The Best Kept Secret Blog - You Say Breast Augmentation, I Say Krab

While flipping through a women's fashion magazine recently, an article on microdermabrasion caught my eye. This procedure to remove the dead, outer surface of the skin has become quite popular of late and apparently you can spend anywhere from $20 at the drugstore to over $600 at the spa to have it done.

Now, I'm the first to admit that I don't know all the ins and outs of the latest cosmetic procedures but it seems to me that this particular one has been around the block once or twice already. When I was younger, we used baking soda and called it a scrub.

The whole thing kind of got my ire up. It seems to me that all sorts of things are being renamed, repackaged and re-presented to us women at twice the cost.

Not unlike the "theatre of war" and "friendly fire" rhetoric from the Gulf War, these new phrases are resulting in us being hoodwinked.

Here are some more examples. . . .

You Say Spanx, I Say Girdle

For those you who haven't encountered them, Spanx Shapewear, when worn under your clothes, promise to slim and to smooth.

For those of you who have encountered them, wiggling into one of these puppies is enough to put a sweat on your brow and make your mother's Playtex seem like maternity clothes by comparison.

You Say Cosmeceuticals, I Say Lunch
Cosmeceuticals are moisturizers and creams that are purported to have drug-like benefits. The secret ingredients in these lotions include vitamins, herbs, and various botanical extracts including green tea, soy, pomegranate and dates.

Now I'm confused. Do I apply it to my skin or eat it?

You Say Anti-Age, I Say Pro-Youth
I have no problem with women wanting to look their best at every stage of their life but do we have to call it "anti-aging"?

The very term implies we only appreciate all things young. Enough said.

You Say Breast Augmentation, I Say Krab
The last word goes to a friend of mine, a divorced man in his mid 40's. When I asked him what his thoughts were on cosmetic enhancement, he immediately thought I was referring to breast implants. Go figure.

That aside, he used a restaurant analogy in his response. It seems to him that a woman who has her breasts enlarged so as you'd notice, is basically saying that she is a volume business (no pun intended); an 'all you can eat' buffet, rather than fine dining.

He admits that many men have gone through a time in their lives when 'all you can eat' was the way to go. Its great at first, but after a while you notice that you are getting 'Krab', instead of crab, and you wake up the morning after gravy-stained and feeling horrible.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - Our Beautiful Daughters

I remember a day a couple of years ago when I was out and about in a trendy downtown Toronto shopping district.

I happened to notice two mothers with their teenage daughters. All four were beautiful - the girls in that impossibly gorgeous way that teenagers have and the mothers in that toned, I go to the gym and get my hair done twice a month sort of way. The mothers were dressed, more or less, like their daughters in expensive jeans, great shoes and floaty tops.

In addition to their striking good looks, the behaviour of the group gave me pause. They were looking at the offerings of a street vendor selling jewelry. Two in the group were surveying the bounty with a keen and discriminating eye. The mothers, on the other hand, were exclaiming wildly over the wares, trying everything on and making a giddy scene.

At the time, I remember tsk, tsking and saying to myself, "Why can't these moms grow up? They're beautiful in their own right but they aren't teenagers anymore. It's time to let their daughters shine."

I'm reminded of that episode as I watch my own pre-teen daughter morph into a beautiful young woman. Tall for her age, she's suddenly wearing my clothes and shoes and I'm struck by how much better she looks in them than I do.

And here's where I'm going to fess up. As proud and pleased as I am, I also have moments where I feel a little pang of something. Jealousy? Competition? Or grief over what I no longer am.

I'm going to wager that I'm not the only woman who goes through this. One friend commented recently on how beautiful teenage girls are. She pondered why they're so much better looking these days than we were when we were teens.

Another friend confessed that she's amazed by how well endowed young women are in the bosom department. With one or two possible exceptions, she says she doesn't remember any of her classmates filling out their sweaters quite the same way young women do these days. (At least not without the aid of some strategically placed toilet paper.)

I wasn't exactly a raving beauty when I was younger but I didn't break any mirrors either. And if I have to be completely honest, I anticipate I'm going to have some personal challenges over the next few years as I come to terms with this.

As my daughter discovers makeup and mine just sinks into the wrinkles around my eyes, it'll be tough. As she grows into my clothes and I grow out of them, I might be jealous. And as she gets her period and I say good-bye to mine, it will be bittersweet.

Fortunately, I love my children more than anything else and take pride in who they are - accomplishments and appearance. This will probably get me through the worst of it.

Secondly, I'm really learning that one of the tricks for handling the physical changes that come with middle-age is to avoid mirrors.

