Overdoing it is part of the job

I lay in bed and listen to that gurgle in my stomach. Was that the curried chicken? The $4 margaritas? Or the build your own nachos bar in the Hospitality Suite? The stress of being "on" all day as the meeting attendees needed me to be at the ready to deliver whatever they needed?

The gurgles grew into something not of this earth and I felt relieved at least that the hotel bathroom was located away from the room next door. On the other side of the wall was the room containing the ice machine. Oh wait. Was that sound the ice machine?

No. That was definitely my stomach. And those noises made the whirring - CaLUNK of the ice machine sound downright ladylike.

I crawled back into bed and looked at the illuminated clock. 2:36 a.m. In five short hours I would be sitting in a meeting, next to my boss, as I took minutes for a very long meeting.

Neither a gurgling stomach nor, dare I think it, gas would make for the optimum situation.

Ah, the joys of business travel.

Entire days entombed in latex to keep my curves in check. Sitting at attention for long stretches of time. Early mornings. Late nights. Full breakfasts of eggs, bacon, fruit and coffee. Fast food lunches eaten on the fly. Afternoon cookie breaks and soda pick-me-ups. Spicy dinners because I work with people who love Mexican and Asian food more than life itself. And the piece de resistance -- the open bar in the nightly Hospitality Suite.

Urp.

Thankfully, It's not just our bar that's well-stocked. We've learned to be prepared. Our meeting go-box is full of over the counter goodies.

Among those goodies are pain relievers, bottles of drinkable energy, gauze, adhesive bandages, alcohol wipes, intestinal globstoppers and, thank goodness, antacid and anti-gas products.

Apparently, I am not the only person who falls victim to overindulgence.

Early the next morning, I pawed through the box and came across the bottle of di·gel; an all-in-one antacid and anti-gas solution. It was brand new, unopened. I read the label:
Our specially formulated products handle everything from heartburn and acid indigestion, to upset stomach, bloating and even gas. di•gel is your all-in-one solution for digestive relief.
Score! I could kill two offensive birds with one freshmint tablet. Or two.

I popped a couple of chewables and got on with my day. Not once did I feel the need to excuse myself from the room in a big hurry or consider upon whom I could blame that smell. I created no foul smells or strange noises at all.

It was good thing, too, because that night was our last. Which meant that I'd hear on more than one occasion, "What are you drinking?" and vodka tonics would appear before me.

And the next morning was another early one.

I'm glad I learned about the different di·gel products that come in liquid, tablet, and convenient 'On the Go products for your pocket or purse, especially because of the upcoming holidays. That means plenty of overdoing it in my future. Anything resembling self-control will have to wait until January 1. di·gel is available as:

• Regular Strength Liquid (Freshmint) – Anti-gas/antacid
• Maximum Strength Liquid (Cherry) – Anti-gas/antacid
• Multi-Symptom Chewable Tablets (Freshmint) –Anti-gas/antacid
• Extra Strength Antacid Chewable Tablets (Mixed Berry) – Antacid
• Extra Strength “On-the-go” Antacid Chewable Tablets (Mixed Berry) –Antacid

Join me at www.godigel.com to learn more about how you can undo the overdoing and while you're at it, let's spread the word. Let's take the gas and gurgles head on. Tag your tweets and instagrams #undowithdigel to let your friends know that they don't have to live with the discomfort and gas and sour stomachs.

Unless, of course, your friends like that kind of thing. In which case, there's no helping them.

Considering the Alternatives

If you think aging is bad, consider the alternative. - Every older volunteer with whom I ever worked

I turned forty-seven in October.

I'm still in that phase where I have to stop and think before I can say my age with confidence.

What surprises me is that I can say my age with confidence. Forty-seven. Forty-seven. Four decades plus seven years. Staring down fifty and not freaking out. I'm looking at the future as an opportunity, not a slow-fade.

When I was offered the opportunity to write this post in conjunction with Olay's 60th anniversary, they asked "Are you daring enough to shout your age to the world?"

Not one to exactly shout, unless I'm trying to get my children's attention, I'm more inclined to stage whisper "How did we reach the age of forty-seven already?" to my husband. He, by the way, is as fit as he's been in most of our years together and I like to think we're both aging gracefully - him because of all the running he's doing, me because I'm smart enough to use Olay as part of my skin care routine.

The point is we've spent the last twenty-five years busy with the busyness of life - working, raising kids, getting by.

Now we can look ahead. I'm sure our best years lie ahead of us.

Our bucket list keeps growing. We've got traveling to do. Races to run. Books to write and art to make. I look ahead and see less time with the vacuum cleaner and more time with a book in my hand. Less time worrying, more time to challenge what's possible.

