My First Guest Post!
Menopause: Welcome to the Heated Years...Navigating Through "The Change"

I am thrilled to have a guest post on Be Prepared. Period. This is a wonderful website dedicated to the menstrual health of women and girls, covering everything from puberty to menopause.  Here's a sneak preview!

Menopause: Welcome to the Heated Years....

Navigating Through "The Change"

Each morning before leaving the house, I used to check the weather channel to find out if I should wear a coat.  But these days it truly doesn’t matter what the thermostat says….I won’t wear one anyway.

Why?

Because I am always hot.

The car thermostat could read 32 degrees and I’ll be turning the air conditioner full blast onto my sweltering face while my poor husband Bob, in the driver’s seat, quickly succumbs to hypothermia.

Yes, I have entered into the stage of life called ..... 

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"How is Your Girlfriend"

My daughter Melissa, 17, sits cross-legged on the living room floor, guitar in her lap, notebook in hand, music and lyrics pouring from her heart.

Born of love, anger, sorrow, and joy, the words provide a mirror into her soul...a brief glimpse into the life of a teen who tells her tales through song.

Her first foray into the world of music came in the 5th grade when she answered the call to join her elementary school band and dutifully learning to play the flute.  Two years later when my husband Bob dusted off his old guitar and placed it in her talented hands, she knew she had found her passion....and never looked back.

Guitar lessons followed, along with acceptance into her high school audition chorus and the prestigious All South Jersey Chorus made up of the best and brightest teens representing 10 counties in the state.

Today, as a high school junior, she has carved out her niche as a singer/song writer who uses life experiences to produce powerful tunes that truly resonate with young and old alike.

Some have likened her to Colbie Caillat, others have described her as the next Taylor Swift.  As her mother, I admit my bias, so I will let you decide for yourself. I invite you to listen to what will hopefully be the first of many professionally produced songs to come.

Here is is: How is Your Girlfriend!
https://soundcloud.com/melissa-weinstein-1/how-is-your-girlfriend

If you would like to download the song to your iPad, iPod, or iPhone - you can purchase the song for .99 from iTunes at  https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/how-is-your-girlfriend-single/id934164256



Melissa is on vocals and guitar, her friend Emily McNally is on piano.

Melissa at a Beatles convention in NYC. Photo take by her friend Erica Till.

Tell me what you think of Melissa's song in the comments section below!

The B. A.T. Invasion

(In honor of the Halloween season, I thought this might be a good time to revisit one of my favorite posts, updated a bit from the original version!)

The early evening air gathered thick outside, the kind of heavy, humid-filled air that forces people behind closed doors where they mercifully position themselves in front of their air conditioners.

While my husband Bob and my then six-year old daughter Melissa, now 17, quietly watched cartoons, I crept up to my room in our modest town home,  turned on the ceiling fan and placed my head gently on the pillow, hoping to close my eyes for a few minutes before Melissa's night time bath routine brought me out of my slumber.

In the distance I heard a low rumble, alerting me to the inevitable approach of summer storm.  

I had barely had time to drift into REM sleep when I heard Bob call my name, caution in his voice.  Bleary eyed, I sat on the edge of the bed, trying to comprehend his cryptic message.

"Lisa, there's a B. A. T. in the house," he spelled with forced calm, hoping Melissa wouldn't catch on.

As I walked into the hallway and watched a scene of horror unfold before my eyes, I quickly deduced that Bob had not been talking about bats of the baseball kind.  

A black creature with a wing span of 4,000 feet flew up the stairs, his goal to attack and turn me into a vampire! With my cat following close behind (although I've never been quite sure what the fearless feline would have done if he had caught the darn thing) Mr. B. A. T. flew into Melissa's bedroom.  Thinking fast, I raced to close her bedroom door and trap him in there.  Her sleeping quarters not being an issue at the moment, I naturally assumed she'd just bunk in my bed for the rest of her life.

Unfortunately, Mr. B. A. T. had other plans.  No sooner did he enter Melissa's room did he fly back out again, straight for my face!  So, in an effort to stay calm so as not to upset my daughter, I did what all mature, grown up, rational adults do in moments like this.  

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

In my effort to escape my impending death, I turned, tripped over my cat, nearly fell down the stairs (breaking my toe in the process) and ran into the living room where Bob still tried to convince Melissa that our friendly neighborhood B. A. T., still in hot pursuit, was, in reality, just a bird.