And finally, ever the Pollyanna, I figure it's time to look ahead to what good things come from this stage of life. You know, things like insight and energy and humour and a sense of purpose.

As my beautiful pre-teen likes to say, "When life gives you lemons, make lemon-aid". I think I'll have a glass while I sit back and watch her shine.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - Women Drivers

My husband isn't perfect but he does get some things right.

One thing he is particularly adept at is "managing" me while we're driving. You see, I'm a bad driver. And I'm a pretty bad passenger too.

When it's my turn to drive, I drive too slowly, follow too closely and refuse to venture into the oncoming traffic lane in order pass another vehicle. (I hate to tell you how many miles I've logged behind slow moving farm vehicles but hey, one's got to avoid those head on collisions at all costs.)

When I'm in the passenger seat, it's worse.

In the early days of our marriage, if I thought my husband was driving too fast I would tell him to slow down. But, not wanting to sound like a nag, I developed a technique where I half wave - half point my hand in the direction of the car in front of us whenever I want to signal to my husband that I think he should be careful.

I really can't say whether or not I do this a lot but, coincidentally, I have been treated for repetitive strain injury in the waving wrist.

I got thinking about women drivers during our recent family road trip. Most of the women I know generally fall into two camps.

The first are the bad drivers who, like me, openly acknowledge their foibles. The second are the bad drivers who, unlike me, think they're good drivers.

There's my friend R. who can't seem to park her car in an underground lot without scraping it against those concrete block support columns. Despite having done this several times, R. thinks her driving is impeccable. She does, however, have a lot to say about how poorly parking lots are constructed.

My friend A. drives like a demon throughout the city. Apparently speed counts in getting to the grocery store, little old men with canes at a cross walks be darned.

N. has never quite mastered parking her mini-van. Better to walk half a mile from the far and empty end of the parking lot than try to fit between a Beamer and an SUV.

I got a really useful tip from Y. who passed on this nugget. When your husband drives, only look out the side window, never the front. You'll get to enjoy more scenery and since you never know what's coming, you're less likely to nag (or in my case, wave).

And while we're talking tips, H., who's always running late, saves time by applying her make up in the car while she's driving. On the 401.

By the way, have you ever noticed that you never get a red light when you need to put on your lipstick? Try this, it works.

My husband takes it all in stride. He long ago gave up trying to coach me on how to be a better driver. And when I try to tell him how to drive, he gives me a knowing nod and then ignores me. It makes me feel like I've been listened to and it makes him feel like he's handling the wacko in the passenger seat.

I appreciate my husband's car ride demeanour and I hope he never takes to nagging me. You could help by acknowledging his patience. The next time you see us out on the highway doing 10km behind a tractor, give us a little wave of your own.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - I Won't Grow Out Of It

3 whales, 2 light houses and 13 rounds of my children singing, "This Land Is My Land".

Those are the sites and sounds that I slept through during our family road trip across Newfoundland this week.

It wasn't boredom or lack of interest that caused me to miss so much. Rather, it was being zonked out on the Gravol I take to battle car sickness.

This isn't the first time my affliction has caused me to doze through a trip.

My husband tells the story of our honeymoon in Scotland. After shelling out big bucks for a tour of the lochs, he and our driver had a lovely time while I, medicated for motion sickness, snored in the back seat.

I have suffered from car sickness since I was a child. And despite being assured, "You'll grow out of it", I never have.

In fact, there are many things I've never grown out of. An acquaintance once told me, "People become more of themselves as they get older" and I'm beginning to see what he means.

In addition to my disposition to nausea on winding roads, there are interests and skills that I acquired when I was younger that I never grew out of.

At times, I've rebelled against these traits. (I love clothes but honestly, how many pairs of black pants does a girl really need?)

When I was younger, I didn't appreciate how my inner abilities (or lack thereof) could be a guide. (I won't even begin to go into the details of how, despite a seemingly genetic inability to bake cookies, I volunteered to supply 40 dozen for a school fundraiser.)

In fact, when I was younger, I honestly thought I could do anything. I said "Yes" to many things I shouldn't have and stressed over how I was going to get things done.

But I'm beginning to realize that one of the pearls of middle-age is that we finally come to understand ourselves. What we're good at and what we should just step away from. And instead of wasting time on things that aren't right for us, we focus on what we really want.

So, excuse me while I pop a Gravol. I'm getting in the car and heading off to find the nearest mall.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - The Biker Chicks

The summer I was 17 was one of the best of my life.

I had my first job, my first car and my first serious boyfriend. And that boyfriend had a motorcycle.

We would spend long, summer days riding around with his pals and their girlfriends.

