The Best Kept Secret Blog - Tell Me About Your Failures

"Take those things out of your ears and tell me your biggest failure right this minute young lady!"

That's me, parent extraordinaire, attempting a deep bonding moment with my pre-teen daughter.

I was just following the expert's advice. That expert is Carol Dweck, a Stanford University professor and author of the book, Mindset: The New Psychology of Success.

In it, she makes the case that intelligence is not a fixed trait. Rather, it's something that can be developed through effort and education and that we, as parents, can foster this by, among other things, sitting around the dinner table and talking about mistakes and what has been learned from them.

Typical of my generation, I've always been an involved parent but, with the teen years looming, I'm beginning to see that I'm starting a whole new ball game. So when someone, no less a learned expert, offers me a little coaching, you can be sure that I'm going to step up to the plate.

So there we were, me, my husband and the two kids, driving along in the mini-van last Sunday afternoon on the way to a family dinner. They were trapped. A perfect opportunity to show I cared about their success.

"So kids, Mom has a question. Tell me about your biggest failures."

Silence.

I swiveled around to see that they were both listening to their iPods and hadn't heard a word I said.

I motioned for them to remove the ear buds and I repeated my request.

My eldest daughter threw me one of those incredulous looks that teenagers do so well and informed me that if I was going to keep asking lame questions like that she was going to stay connected to her iPod for the rest of her life.

Now I love my daughter and I wasn't prepared to give up so easily. Thinking quickly, I tried another tact.

"How about I start. I'll tell you a recent failure of mine."

"This could take a while," quipped my husband.

Reminding him that it was his turn next, I continued.

"Mom has a book club meeting tomorrow night and I'm on page seven of a 900 page book. I think it's safe to assume that I've failed at finishing this book. Now, how should I handle this?"

They began to get interested. Thinking for a moment, my youngest leaned forward and in her most serious voice directed me to, "Lie mommy."

The older and wiser one was more crafty. "Don't say anything unless you're asked. And if they do ask you something, just nod your head and say, 'It didn't resonate with me' They'll never know."

Momentarily distracted by their deceitful yet excellent suggestions, it took me a few minutes to realize that my bonding and life-skill training moment had morphed into a discussion on how best to trick The Happy Bookers. (By the way, if anyone from my book club is reading this, I did finish the book, really, it just didn't resonate with me.)

I was brought back to the present moment by the sound of my family competing with each other to come up with the best tale of Mom's failures.

"Remember the time she left the dog tied up to the fence at the school all morning because she forgot she had walked her that day?"

"Remember the time Mom asked her hairdresser for "a little change" and came home with bright orange hair?"

"Remember the time Mom was going to start a craft business but after three months had only produced three scarves and the sleeve of a sweater?"

As the peels of laughter rang through the car, I said a silent thank you to Dr. Dweck. Her technique didn't work exactly as I had envisioned it but we were, nevertheless having a bonding moment.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - Holy Hormones Batman

I think I scared them.

No, I take that back - I know I scared them.

And who can blame them really.

When their typically mild-mannered mother who's frequently referred to as a latter day Mary Tyler Moore (pre-surgery, circa Mary Richards) suddenly wings out on them to such an extent that they feel they're staring into the gaping maw of the She-Devil herself, of course they'd be scared.

Their crime? They asked me how long I'd be on the computer. How dare they. How dare they! Don't they know that I've got things to do too? Do they think they own the darn thing?

Oops, sorry. There I go again. I'm afraid that lately I've been a little (sigh) emotional.

I think it's the hormones. Can you say perimenopause?

I don't want to believe it's so. I have never been one of "those women" who blame life's ups and downs on her reproductive cycle. I never missed gym class because I had "the curse".

For that matter, I never referred to my period as "the curse". Or "Aunt Flow" (who thought of that one?), "my friend", "that time of the month" or "riding the cotton pony".

As I've gotten older, I've made it a point to channel my friend Barb, an ex-pat Brit who, at a recent gathering of us 40- and 50-something gals, tossed back her gin and tonic and bluntly stated, "I don't discuss menopause. I'm British." Here, here.

But here's the thing. I'm starting to act like a lunatic. One minute, our home will be a Norman Rockwell scene come to life. Then, one of "them" - husband, daughter, dog - makes a slight misstep. "Gee honey, how be we order Chinese instead of Thai tonight ?" The rage takes hold and what comes next can best be described as a 5'6" Incredible Hulk who prefers black turtlenecks and strappy heels.

But it gets worse.

I'm hungry all the time.

At first, I thought it might have something to do with exercise. Still plugging away at recent New Year's resolutions, I dug out my 20 year-old copy of Buns of Steel and started feeling the burn. Surely my ravenous state had something to do with all the squeezing I'd been doing.

I was feeling rather proud in fact when I mentioned to my husband that I was starving all the time. Assuming he would look lasciviously at my derriere, he instead queried, "Is it that perimenopause thingy?"

Gasp! He's right. I'm changing fruit and my pear is being traded in for an apple!

I feel for my husband. Between me and my pre-pubescent daughter, our house is fast becoming a toxic stew of hormones galore. This is the time in a man's life when he retreats to the garage and takes up woodworking, pronto.