Based on heredity, I've reached my mid-point. The last forty-seven years are a mixture of pleasure and sorrow, pride and regret, frustration and wonder. The things I've achieved weren't necessarily planned and the things I didn't achieve haunt me in the wee small hours when I can't sleep. Okay, that's a lie. I'm always asleep in the wee hours. The haunting happens when I'm behind the wheel of the car, but that doesn't sound nearly as romantic or safe, does it?

I mean, they don't make those little signs you can suction to your car window that read "Caution: Ruminating driver on board."

I look ahead and think I have two choices: I can continue to bump along on the currents and let life happen or I can set some goals and go after them like I didn't when I was busy doing the opposite of what I'd planned to do with my life.

In my planning, I sometimes skip ahead to the part where I'm in my seventies, my eighties. Contrary to what they may think, my daughters and I will dress in velour tracksuits of complimentary colors. Our hands manicured, our jewelry understated so that it doesn't clash with our reading glasses we wear on chains around our necks. We'll go places together and they'll roll their eyes at me as I try to decide whether to have the Matzo ball soup or the martini.

And after I've ordered both, we'll laugh, the lines around our eyes creasing with the sheer pleasure of being alive and together.

Olay is encouraging and rewarding women for checking items off their bucket list. What's on yours?

How do you celebrate your age? Let me know in a comment below for a chance to win a $100 Visa gift card courtesy of Olay.

Rules:

No duplicate comments.

You may receive (2) total entries by selecting from the following entry methods:

a) Leave a comment in response to the sweepstakes prompt on this post

b) Tweet (public message) about this promotion; including exactly the following unique term in your tweet message: ""#SweepstakesEntry""; and leave the URL to that tweet in a comment on this post"

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d) For those with no Twitter or blog, read the official rules to learn about an alternate form of entry.

This giveaway is open to US Residents age 18 or older. Winners will be selected via random draw, and will be notified by e-mail. You have 72 hours to get back to me, otherwise a new winner will be selected.

The Official Rules are available here.

This sweepstakes runs from 11/12 to 12/12

Be sure to visit the Olay 60th Anniversary brand page on BlogHer.com where you can read other bloggers’ reviews and find more chances to win!

Adventures in Real Parenting: What comes around

When I was a teenager, I was full of ideas about what my life would be like. My mother would glance up from her novel and listen as I laid out my plans for a beautiful life unmarred by children or husbands or society's silly, oppressive rules.

A perfect apartment in a city wonderland. All white furniture, white carpet. No clutter. No avocado appliances. And for the love of god, no Early American decor.

As I got a older my plans shifted to include a husband with a great job. Travel. Fabulous careers. Eventually plans for children - two, perfect in every way - sneaked in. By the time my first college boyfriend and I had secretly moved in together, we'd already picked out names for our future children - a boy and a girl.

Naturally, I became a pre-child, child-rearing expert and I took a sick pleasure in listing how I would be a different kind of parent. I'd never spank, yell at or nag my children. Furthermore, my life would be so much better, so much more organized and enviable.  My house would always be clean, my emotions in check and my attention unwavering.

Most of the time, my mother's response to my prattling on remained unchanged. She gave a little smirk, a chuckle perhaps, a slight shake of her head. She wasn't taking the bait.

But every once in while, she couldn't help herself. Uh huh, she'd say. We'll see how that turns out. Later, I imagine, when she was alone with my father, she said something like "That Lisa is a piece of of work....."

Now the smirk is on the other face.

Sophie has suddenly started talking about her fabulous future. Her family is going to have traditional holidays. They're going to dress in matching outfits and take photos for holiday cards. Big dinners. Vacations. Game night. Okay, I made that last one up, but it's only a matter of time before she says that.

Like I was a mildly OCD sufferer bucking against my mother's laissez-faire attitude toward housekeeping, Sophie plans to rebel against the way we've moved away from family and let go of so many of our traditions. You practically have to hold a gun to one of the cats heads to get me to decorate for Hannukah/Christmas. The decorating and the extra activities - they become just another thing I have to do. Funnily enough, my invitation to the other family members to go crazy with the tinsel never spurs them to elvish activities.

So I don't blame Sophie for feeling the way she does.I understand it. So as she lays out her Five Point Plan for a beautiful life, I make an effort to be attentive and supportive. If I feel my eyes about to roll, I look away. A sigh about to escape my lips is swallowed.