Bob opened the sliding glass doors that led to our small back yard and hurried Melissa and me outside.  Still screaming, I ran into our yard, then around to the front of the house where our next door neighbors Angelica, Louie, and their two young sons Chris and Brandon had come outside to find out why the normally quiet Weinstein family had seemingly lost their minds.

As the thunder rumbled a bit louder in the distance, and the westward sky darkened, we caught our breath and, together with our neighbors, tried to develop a B. A. T. coping  strategy more effective than "spending the rest of our lives in a hotel."

Just then, another neighbor pulled up in his car, a young single guy named Don who seemed to think we should just go into our house and trap the B. A. T. in a paper shopping bag, bring the bag outside and release the creature back into the wild, if you can call a New Jersey suburb "the wild".

Hmmmm, should we  choose Holiday Inn, Hilton, Sheraton, or Marriott?

Fortunately, Don offered to play the "catch the bat in the bag"  game for us.  

Angelica volunteered a paper shopping bag, handed it to Don, and wished him luck as he entered the B. A. T. lair of doom.  A few minutes passed with no word from Don.  The thunder grew a bit louder and flashes of lightening were now visible on the horizon.     

Still, in the still air we waited, and waited, and waited.

Finally, Don emerged with "bat in bag" and, as Melissa, Chris, Brandon, Bob, Louie, Angelica, and I all let out blood curdling streams loud enough to rival the approaching thunderstorm, Don released the B. A. T. from the bag of captivity.

End of story.  

Or so we thought.

Fast forward to "B.A.T. Invasion - Day Two".  

The next night, with Melissa bathed and tucked snugly into bed, I noticed the cat staring intently at our air conditioning vent.  Knowing full well that cat ears hear things that human ears can't decipher, I became concerned.  

THEN THE UNIMAGINABLE HAPPENED!

Bob and I watched in horror as claws appeared gripped onto the inside of our living room air vent, looking for an escape route.  

Not wanting to wake Melissa, I kept my screams to a minimum and instead, frantically dialed the local animal control office who informed us that bats eat pesky insects like mosquitoes and are therefore a protected species.  Their hands were tied.  The B. A. T. would have to stay.  Quite frankly, I didn't care if bats ate mosquitoes, grass hoppers, locusts, dogs, cats, pigs, bears, or killer sharks.   I WANTED THE CREATURE OUT OF MY HOUSE!

Willing to risk any punishment animal control forced upon me, I took a can of RAID flying insect killer and sprayed it into every single air vent.  Then, drawing on super human strength that only appears when confronted with creatures of the dark, I positioned heavy furniture so that it covered nearly every air vent.  Just let that B. A. T. even try to attempt escape!  Not on my watch.

The next day, we had a guy from a pest control service check out our home.  He quickly determined that Mr. B. A. T. had either died, escaped or evaporated, either way, no sign of the winged wonder existed in our air events, or anywhere else in the house, for that matter.

We had survived our terrifying encounter unscathed. But sometimes, during that brief time of day when daylight transforms into the grey skies of dusk, I see bats flying about in the distance and I wonder, do they know I probably killed their cousin?

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

If you like my stories please tell me in the comments section below!

Melissa Gets Her License!

Last summer my daughter Melissa, 16 at the time, took on a volunteer job at our local library. Although only a short bike ride from home, my cherub insisted on taking the safe mode of transportation to the library, namely, the "mom chauffeur".

What did she think would happen to her while pedaling the streets of our small suburban New Jersey neighborhood?  I don't know.  However I suppose all of those years of her overprotective mommy warning of stranger danger had taken its toll.

Finally, Bob and I convinced our naive girl to pull her bike out from the depths of the garage and pedal the short distance to the library.  When her shift ended, we stood outside in antipation watching her bike down the street towards home, the huge smile across her face beaming from blocks away!

"I did it!" she exclaimed.  "I felt so independent!"

Fast forward 13 months.

Once again, I stood outside in anticipation, waiting to celebrate another solo journey......this time in a (gulp).....car.

As a licensed driver for a mere three days, she had asked permission to take her friend John the short distance to his home.

I hesitated before granting her request.

John would be in the car with her on the first part of the trip, but then she would  have to come back all alone.  Nobody to tell her when to brake, when to turn, when to yield, when to signal, when to slow down, when to switch lanes, when to stop, when to go.

Would she survive the two mile journey?

Would I survive the wait during the two mile journey?

Sigh.