Actually, I have to admit it's handy to have him around when I'm having one of my little "episodes". When I find him staring at me with that deer-in-the-headlights look that had previously been reserved for questions like, "Does this make me look fat?" and "How do you like my hair?", I know I've probably stepped over the line.

The scary thing is, this is just the beginning. I've got ages to go until I arrive at the other side - a confident, strong fifty-something woman who, though she carries her weight around her middle, runs marathons, holds office and has stopped yelling at her kids. Oh, and is the proud owner of a dozen or more hand-carved ducks. (Did I mention my husband's new hobby?)

I suppose I should accept it. Such is life and there's not much I can do to change things. Watch out kids, mommy wants to check her e-mail.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - Can't We All Just Get Along? When Women Are Mean.

Someone should be yelling, "Fight, fight!" They're beating up on Charla Krupp.

Charla Krupp is the author of the recently released book, How Not To Look Old.

Here is a comment that was left on The Rage Diaries blog , referring to a Today Show video of Charla Krupp discussing her book.

"The utter shallowness of it is inexcusable. And since she started it (heh), I'm not caring for her bleached teeth, overly styled hair, and Marcia Brady dress in that clip. I don't think she looks particularly "with it" or professional."

Meow.

Now, while I'd be willing to bet that the majority of us would agree that looks aren't everything, come on - I know you're just a tad curious about what Charla has to say.

In fact, a recent DefineYourself.ca poll of over 5,000 Canadian midlife women found that on the beauty front, women often say one thing - the party line - but quietly do something else.

So, a typical woman might say she does what she can when she has the time but secretly, she aspires to maintain a certain image. While she might say she wears makeup but not all the time, wearing makeup is really the norm and going au naturel is the exception.

Unfortunately, it's the nastiness of comments like these and the emotions that accompany them that makes our generation lie about what they do. For some women, "maintenance" has become their dirty little secret. Only their hairdresser and Botox practitioner know for sure.

It seems as if, on the one hand, we have the militant naturalists ("You shall go grey!") and on the other hand, we have the closet beauty junkies ("Just give me half a dose. I don't want to look like I've had something 'done.'")

I learned the hard way to keep my mouth shut.

Over a glass of wine at a fund raising event, I got chatting with a 50-something woman whom I had just met. For some reason, we got on to the topic of famous actresses who had had "work" done.

Buoyed by the Merlot, I was feeling rather chummy and conspiratorial as I told my new friend that I didn't think it was right for women to have plastic surgery. In my early 40s at the time, I truly believed that a slick of lipstick and well coiffed hair was enough to do any woman proud.

My acquaintance let me drone on for some time until she eventually responded by informing me, "I had my first surgery three years ago and it was the best thing I've ever done."

Oops.

The hostility is sometimes palpable and I can't help but be reminded of the "Mommy Wars" from the days when my children were younger.

Go out and work? What kind of a mother are you?

Stay home and play? What kind of a low-life, big butt soccer mom are you?

Working part time, I was in the middle and most days felt like I failed miserably on both fronts.

"Can't stay late and have drinks with the team - I have to pick up little Johnny." "What? Store bought cookies aren't okay for the bake sale? But I don't have time to whip up 40 pies."

But I had an epiphany one day as I was making falafel for my youngest daughter's Foods of the World Grade Two project.

As I finished frying up 150 falafel that started out as a $2.99 box of mix at the grocery store (No, please don't make me grind my own chick peas), I realized how pleased I was that a) I hadn't set the kitchen on fire and that b) my finished product, though hard as hockey pucks, at least vaguely resembled the real thing.

And while I realized that there would be those who might diss me for not using garbanzo beans imported from Jerusalem, it was okay because I was doing my best.

Whether or not you agree with what Charla Krupp espouses in her book is a personal choice. But have some compassion for those on either side of the debate. After all, they're just trying to do their best.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - The Two Sides of Midlife

This stage reminds me of an old Saturday Night Live sketch I once saw with Dan Akroyd and Gilda Radner as a husband and wife in heated debate. “New Shimmer is a floor wax!” she cries. “It’s a dessert topping” he argues.

Just when it looks like things might come to blows, in walks “announcer”, Chevy Chase. “Hey, hey, calm down you two. New Shimmer is both.”

Midlife is a lot like New Shimmer.

On one hand, we're exhorted to celebrate this stage - we're fit, fantastic and forty!

On the other hand, we start to realize that we're not in Kansas anymore Toto.

This Christmas, I felt like coming up with my own rendition of The 12 Days of Christmas. One friend who's dying. Four who are divorced and trying. Three with husbands out of work. And a partridge in a pear tree.

Dang, things get nasty at this stage.

Marketers either gloss over or offer us solutions to the angst us midlifers experience. 50 is the new 40. Not looking as young as you once did? No problem - have we got the product for you! And there's even the lingo to make us feel good about getting old. No one wears bi-focals anymore - we wear progressives. It sounds so good - who doesn't want to be progressive?

Now, personally, I have no problem with people tweaking and trying in order to feel good about themselves. It's not for me to judge what someone needs to do in order to get through the day.

