be curious about so I decided to check it out.

"Why on earth did you join? Couldn't you just look at it?"

Well, that's what I was doing - just looking. And that's when I saw a picture of a friend of mine. And I wanted to say hi. Sort of the cyber equivalent of seeing an acquaintance across the room at a crowded party.

So, I decided to e-mail V. And here's where things began to get complicated. It seems you can't e-mail anyone until you join.

Hmmm. What harm could that do? "It's free", I reckoned. "I'll just e-mail V. and get right out of here."

Well, it seems joining an on-line dating service is a tad more involved than giving my name and postal code.

First, I had to come up with an on-line nickname. I wanted something that wouldn't call a lot of attention to myself. I thought about my childhood nickname - "cross-eyed, pigeon toed". Yes, that would do nicely.

There were the expected questions about when I was born, what city I lived in, what kind of a body type I had. (Pear shaped wasn't on the list, by the way.)

Then I had to provide some kind of a headline. To help me along, the sign up screen encouraged me to tell other members something interesting that happened to me that day. Well, they were catching me on a particularly bad day. The best I could come up with was "Removed hair clog from bathtub."

Now I was in. I quickly e-mailed V. ("Hi. It's me. Is that you? Well, bye.") and logged off for the night. In the interest of full-disclosure, I told my husband about my escapade (he just shook his head) and I thought that was that.

But it wasn't. The next day I got e-mail from Lavalife. Thinking it was V., I was surprised to find the missive from Dr. Love. The next day, I got one from Boomer Boy. Surprisingly, there are people out there who find hair clog removing women named Cross-Eyed, Pigeon Toed appealing.

My husband, however, did not find any of this appealing. By now his reaction was moving beyond head shaking and on to finger-wagging. It was time to delete my account.

So ends my adventures with Lavalife. I just don't know how to break it to Dr. Love.