The road to becoming a legal driver in the State of New Jersey did not come without its challenges for Melissa.

She had passed Driver's Education in school, then completed the mandatory six hours of lessons with a certified driving school, which enabled her to get a permit.  Now she could get behind the wheel with two of the greatest driving instructors who ever lived......her PARENTS!!

Indeed, each session with Bob usually ended with Melissa near tears because her father had dared to use his "strict" voice.

Sessions with me were not much better since my incessant pounding on the "imaginary" passenger side brake truly rattled her nerves.

All to soon (or not soon enough depending on your perspective) the day of the driver's test had arrived.  I took off of work so I could personally escort my "baby" on the road to adulthood.

Upon pulling into the testing center, we were greeted by an instructor whose look and demeanor were reminsicent of a boot camp drill sergeant.  With trepidation, I got out of the car and let Melissa take her place behind the wheel.....next to Sergeant Scary in the passenger seat.

I watched them go forward a few feet, then stop.

Something did not seem right.

After several minutes, Sergeant Scary exited the vehicle and beckoned me over.

I dared not disobey.

Seems our car lacked an important feature, an emergency hand brake located between the driver and passenger seat.  According to the State of New Jersey, the car had to have this feature in order to be used during the test.

Sergeant Scary commanded us to leave, get a different car, and reschedule the test.

I dared not disobey.

One month later, armed with a 22-year old car gifted to Melissa by my mother, we drove to the testing center through a downpour of biblical porportions in our second attempt to earn the title of "licensed driver".

The "rigorous"  test seeks to determine if new drivers can handle gruelling road conditions by forcing them to demonstrate two essential skills:

1. Turning the key in the ignition
2. Parallel parking

Having practiced parallel parking for most of her waking hours, my daughter tackled the test with ease.

Next stop, the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) where we were officially introduced to the 3,974 Identification point system!

You see, when you present yourself at the registration desk at the DMV, they do not, can not, will not believe that you are you.  Therefore, you must prove that you are you by presenting 362 pieces of identification, each valued at a certain number of points.  Some pieces of identification can be combined to add up to even more points.

Allow me to illustrate the DMV's Identification point sytem.

Passport - 2,314 points
Birth certificate - 1,684 points
Driver's permit signed by Seargant Scary - 562 points
Bank statement with proof of address - 331 points
Social security card - 1,347 points
School ID - 457 points
School report card - 357 points
School ID + School report card - 765 points
First book report - 624 points
First baby tooth - 791 points
First baby tooth + letter of authenticity from the tooth fairy - 1,652 points
Umbilical cord - 2,970 points

Unfortunately, Melissa and I "only" had her passport plus the signed driver's permit, thus proving that the 17-year old girl standing next to me whose smiling picture lit up the inside of her passport was obviously an imposter.

We were told in no uncertain terms to go home and get more proof!

Since we live a mere five minutes from the DMV, this slight delay was met with much happiness and patience from my sweet new driver. (Note to readers who do not have teenagers - I AM BEING SARCASTIC.)

With "el grumpo" next to me in the passenger seat, we drove home, retrieved her social security card and her birth certificate and traipsed back to that joyful, wonderful place...the DMV!

"You need proof of address," admonished the eldery gentleman at the reception desk.

"But we were just here ten minutes ago and they didn't tell us that!" I protested, seriously thinking that I could change the rules of this archaic institution.

"Are you her mother?"

"Yes."

"Does she live with you?"

"Yes."

"Do you have the same last name?"

"Yes."

"Ok, you can use your driver's license as proof of address."  (794 points)

A half an hour later, a DMV employee handed my daughter that small, coveted piece of plastic proclaiming her a legal licensed driver!

I made her swear that for the first 30 years few months, she would text me before getting behind the wheel, and upon arrival at her destination.  She agreed to my terms and reluctantly, I let her drive John home.

True to her word, her text alerted me to her departure from John's.

Now came the moment of truth. Her first solo stint as a licensed driver.

I watched her drive down our street with care, stop in front of our house, put on the turn signal, and proceed into the driveway, a huge smile on her face!

"Mom, it was great!" she exclaimed.  "I felt so independent."

All too soon, the "mom chauffeur" will retire, as Melissa drives off to a college campus, and then to her own apartment...her own life.

And I know, despite my worry, despite my fear, despite my stubborn unwillingness to let her go....my baby will do just fine!

Melissa shows off her new driver's license!

If you like my stories please tell me in the comments section below!