But, at the end of that day, we'll still have wrinkles somewhere on our bodies, we'll still have parents who will soon see the end of their days and we'll still know loved ones with sad, sad stories. Perhaps those stories will be our own.

Just as the work of our 20s and 30s was about accomplishments with career and family, we need to understand the work of our 40s and 50s.

Maybe I''m still in Kansas but I like to believe that the insight and compassion we'll need to care for a dying loved one, the humility and empathy we'll gain when we lose a job, or the confidence and devil-may-care attitude we'll need to cultivate to hold our grey and wrinkled heads high when we walk into a room will be the reward for our work.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - Friends of Divorced People (Two)

I was peeling potatoes the day we became a statistic.

Up until then, my husband and I were certain we and our friends had beaten the odds. One in three marriages end in divorce? Pshaww…. Maybe that happens elsewhere but we hadn’t experienced it amongst our circle of friends. In fact, with all of us firmly ensconced in our 40s and still as married as ever, we thought we were set for life.

All that ended one September day when the phone rang while I was making dinner and I picked it up to hear my friend H. say she had “some news”. She and her husband were separating.

When I think back, it’s almost as if H.’s announcement marked the opening of the floodgates. Since that day, we’ve received similar announcements from four other couples we know. It’s beginning to feel like an epidemic.

I suppose it shouldn’t come as a surprise. Call it midlife crisis, empty nest syndrome or Rodney the milkman, there’s something that comes with midlife that makes us restless and vulnerable. Add to that the dawning realization that life is half over and it’s make it or break it time for our lifelong dreams and you’ve got all the ingredients for marital trauma.

Without a doubt, the primary victim of divorce is the family at the heart of it. But from there, the loss ripples out to extended family and friends as well. As friends of the divorcing couple, we go through our own version of the stages of loss and grief.

Denial – “Is this another fight about the Visa bill? For goodness sakes, take the shoes back and promise you won’t go shopping for a couple of months.”

Anger – “What about us? Who are we going to spend New Year’s Eve with now?!”

Bargaining- “If I take kids the first Saturday of each month so the two of you can have a date night, will you at least try to work things out?”

Depression – “Why bother re-registering for Yoga class? You’re divorced now and I’m married and it will never be the same.”

Acceptance – “Come over for a couple of glasses of wine and I’ll help you write your LavaLife profile.”

This final stage – acceptance is key. Fortunately, the couples I know who have navigated divorce have, for the most part, gotten themselves on solid footings once again.

Watching their new lives take root and develop, I’ve come to accept that divorce is sometimes a necessary step on the road to self-discovery. In fact, the only lingering issue I still grapple with from that September day when H. called me with her news is that I still get a little misty eyed whenever I serve home fries.

The Best Kept Secret Blog - The Self-Improvement Plan

January 1 – Drink glass of red wine each day. (Step one of self-improvement plan) Am on the road to new and improved self. Celebrate by having second glass of red wine.

January 2 - Begin vitamin regimen. (Step two in self-improvement plan.)

Omega 3 for glowing skin and wrinkle reduction, calcium to strengthen bones and stave off osteoporosis, B12 to reduce perimenopausal moodiness, vitamin C to improve immune system. Slight problem with size of calcium pills (size of large walnut and likely to cause immediate choking death). Opt for chewable chocolate flavoured candies.

January 3 - Adjust vitamin regimen. End up not eating all day to accommodate vitamins that need to be taken on empty stomach. Eat large bag of salt and vinegar potato chips just before bedtime to accommodate vitamins that require full stomach.

January 4 - While busy reading instructions for new pedometer (Step three in self-improvement plan), seven-year-old daughter mistakes calcium chewable's for candy and consumes twenty-three in one sitting.

January 10 - Though not complaining, husband is beginning to wonder why the insistence on having sex every night. (Step four in self-improvement plan.) Has "Ah hah" moment when Visa bill arrives and mistakenly believes sex demands are vain attempt to distract him from noticing $300 expenditure for designer purse.

January 11 - Decide to increase daily red wine intake in attempt to accelerate benefits of self-improvement program.

January 12 - Continue to fall asleep during daily meditation (step five in self-improvement plan). Decide boring mantra ("I am well") will be replaced with phrase that resonates more strongly ("George Clooney").

January 17 - While putting recycling out, converse with elderly neighbour in an attempt to reach out to those less fortunate (step six in self-improvement plan). Noting large quantity of red wine bottles in blue box, elderly neighbour casts pitying look and quickly hurries inside.

January 20 - After much thought, settle upon yoga as physical activity of choice (step seven in self-improvement plan). Purchase beautiful yoga apparel only to realize what a crime it would be to ruin lovely new clothes by possible sweat that may be worked up during actual yoga class. Decide to put on new clothes, open bottle of red wine and think about less sweaty exercise options.

January 25 - Husband's snoring ruining sound sleep regimen (step eight in self-improvement plan).

January 31 - Take stock after completing first month of self-improvement plan. Net gains: Five pounds, $250 worth of yoga wear, reputation among elderly neighbours as a lush and one child with exceptionally strong bones and teeth. Open bottle of red wine while begin planning February's steps.