I look around my rented, uncluttered split-level with the falling apart dark, faux leather sofa, the stained carpet and the colorful, framed travel posters (I haven't been to any of those places) on the edge of a tiny, rural Georgia village, that I share with my husband of twenty-four years, three kids and four cats and try not to laugh.

Adventures in Real Parenting: What not to shave

Summer Beauty Tip #87 - Lighten up on the lipstick

There are more Adventures in Real Parenting here.

As the youngest of three, my daughter Sophie has a few advantages.

Her father and I, who have been at this parenting thing for over twenty-two years, are tired. Worn down from enforcing rules and shouldering high expectations, we've relaxed. We're less uptight about details, less inclined to over-program or hover like we did when we were new to this adventure.

In other words, well, in the words of Sophie's two older siblings, we've given up. Sophie, in their opinion, gets away with murder.

It's not exactly murder. But a couple of years ago, when she denuded half her eyebrow with a pair of toenail clippers and then tried to glue the eyebrow back with SuperGlu, neither I nor her father shouted or made a scene. The truth is - we were laughing too hard.

But it's not all benign neglect. No. When Sophie asked to start shaving her legs, I treated the subject with seriousness. This was a big step. I remembered the eyebrow incident and my own early experiences with shaving my legs. 

We recently talked about it.

Sophie:  Mom, do you remember when I wanted to shave my legs and you didn't want to let me because you thought once I started, I wouldn't want to stick with it?

Me:  I do. I was worried it would turn out like needlepoint. Or basketball. You know how that went.

Sophie:  I quit those things.

Me:  Exactly.

Sophie:  Kind of like you writing your novel.

Me:  Yes. Thank you for reminding me.

Sophie:  Do you remember how you grossed me out by telling me about what not to shave?

Me:  I grossed you out?

Sophie:  How could you forget?

Me:  I can't believe I talked to you about that.

Sophie:  Mom! Not that. You told me not to shave my toes or my belly button.

Me:  Oh. Right. I'm glad I told you those things. It will save you aggravation in the future.

Sophie:  Why did you shave your toes in the first place? Were your feet that hairy?

Me:  Like a Hobbit. Or so I thought when I was twelve.

Sophie: That's really weird. 

Me:  I didn't like wearing sandals with hairy toes.

Sophie: So what about your belly button? You shaved that?

Me: Yeah.

Sophie:  Why?

Me:  Well, you know how I liked to make my aunt laugh by making my belly button talk?

Sophie:  Yes. You told us about that.

Me: I didn't want my talking belly button to be all fuzzy.

Sophie:  That's even stranger than the toes.

Me:  Which part? The shaved belly button or the talking belly button?

When Sophie decided that she was ready to shave and keep it up so that she wouldn't be a stubbly monster, we got her her own razor. I was using a Venus razor and she picked out the Venus Embrace because it has a Ribbon of Moisture that helps the razor glide over the skin to help minimize the chance for nicks.

Sophie also likes the Soft Grip handle because it has great grip when she shaves in the shower. I like the replacement heads because they're easy to get off and on.

We were all set. I demonstrated on my leg, showing her how to be especially careful on her knees and around her ankles. I reminded her that the shinbone can be a tricky spot as well.

If you have a someone in your house who might be ready to shave soon, here's a link you might find helpful.

Venus is sponsoring a sweepstakes here at That's Why. Enter to win a $50 Visa Gift Card by answering the following question in comments: 

"What's the best beauty tip you have shared with your daughter to prepare her for the summer or share your funniest beauty mishap for the chance to win a $50 gift card!”

This sweepstakes isn't limited to the females among us. I mean, my dad once offered me the best summer beauty tip of all.

"Don't stay out in the sun too long," he warned. "Or you'll ruin your skin."  

But that's a blog post for another day.

Rules:
No duplicate comments.
You may receive (2) total entries by selecting from the following entry methods:
a) Leave a comment in response to the sweepstakes prompt on this post
b) Tweet about this promotion and leave the URL to that tweet in a comment on this post
c) Blog about this promotion and leave the URL to that post in a comment on this post
d) For those with no Twitter or blog, read the official rules to learn about an alternate form of entry.
This giveaway is open to US Residents age 18 or older. Winners will be selected via random draw, and will be notified by e-mail. You have 72 hours to get back to me, otherwise a new winner will be selected.
The Official Rules are available here.
This sweepstakes runs from 7/26 - 8/23.
Be sure to visit the Venus brand feature page on BlogHer.com where you can read other bloggers’ reviews and find more chances to win!
Have you checked out the Life Well Lived section of BlogHer.com? There are some great tips and expert posts on everything from Looking Your Best to Getting Happy and Getting Organized!