I never really fit the biker chick mold. I opted for pretty outfits over practical leathers. I drank Diet Coke while they chugged beer. But I did love riding on the back of that bike.

So this past weekend, when our family arrived in St. John's, Newfoundland to begin our summer holiday, I was pleasantly surprised to see signs up welcoming the Harley Owner's Group or HOG's.

If the welcome signs and deep rumbles of the bikes weren't enough to announce their presence, the three women using the bathroom at the tourist centre on Signal Hill would have been.

There I was, lamely whacking empty soap dispensers in a vain attempt to wash my hands when in walked the biker chicks.

Imagine three women in head to toe leather. One wore a bandanna embossed with flames around her blond hair. The second sported a t-shirt with the phrase, "Live hard - die hard" stretched across her ample bosom. The third had a shock of fuchsia hair cascading down her back.

Despite their outfits, what really caused me stop and stare at these women was their age. If I was a betting woman, I'd wager there wasn't a single one under 50.

In fact, as I started to pay attention, I didn't see any HOG members who looked to be a day less than 45.

My first thought when I encountered these women was "How do they manage their bladders while riding on the back of a Harley?" (If you know anything about Harley's, you'll know what I mean.)

But my next thought was "You go girls."

Here were women having fun - age appropriateness be darned.

Beyond the leather and flames, these women probably had jobs, houses, maybe even grand-kids.

Maybe they had been rock and roll chicks when they were younger or maybe they were just aiding and abetting their husband's mid-life crises.

Whatever their reasons, they were doing what they enjoyed and looked to be having a blast!

So I learned a little lesson. The next time my kids tell me to stop singing around the house, the next time some fashion magazine tells me I'm too old for short skirts or the next time anyone tells me "You're too old for that", I'll remember the biker chicks.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - Midlife Men

When I was a teenager, I babysat for a family with four children. One night as the wife was driving me home, she gave me some advice I've never forgotten.

"The secret to making your husband happy is to cook for him and keep him satisfied in bed."

At the time I was shocked. After all, it was the 1970's. Women had been burning their bras for a couple of years and her advice wasn't sitting well with my inner feminist.

But as the years have gone by and I consider my experiences and those of my friends, I think she was on to something.

If men were pets, middle-aged men would be the easiest kind to keep - like goldfish.

In addition to sex and food, my friends and I have found a few additional tricks that work well when it comes to keeping your mid-life man happy.

1. Let him hold a remote - even if he's not watching t.v. For some reason, this seems to soothe them.
   
2. Use the La-Z-Boy Technique when you want things done.
   
   Let's say you want, oh I don't know, the entire first floor gutted and redone. Instead of asking him directly, start by telling him about the beautiful La-Z-Boy recliner you saw recently.
   
   Next, you build on that base. Mention that it's too bad that there's no big screen t.v. to go with the chair. Then slowly begin to describe your vision of the built in book shelves that would be perfect for the t.v. Casually mention that once the book shelves are done, you'll have to repaint.
   
   You get the picture - just keep building on the vision until you're booking the contractor.
   
   One caveat - never actually let him buy the La-Z-Boy. What would you do next time?
   
3. When you want a little down time, start talking about menopause.
   
   Here's a situation we all deal with from time to time. Occasionally, inexplicably, husbands will be in a chatty mood when we've just gotten the kids to bed, the dishes done and we're settling down to read our book.
   
   You could be direct and just tell him you don't feel like talking but this can cause strife. For some reason, they think it's okay to tune us out but not the other way around.
   
   So instead, you start talking about menopause. Your menopause, your friend's menopause - it doesn't matter. Guaranteed you'll be flipping pages in no time.
   
   One woman I know finds this technique to be so effective that she and her sister-in-laws use it at family gatherings to get the men doing the dishes.

I could go on and on - really. But, I'll sum it all up with this nugget. Be kind to your midlife man and he'll be kind to you.

The Best Kept Secret - I'm Worried About The Dog

I'm worried about the dog. She's an intelligent dog and I don't think we're giving her enough stimulation.

What does the dog have to do with me and my midlife? Too much, unfortunately.

The problem is that I worry too much about everyone else's needs - the dog's, the children's, my husband's, the hairdresser . . . For goodness sake I was worried about a gay couple I was introduced to at a wedding recently. For some reason I really wanted them to feel comfortable dancing the Macarana with the rest of us.

It wasn't always this way. Ahhh, the life I led when I was young and single - blowing my pay cheque on clothes and frequently dining on popcorn and wine, my favourite McSingle Woman's Happy Meal.

But as life went on and I was blessed with a household of my own, I somehow morphed into the hub that keeps this wheel turning.

I don't need to tell you what I mean. All of you can relate your own stories of bringing crayons and animal crackers to your annual physical because you had no one to babysit little Johnny and goodness knows you'd rather have him colouring in a three year old copy of Readers Digest than explain why the stirrups on Dr. Jones' examining table were not for horses.

Let's not even talk about how many hours you've spent agonizing over what you hope will be the perfect Christmas gift for your mother-in-law whose response when she opens it is, "Do you still have the receipt?"

Our generation of women, for the most part, puts other's needs ahead of our own. But there's one little wrinkle that rears it's ugly head at mid-life. We've had enough. We want to take back our lives and do something for us.

I suspect that this feeling had something to do with the women's movement in the 1960's and '70's. These women - our mothers - just couldn't take it anymore.

My own mother's awakening, while pretty tame (she started wearing pant suits and professed a crush on Pierre Trudeau to all who would listen) still spoke of her restlessness and the sense that she needed to do something for herself, the husband and children be darned.

So where does that leave me? A woman who would rather read than run errands? Who would rather work than worry about everyone getting their four food groups? Who would rather drink a glass of wine with friends than drive children to lessons?

Not being given to rocking the boat, I'll probably mix things up slowly. Just know however, when we next meet and I profess my love for Stephen Harper, that I am taking a stand.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - Marriage

This coming weekend marks something of a milestone for my husband and me. We’re going to a wedding and for the first time, neither the bride nor groom will be a peer, a cousin or a colleague. This time, the bride is the daughter of a friend.

Though he has taken to referring to her has Bridezilla, the bride’s father claims the preparations are going swimmingly. By his account, it will be a tasteful, albeit large affair with over 300 guests expected to attend.

All of this wedding fervour has gotten me thinking about weddings and marriage and I can’t help but feel somewhat miffed. How come the bride and groom get so much attention, praise and stuff just for showing up?

I’ll be there throwing rice with the best of them but what I’ll really be thinking is, “Do something first! Let’s see you get through some years of marriage and navigate some of life’s little storms. Earn your stripes!”

As my husband and I close in on our 20th anniversary this September, I’m reminded of some of the tough times we’ve come through since that day we said “I do”. It's these challenges, rather than snagging the best caterer, that have earned us our marital bragging rights over the years.

Some examples . . . .

2 Days Prior to Wedding
Bride-to-be freaks out over dawning realization that she will no longer be able to date other people.

Marriage – Year 1
Young wife decides it’s important to bond with husband and take an interest in his hobbies. Agrees to go on cross country ski trip. As young husband races through pristine, new fallen snow, young wife clumsily follows before accidentally falling into large hole. As husband continues up ahead, pontificating about great outdoors and blissfully unaware of wife’s accident, young wife is heard to utter, “#!*@ you honey” from upside down position in said hole.

Marriage – Year 2
Purchase first house described in real-estate listing as “handy-man’s special”. In an attempt to save money, couple decide to go do-it-yourself route. Spend many happy hours and many dollars at Home Depot (him) and B.B. Bargoons (her). Due to lack of time (him) and skill (her), materials go unused. Proper professionals are secured to the tune of many more dollars.

Marriage – Year 8
Receive joyous news that first baby is due in spring. Video camera to document pregnancy and fancy stop watch to time contractions are purchased to mark the occasion.

Nine months later finds wife on hands and knees in back seat of car enduring painful back labour en-route to hospital. As wife shouts “Here comes another contraction”, husband is heard to reply, “’Wait a minute. Start it again. I didn’t have the watch set.”

Wife makes mental note to strangle husband as soon as she can catch her breath.

Marriage – Year 13
Thoughts of intimacy are put on back burner as demands of children, job, and one goldfish take precedence.

Marriage – Year 15
Husband begins snoring. Wife develops a variety of coping techniques including attempting to fall asleep first, sleeping on couch, poking husband in ribs and finally waking husband up and yelling, “Stop snoring!!!”

Marriage –Y ear 17
Family needs new car. Wife has visions of self in sleek, new Volvo station wagon. Husband has visions of self hauling skill saw to cottage in Honda mini-van. Husband prevails and in one fell swoop, wife goes from sexy Yummy Mummy to practical soccer mom. Wife not happy.

Marriage – Year 19
In misguided attempt to save money, husband purchases dog clippers on sale at Canadian Tire and gives family dog a Mullet. In role as chief dog walker, wife endures amused stares of strangers, loud guffaws of neighbours and wrath of professional dog groomer who is hired to fix the situation.

Marriage – Year 20
Husband looks on with degree of suspicion at wife’s sense of renewal and excitement at mid-life. Husband is cautiously supportive with the caveat wife promises not to get tattooed or accept invitations to key parties.